Opening Nights PSlowgirl Seattle Public Theater at the Bathhouse, 7312

Opening
Nights

PSlowgirl

Seattle Public Theater at the Bathhouse, 7312 W. Greenlake Dr. N., 524-1300, seattle
publictheater.org. $5–$32. 7:30 p.m. Thurs.–Sat., 2 p.m. Sun. Ends April 12.

As Monica Lewinsky and Amanda Knox have incidents in their youth that will shadow their lives forever, so too does Becky, the flashier half of Greg Pierce’s poignant two-hander about a mouthy 17-year-old who visits her uncle in Costa Rica after a recent tragedy. Slowgirl denotes Mary Beth, Becky’s mentally challenged classmate, who fell out a window at a drunken high-school party. Becky may share some blame for that, and she’s not the only one wrestling with her conscience. Her apparently benign, geeky Uncle Sterling has some secrets of his own.

SPT’s intimate performance space lends itself perfectly to being a claustrophobic jungle hideaway. Designer Andrea Bush encloses the rustic hut with tangled vines suggesting invasive eyes prying at Becky and Sterling, two souls fleeing scrutiny; Bush also effectively jacks up part of the set like a public stockade. Everything about this small jewel of a production—directed by Kelly Kitchens—feels right, from terrific casting and acting to moody, canopy-filtered lighting (by Tristan Roberson) to Pierce’s strong, naturalistic 2012 script.

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Any time Hannah Mootz (Bo-Nita) plays a troubled young person is an occasion to celebrate. Her Becky teeters between Lolita-hood and adulthood, in awkward semi-possession of her own body, as though test-driving it. Sometimes a bulldozer, sometimes gentle, she describes the rain forest (without irony) as “ass-fuck beautiful,” fears rape by iguana, and frets to Sterling, “You probably think I’m a total Unabomber.” Kevin McKeon, who excels at making quiet men interesting, provides a satisfying comedic foil to Becky’s rampant emotionalism as they uncover their respective shame sources. Watching his depressive Sterling come to life is one of the show’s subtle pleasures.

Slowgirl ’s compassionate portrait of people who, regardless of their courtroom guilt or innocence, made some terrible decisions, feels very much of our moment. Most of us have had a “slowgirl” in our past—someone whom, however momentarily, we did not treat kindly. If we were lucky, our victim survived whatever cruelty we inflicted, so that we might later apologize—or more. To merely villainize bullies doesn’t accomplish much, or say anything we haven’t heard a thousand times before. Slowgirl dwells in the more ambiguous zone of dispassionate moral scrutiny, a place where one’s past sins can be addressed and forgiven. MARGARET FRIEDMAN

PTartuffe

Center House Theatre, Seattle Center Armory, ­733-­8222. $25–$48. 7:30 p.m. 
Wed.–Sat. plus weekend matinees; 
see seattleshakespeare.org for schedule. Ends April 12.

The word “tartuffe” has come into the English language to represent an overly zealous hypocrite or impostor. You can still see these charlatans today. They can be false swamis, ministers, or cult leaders; and they make heavenly promises while collecting earthly gains. The term is inextricably linked to Moliere’s 17th-century comedy, in which a mendicant holy man entraps a wealthy man and his family. Seattle Shakespeare Company has transported this classic to post-World War II America, a time when the world was rebuilding and searching for new guidance. (Any period resemblance to Scientology and The Master is entirely intended, says director Makaela Pollock.)

Rich, gullible Orgon (Peter Lohnes) is mesmerized by Tartuffe (R. Hamilton Wright), who preaches a type of religion that involves wearing capes and pendants. Despite every warning about the greedy, hyporcritical interloper, Orgon disinherits his son, breaks off his daughter’s previous engagement, and makes Tartuffe his sole heir. Comeuppance, we know, will follow.

Moliere’s neat comedic structure reflects the growing certainties of the Age of Enlightenment: A deviant tries to upset the status quo; his ambitions are thwarted (not without some resistance); and all’s well that ends well. Despite the updated mid-century backdrop, not much is added to the play except dapper suits and pretty dresses. Nobility and reason are always rewarded, and swindlers never win.

Pollock’s players perform their roles to stock-character, one-dimensional perfection. While Orgon remains stubbornly devoted to Tartuffe, his wife Elmire (Christine Marie Brown) counters with calm, graceful reason. And if that approach doesn’t sway the snaky Tartuffe, she resorts to her sex appeal to expose his fraud. That pivotal scene, however, is suggestive of rape; but, with Orgon watching, it’s milked for comedy. Back in the day of Louis XIV, this farcical moment would be less potentially shocking—just one more indication of Orgon’s deep delusion.

Wright makes Tartuffe an amusingly sleazy, slapsticky villain. Also worth praise are the side-splittingly comic performances by Bhama Roget as the harlequin maid and Maya Sugarman as Orgon’s overly dramatic daughter. IRFAN SHARIFF

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