The characters in Laura Schellhardt’s custom-built comedy about status-grubbing female real-estate agents in Manhattan gaze imperiously at you in the Rep’s lobby, their fictional bios studded with aspirational cliches about determination and manifesting one’s desires. They represent three well-groomed models of female power: hardworking hoop-jumper, S&M-tinged seductress, and feminist pioneer (a pragmatic, hybrid predecessor of the first two). But pop them into three dimensions, and their couture seams strain with insecurity. Not since Annette Bening’s Oscar-clinching role in American Beauty has the residential real-estate industry taken such a drubbing.
Should women work collaboratively with one another to break the glass ceiling, or is it every woman for her ambitious self? And which philosophy yields the better commissions? Those are the questions confronting late-middle-aged Bette (Linda Gehringer, with bouncy bronze tresses and ball-breaking attitude). Leaving her boutique agency to star in a reality show about women achieving their dreams (!), she’s about to bequeath her business. Her dutiful consigliere Monica (studiously sexless Cheyenne Casebier) is the logical choice, but logic be damned. Empires like Apple aren’t built on logic; they’re built on magnetism and risk—qualities that sexy new hire Iris (Keiko Green) has in spades. While Bette rehearses evangelist-style pabulum for her show (“IRIMI! IRIMI! It means I enter without fear”), the other two duke it out for supremacy. Though the rivalry amuses in a sitcom-y spirit, and several clever ironies weave through, any sense of the genuine vaporizes under scrutiny. The women’s smart banter mismatches their stupid actions—particularly Monica’s, as she repeatedly falls for the same trap set by Iris.
Directed by Braden Abraham, these three skillful performers buttress their cartoonish, polarized characters. Thanks to their commitment, I stayed engaged through most of the 85-minute one-act. Green’s millennial dismissiveness about protocol is particularly fun to watch, as are costumer Frances Kenny’s power suits. But something seems desultory here, and it’s not just the jumble of Carey Wong’s set (mixing mid-century modernism, ’70s glam, and ’90s industrial chic). Maybe it’s the expositional monologues delivered as audio diary entries or offhand ramblings during aikido, golf, and calisthenics. Maybe the on-the-nose architectural analogies, like Monica’s refrain “I’m a load-bearing pillar” or Bette’s sizing people up by what kind of abode they would be. And/or maybe the protracted, tentative catfight, which drew all the more laughs for its tameness. This is Chicago playwright Schellhardt’s second work commissioned by the Rep (after 2011’s The K of D, an urban legend ). It’s got some shiny finishes. But as they say in the trade, it lacks good bones.
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SEATTLE REPERTORY THEATRE 155 Mercer St. (Seattle Center), 443-2222. $17–$102. 7:30 p.m. Wed.–Sun. plus some Wed. & weekend matinees; see seattlerep.org for schedule. Ends March 29.
