When Riverside Theatre announced that the house is open for Dick, a chuckle rippled through the bar. A title like that implies the audience is in for a provocative evening, but Adam Kinneen’s latest play hits hard and deep in unexpected ways.
Dick opens by introducing its five characters so casually that the audience could be forgiven for thinking they had walked into the wrong room. It’s as if the stage is the meeting spot for a group of twenty-something friends having one of those deeply philosophical chats that always seem to follow a night out. Everything from the nature of sex to the fear of being bored is interrogated in their witty back-and-forth, where they blend bold social critiques with tender moments of realistic friendship.
On the surface, the five characters have relatable personalities, especially Bailey, the energetic, straight-talking glue that keeps the group together. Andi Bickers inhabits the role of the level-headed, compassionate friend with effortless comic timing. There is also the subtle love and curiosity between River (Max Brennan) and Ruby (Frederick Russell), which brings a palpable tenderness to the stage. While the cast show off their solid acting chops handling a script full of poetic monologues, the depth with which characters express their dissatisfaction with life comes at a cost. Ultimately, it is hard for the audience to fully connect with characters whose emotions are expressed like excerpts from an essay collection. It feels as if the ideas might translate better as prose, where they can be mulled over and properly digested.
As a play, any story in the first act gets lost among the monologues. The set consists of clothes hanging on racks, and outfit changes give a sense of the passage of time—and for those looking closely enough, character: hyperactive Bailey and her constant outfit changes, the reserved and quiet River’s wardrobe of identical striped jumpers. However, it isn’t until the second act that this starts to actually feel meaningful. Kinneen hits his directorial stride and from then on, Dick becomes a work of theatre. Through Polly Dacam’s sound design, more intentional outfit changes, and greater restraint in the dialogue, we start to see a story develop. We begin to care about these characters and the dark places their boredom and existential dread eventually lead them.
Swapping philosophical dialogue for intelligent staging and vulnerable performances makes for a powerful second act, but this brilliance emerges too far into Dick’s two-and-a-half-hour run time. Had the first act been as concise and as willing to lay itself bare as the second, then Dick might have had time to live up to the rebelliousness of its name.
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