(l-r) Rick Foucheux, Brad Koed, and Darius Pierce (Photo: Stan Barouh)
Woolly has restaged Aaron Posner’s take on The Seagull, which since we’re an online outlet we can name without its asterisks: Stupid Fucking Bird. Jenn raved about it last year to anyone who would stand still or walk slower than she could, so I was excited to catch it for myself.
I’m not prepared to part with as many superlatives as she did, but I found it to be a very enjoyable play on its own merits and an interesting attempt to modernize and Americanize a classic piece of Russian literature. I’ll confess, I’m a bit of a sucker for fourth wall shenanigans, so when Brad Koed’s Con says “of course I know I’m in a play,” they are throwing me a bone. On the flip side, I’m more on the “don’t mess with it without a good reason” camp when it comes to adaptations. So how do my warring sides make peace on this?
(l-r) Katie DeBuys, Cody Nickell, Kate Norris, and Rick Foucheux (Photo: Stan Barouh)
I’m of the mind that Stupid Fucking Bird earns its adaptation. This is a transformative work, as we’d say in the copyright biz; writer Posner and director Shalwitz have done more than re-costume everyone in a different era while keeping the language and structure the same. The characters have more modern problems and ennui, while maintaining some of the timeless relationship and career fulfillment issues. The language and self-awareness is very 21st century as well.
Which isn’t so say some mistakes aren’t made. In the final act we never get a read on whether Mash has moved on from her infatuation with Con, unlike Chekhov’s Masha who definitely continues to carry a torch. Was Mash’s a childish and empty love? Does she still burn for him? Impossible to tell; Gilbert does well with what little is on the page for her here in the conclusion, but we’re no wiser in the audience. She could be happy as a clam in the married life she originally identified as a major concession.
If the work falls down anywhere it’s in the conclusion, with this uncertainty and its choices towards ambiguity with Con’s actions. That would be fine if they felt deliberate, but there’s a sense that we’re left in the air less as a decision than as a shrug.
If they don’t entirely stick the landing that’s forgivable in my book. Stupid Fucking Bird delivers on one of my major criterias for live theater: it does something you can’t get via other mediums both in its fourth-wall teasing and its staging and delivers a work that wouldn’t get made for recorded audiences. The acting is all solid and Darius Piece in particular is excellent.
I won’t attempt to dispute Peter Marks’ assertion that this is a shallow adaptation, though I think that goes a bit far; Stupid Fucking Bird has a good run across a number of regrettable human emotions. But you probably won’t still be chewing on it a week later. My response to that is so what? The show succeeds as a live performance in a way that the majority of theater I see does not, so I’m comfortable with walking out and being done with the material.
I’m glad Woolly is remounting it and I’m very glad I got the chance to see it.
Stupid Fucking Bird runs through August 17th. Woolly Mammoth is located at 641 D Street, NW and is convenient to both the Chinatown (green, red, yellow) and Archives (green, yellow) metro stops. For more information, call 202-393-3939.
Well I used to say something in my profile about not quite being a “tinker, tailor, soldier, or spy” but Tom stole that for our about us page, so I guess I’ll have to find another way to express that I am a man of many interests.
Hmm, guess I just did.
My tastes run the gamut from sophomoric to Shakespeare and in my “professional” life I’ve sold things, served beer, written software, and carried heavy objects… sometimes at the same place. It’s that range of loves and activities that makes it so easy for me to love DC – we’ve got it all.
