Diary of a Young Playwright

The New Workshop Theatre has never looked like this before. On either side of a long, rectangular space, sits rows of chairs “tennis court style.” Within that space lays an alternative version of the world as we know it, but one that feels so very familiar to our own: the world of Mac Wellman’s “A Murder of Crows”. There sits, on the far left, a broken down, dilapidated, crookedly constructed pseudo-gazebo, a building’s skeleton that serves as “the front porch of a house in America,” the setting of Mr. Wellman’s play. Standing tall is a statuesque representation of Andy (played by Conor Sullivan), Nella’s son killed in the Iraq war. He does not move.

PHOTO BY: David Rozenblyum
The Crows: Sergio Maurtiz Ang, Andrea Aranguren, and Aaron Montero Mednick

PHOTO BY: David Rozenblyum
Paul Kethcum (Raymond), The Crows, and Callan McDermott (Susannah)

PHOTO BY: David Rozenblyum
Keelie Sheridan (Nella), and Conor Sullivan (Andy)

In the middle rests two ladders, which seem to both intersect and lead to nowhere in particular, with a beautifully realistic tire swing hanging off the middle. Lastly, on the far right, is a trapezoidal pyramid of large black tires, ending underneath a structure of wood and chicken wire that seems to symbolize a cross.

Even the floor is spackled with a mixture reminiscent of the “tar” and “sludge” the characters later speak of, and also of the war. The space is dimly lit, and lights eerily cast shadows from the ground upwards. The set designer, Angelica Borrero-Fortier, and lighting designer, Christopher J. Cancel-Pomales, are responsible for this complicated, intricate, and immersive design scheme, helped by the heavy, machine-like electronic sounds that played before the show, and punctuated the performance, all designed by Edrick Subervi.

The play begins, and is initially “narrated” by Nella (played by Keelie A. Sheridan), a mother forced to move in her with her relatives, because, as she puts it, “payments require cash to back them up. Generally they do.”

The problem with recounting a Mac Wellman play is that Wellman’s work so naturally resists labels or typical analytic terminology. To say that Nella “narrates” would misrepresent her role, as if she continuously narrates, or that “narrating” in the world of Murder operates as it does in our world; suffice it to say that neither of these things hold completely true, for though the play takes place in present day America, Wellman’s landscape mirrors the strange, dark, and hilarious.

Susannah, Nella’s daughter, fully represents this landscape. Susannah has an obsession with weather, and continuously tells her relatives, Howard and Georgia (played by Jeremy Ping and Melissa Diaz), that the weather will change, though she does not know how. It is clear that McDermott’s acting shows itself strongest when she has other characters to interact with – while her acting is full-force and strong during her monologues, the moments of connection between Susannah and her family members proved the most captivating.

This emphasis on relationships and complicated, earnest family dynamics holds solidly throughout the production, and it is made clearer by the strong direction of Meghan Finn via the movement throughout the piece, both physically and emotionally. The greatest hilarity, and a huge amount of human understanding, ensues when Georgia, Raymond, and Nella are all on stage at once, speaking and flinging themselves around the gazebo, full of fervor, passion, and so pissed off that only intermittent phrases and words escape past the clouds of shouting. Sheridan, Ping, and Diaz have a wonderful chemistry that enlivens the scene. Diaz and Sheridan encapsulate difficult relatives living with each other, and Sheridan strengthens her scenes with her raw, comedic facial expressions.

 Andy, the fallen soldier, awakens in his own time to speak about life after death, and the world he left behind – Sullivan delivers a bold monologue passionately as the world around him remains frozen.

While some characters stay nearer to the human domain, Susannah flings herself back and forth, ending up near the tire pyramid, where she encounters her assumed-long-dead father, Raymond (played, in that performance, by Paul Ketchum).

Raymond awakens Susannah to the oddities of life, and Ketchum acts sincerely and humorously, an accomplishment considering he performs a character unaware of his own silliness – wearing a funny hat, and pretending to be a weatherman. Additionally, the father-daughter chemistry between Ketchum and McDermott feels sweet and palpable. Raymond introduces Susannah to the crows, with whom he lived while in hiding.

Once the crows appeared on stage, their bodies took over all initial attention, due to miraculous costumes designed by Emily Blumenauer. Each avian was covered from head to calf in thick feathers, wearing goggles for crow eyes and a myriad assortment of objects to differentiate each crow – phone cords hanging around one, an umbrella top attached to another – played by Sergio Maurtiz Ang, Andrea Aranguren, and Aaron Montero Mednick, respectively. For the majority of the play, they remain silent, but then begin to speak of life, death, existence – and, lyrically, potatoes, as Susannah tries to crow along with them: the crows, speaking in a way that we can understand, and Susannah, trying to understand them.

And perhaps the best description of the play can be found in Maurtiz Ang’s haunting singing, accompanied by Mednick: “One potato, two potato, three potato four potato five potato…”