By Jason and Alisha Hagey
Profoundly more relevant after our last 18 months of isolation, Pioneer Theatre Company returns by asking the hard questions and digging deep into family relationships (healthy and unhealthy). In Ass we are given not just a tongue in cheek title referring to what is being formed out of the unrefined block of alabaster sitting in the middle of the stage (looming over us with the presence and ego of the artist), but also a humorous take on our own foibles and insecurities. The central figure of the play is Jule Waterman. Jule is an artist that uses a kind of visual synecdoche, seeing individuals in isolated pieces (body parts) that refer to their whole and creating art from those isolations. This is a purposeful choice on the part of Ellen Simon (Playwright) who said about her intentions for the play:
“I wanted to talk about parts vs. whole, to show how in relationships one can feel fragmented … what it’s like to be the offspring of a genius personality and what it means to feel whole.”
Simon balances her story between fragmentation in not only relationships but in the scenes themselves. As an audience, we receive a portion of a scene, a snippet of conversation, then flit to another snippet of conversation. The result can be dizzying and there is a distinct sense that we are not seeing the whole picture – something that is indicative of the characters and their relationships.
This concept plays into this idea of coexisting and the tragedy of not accepting both what is there and what is left unsaid and undone. Karen Azenberg (Director) said, “… It’s about expectations of family relationships. What does a child expect from a parent? What does a parent expect from an adult child? Can you get what you expect if you can’t ask for it, or if you don’t know how to articulate it or give it back?”
In need of a loan from his estranged father, Ben Cherry (Will) returns with his wife, Elizabeth Ramos (Ana), to his childhood home in New York City. Cherry and Ramos portray many dichotomies throughout the show: confident and unsure, supportive and pushy, warm and cold, etc. The roles are challenging. Cherry and Ramos come across as real as if we are voyeurs watching their lives, not seeing two actors on stage. Vince McGill (Jule) is Will’s father, a sickly narcissistic artistic genius, and McGill gives human depth and feeling to a character that could be played as a caricature in a lesser actor’s hands. Laura Hall (Tory) is Jule’s wife and the dimensions of her performance keep you asking who this person is and how much are we like her?
Often, it is easy to watch a play and feel that we know the characters, but Simon doesn’t allow us to see all of them. They cannot be simplified; they refuse to be one-note or one-sided while they equally refuse to be seen in their totality. And this is not unlike real life and real relationships. We make assumptions from what we see and experience about an individual, but we only see pieces and therefore cannot and should not believe we know them as a whole. Thus, Simon is saying that we can never really know someone. In turn, she is asking, if we cannot really know someone, can we ever love them? In the end, we, like the characters of the play, do the best we can and continue to create and grow until we feel more whole.
The setting, on the other hand, is both simple and nuanced. Jo Winiarski (Scenic Designer) gives us an apartment in New York City and a dialysis center, transporting us into Jule’s world and the two main locations of his life. The realization of these settings feels authentic, like the characters’ lives, but leaves much out in a similar fragmentation. The alabaster monolith at the center is purposefully seen from the back, again hiding much of the ‘action’ yet ever-present. Paul Miller’s (Lighting Designer) use of light keeps us seeing the fragmentations, but never more powerfully than the fluctuating gobo that lights the monolith and subtly keeps a stagnant object moving, pulsating as if alive.
Ass reminds us to never mistake movement for progress. Though there are discussions and arguments throughout the play’s plot, it is hard to see any forward momentum by the end. Instead, Ass illuminates the reality that too much of life feels like it is alive but is really hardened and soulless in the end. The characters seek love in their relationships, but the refusal to see the whole of a person creates a world where they can never be fully understood much less loved. If we see others in fragments and pieces, can we ever really love them? If we show ourselves in only fragments and pieces to others, can we ever really be loved by them? Ass asks us to grapple with these questions and to come to our own conclusions about life, identity, love, and what it means to be alive.
LANGUAGE: The contemporary characters in Ass speak colorfully. There is a moderate amount of strong language in the play, enough to qualify the play for an “R” rating.
Pioneer Theatre Company presents Ass by Ellen Simon
Simmons Pioneer Memorial Theatre, 300 S 1400 E, Salt Lake City, UT, 84112
October 22– November 6, 2021, Monday – Thursday 7:00 PM, Friday 7:30 PM, Saturday 2:00 PM and 7:30 PM
Tickets : $33-50
Contact: 801-581-6961
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