In ancient or modern war epic, love hurts
Fans of classical literature will recognize a few allusions to Homer in “warplay,” JC Lee’s take on the relationship between Achilles and Patroclus. A (Ed Berkeley), as he is called, is still the hero, a vastly better warrior than his sidekick P ( JD Scalzo), yet P will not be relegated to the sidelines. They’re still on the way to a great battle in Troy, here signaled by mighty booms of thunder that resound all the more terrifyingly in the subterranean black box playing space of New Conservatory Theatre Center, as if the explosions were detonating on Market and Van Ness outside.
That’s where the world premiere opened Saturday, June 10. (It’s also, for the record, where I worked for 16 months as a fundraiser.)
But “warplay” isn’t some ancient epic. The play drops f-bombs from its first line. A and P complain about a mom’s drinking problem and make fun of lighter-waving concertgoers; one scene even imagines the two first meeting as fidgety grade-schoolers on the playground.
In short, the play brings down-to-earth and up-to-date characters who in other tellings can seem as faraway as the gods themselves. (If actual gods interfere in “warplay,” it’s
as mischievous, menacing bunny rabbits — a whimsical touch that helps ensure this battlefield isn’t just solemn and macho but light and charmed.) That means that the pair’s big decisions feel more like choices that we who are not destined to wield breastplate, sword and shield might make.
Even more than A and P’s grand sacrifices for each other, Lee is concerned with what drives their relationship in the first place. The two are much more than warrior and henchman, more than best friends. Even the label of lovers doesn’t fully describe. While eroticism does charge a caress here or a flirtation there, it’s almost as if their connection is so primal, so understood, that they don’t need to touch all the time to reinforce it. In any case, A and P are just as liable to nuzzle as they are to launch into a wrestling match, not the roughhousing of foreplay but a fight for blood — like the one that’s scarred P’s cheek before the show even starts.
At times, Lee can dwell a little too long on defining their relationship. A and P outright tell us who they are to each other over and over, instead of finding a more oblique way to let us draw those conclusions on our own. The dialogue in these sections can be clunky, characters constantly asking each other to explain what they mean as a matter of playwriting convenience. Conversely, Lee withholds too much information about the supposedly important battle, or “game,” A and P spend much of the play journeying toward. Without anything concrete divulged, it’s tough to find a reason to care.
Under the direction of Ben Randle, performances often mitigate these flaws, especially Scalzo’s as P. In one moment he’s a passive-aggressive housewife, in the next a chestthumping pipsqueak, then a queenly, heel-clicking wit worthy of Noel Coward, still later a ruefully self-aware misanthrope. In each mood in this dazzling succession, he is hotwired with energy, kinetic even when standing still.
He’s a great big thumping heart whose greatest flaw is that he loves until, and long past, it hurts. Whether in Greek epic, contemporary buddy play or both, no wound goes deeper.