Threads unravel in journey through history
the sundry folk tales that by the time a particular story pops up again, you’ve lost the thread entirely. Various characters are so ill differentiated you might have a hard time figuring out whether a single actor is playing the same character he or she played in the last scene. Cast members declaim each line with the same dull ache of intensity, no matter its mood or motivation.
The contemporary scenes, where Sher spars in office hours with her cipher of a college professor (Emon Elboudwarej) or in her dorm with her conveniently un-woke roommate (Linda Maria Girón), are easier to follow, but the stakes stay low. It’s tough to worry that much about Sher getting a B- on a rough draft of her freshman history paper, and her exchanges with parents, peers, counselors and professors have the generic characterization and predictable, feel-good values of a life skills skit at a high school assembly. Out of nowhere late in the show, the professor starts touching Sher during their meetings, as if Peerzada didn’t think we’d already gleaned that he’s not a great guy.
A few cast members have transcendent moments. Mercedes White lends a bard’s clarity and urgency to every line, even the heightened language of the folklore scenes.
Peerzada is disarmingly natural and open as Sher, like she’s putting her whole being on the line with every move Sher makes or holds back.
Jocelyn Thompson-Jordan’s lovely semitone singing in opening moments makes the show seem like an enchanting mystery about to unfold, especially under the desert night hues of Claudio Silva Restrepo’s lighting.
But hazy direction continually undermines these worthy contributions. In one scene in the middle of the play, Pereira enters for the first time, airily singing during a class session. Who is this guy? Then, the professor acknowledges him and his disruptive melody, when it had just seemed like he was invisible and inaudible to everyone else onstage. They have their exchange, as if it’s totally unremarkable to burst into song during a lecture. Then Pereira’s character leaves, never to come back. Or did he? You look around among the ensemble. No, he’s really gone. The other characters pay as little heed to his departure as they did to his entrance. It’s enough to make you, also, stop caring about entrances and exits, the characters that make them and the plot that supposedly motivates them.