Swimming with sharks
The world loves winners. Losers, not so much.
Lucas Hnath toys with this dispiriting but essential fact of life in his 2013 play “Red Speedo,” being given its Southern California premiere by the Road Theatre Company.
In “The Christians” and “A Doll’s House, Part 2,” Hnath dug into society’s bedrock, questioning whether long-perpetuated notions about, respectively, religion and womanhood are still useful and testing what happens when people try to shake things up.
“Red Speedo” envisions a rising-star swimmer in danger of being swept into a doping scandal. Fairness, loyalty and team spirit are tested; aspirations warp into seductions. Regardless of how things play out, one thing becomes clear: Hunger for success can be the most perilous performance-enhancing drug of all.
That’s a fascinating premise, and Hnath slyly teases out its implications. At times, he turns the plot into a sort of game, upending expectations and all but yelling, “Gotcha!” Too often, though, he plays fast and loose with logic, straining believability.
The Road’s production is strongly acted, and its depiction of a swim club — designed by Stephen Gifford — is as arresting as anything you’re likely to see on L.A.’s smaller stages. Yet here too, something is offkilter. Seizing a bit too enthusiastically on the humor in the writing, director Joe Banno sets a disproportionately goofy tone that undermines the seriousness of Hnath’s ideas.
If the swimmer, Ray, wins, so do those around him. His lawyer brother (played by Coronado Romero) is lining up a big endorsement deal and anticipates segueing into a sports agent career. He wears arrogance, ambition and greed as badges of achievement. Ray’s coach (Jason E. Kelley) preaches “hard work and discipline, sacrifice,” but his ulterior motives begin to show too.
Every other moment, a new quandary yawns open, but there’s a void at the center of Banno’s approach. Ray is described as “a body that’s built for one purpose,” which is sadly true. He’s not very bright. But as rendered by Adam Peltier, he’s so dazed and blank that we discount him, which we shouldn’t, because he begins to realize something fundamental: He’s becoming a profit engine rather than intrinsically worthy. Even through his thick skull, the words “I own you” penetrate.