The Festival of Independent Theatres kicked off last week (a month earlier than usual) at the Bath House Cultural Center with several shows — more open this week — and, as we’ve come to expect, they push boundaries and expose audiences to unique points of view.
One of those is John Michael’s one-man monologue Like Me. As with his prior shows, John Michael starts from a rough outline rather than a script, roaming around the stage while expounding on everything from gay sex (and how his father wishes there was less of it in his work) to communing in a graveyard to Facebook culture.
It;s the latter that forms the crux of Like Me … or at least, I think it does. John Michael bobs around about his best friend, coming onto girls in high school and “orgasms of grief” without much rhyme or reason, a stream-of-consciousness rant with more detours than a Dallas street map. (“I don’t want to shove something down your throats,” he explains, “it’s not that kind of Bath House.”)
“Gay is cool all of the sudden, but don’t like me cuz I’m gay — like me cuz I’m clever,” he admonishes the audience, and therein lies part of the problem with Like Me. John Michael talks a lot about how clever and funny he is; is he trying to convince us or himself? The proof of the pudding is in the eating, and too often, John Michael mugs like Benny Hill (or worse, Jay Leno) in a satisfied way that undercuts his many incisive observations.
It might be his tone of voice, which tends toward a broad, rhythmic sing-song that borders on condescension. (Think the narrative interludes on a Meat Loaf CD and you have a sense.) But as a kind of Beat poetry of the Gen-Y era, you can’t deny John Michael’s point of view, nor his distinctive fearlessness. With a little polish, he could go places.
By contrast, the lead character in Lydie Marland in the Afterlife — presented by WingSpan Theatre Co. and written by Dallas playwright Isabella Russell-Ides — has already seen a lot. She was the heiress to an oil fortune until her adoptive father un-adopted her then married her just two years before the Great Depression wiped away their money. She went on to become the first lady of Oklahoma before drifting into obscuring as a bag lady.
Russell-Ides’ play, in which the older, dead Lydie (Cindee Mayfield Dobbs) confronts her younger self (Catherine D. DuBord, pictured above), is a fascinating rumination on choices, trying to answer the question, “If you could give yourself advice from years of experience, what would you say?” but really it answers, “… But what would your younger self say back? And would you even trust old-you?”
It’s a cogent and provocative two-hander, made all the better by Dobbs and DuBord’s convincing portrayals (Dobbs as a toothless vagabond, DuBord as a prot0-Daisy Buchanan flapper) and Susan Sargent’s clever framing device (literally, a frame). As with most of WingSpan’s work, it tells a strong feminist story without becoming strident. See it on a double bill with The Great Gatsby. Both will seem richer for the other.
FIT continues at the Bath House through June 22. Like Me next plays tonight at 8 p.m.; Lydie Marland next plays Saturday at 5 p.m. Click here for a complete schedule.
