"It's madness!" Russ (Dan Ajl Kitrosser) screams into the black nothingness. "It's memory!" retort the voices in his head, portrayed by the remaining three-quarters of the cast of Edward Elefterion's unforgettable new play "A Rope in the Abyss."
The play explores the genetic and psychological makeup of our identities. Tisch graduate Elefterion drew on textbook neuroscience to craft this haunting play, which tells the stories of four people who have had their identities erased or severely altered because of brain injuries.
The actors open each story by reciting together, "We'd like to introduce you to … ." While a little annoying, it is an effective device, as the storytellers really are introducing a new persona each time. Though it may sound like an examination of schizophrenia, "Ropes" is far from it because each persona replaces the former rather than existing at the same time.
The manner in which the four accounts weave together, jumping from subject to subject, not only keeps the audience invested but also provides an amusing "six degrees of separation" as characters stumble into each other's stories.
The one isolated character is Russ, in jail for a murder he can't remember committing. Kitrosser does an able job portraying the range of Russ' emotions, from stupidly high to suicidal, but his Greek chorus (made up of the other three actors) detracts from the story. Their rhyming style has its moments and differs from the other, more linear narratives, but more often than not, the relentless strings of verses are too reminiscent of Dr. Seuss.
Lorraine's (Tatiana Gomberg, another Tisch alum) story is the requisite tale of a person waking up after a coma with a complete personality re-haul. While it is amusing to see the health-nut old woman chow on Big Macs and get a tattoo, the anecdote doesn't upset and influence in the way that the remaining two do.
Danny Ashkenasi portrays Hugh, a singer whose story begins and ends the show. On the same day he discovers his wife is cheating on him, Hugh suffers severe amnesia that leaves him unable to remember anything, be it long-term or short-term. His brittle condition is wrenching, as he is reduced to a vocabulary of "pickle" and greets his wife Donna with a bright, child-like smile every five minutes.
It is here that Emily Hartford gives the most achingly emotional performance of the show. Although in her headshot she looks healthy and vibrant, as Donna she is exhausted and burnt out. Hugh's constantly renewed adoration is a punishment to her, and an awful trade-off for living with the shell of her husband. With each passing year, expressed simply but effectively through the script, Donna loses herself as well. The only negative to Hugh and Donna's story is that it lasts a tad too long.
Although their narrative styles differ, these three stories all express the pain and horror of losing someone in a split second and without warning. The characters don't even get a chance to say good-bye, and the audience aches for their bereavement.
The best story is the one that attacks the issue from a new side, this time regarding the control we hold over our brains. Mollie (Gomberg, double cast) is a young woman whose epilepsy has prevented her from being a student or really living out any facet of her adulthood. Whereas the other three stories deal with the aftermath of unforeseen tragedies, this vignette makes a compelling case against deliberate manipulation of the brain.
It is her story that carries the most haunting line, as doctors elicit myriad reactions while poking at certain lobes: "Leave my soul alone." Gomberg's Mollie chatters away merrily during this examination of her brain, only to flinch, coo or recite Latin when probed; even without the epilepsy, she can't have total control over her reflexes. None of us can. I don't want to reveal the tragic speech that she makes later in the play, but it hits hard.
The actors pop up in each other's tales as doctors, strangers and family, illustrating the fact that these mutations of identity affect everyone. Although it is never enunciated in the play, the "rope in the abyss" is the loved one holding on to you for dear life with the hope that you will find your way back.
As terrifying, bizarre and awful as our memories can be, they, more so than our genes or where and how we were reared, define us. Without them, we cannot perpetuate our former existence. Elefterion's play is a sometimes distressing but ultimately gorgeous study of human identity and the struggle to pull oneself out of the abyss.
"A ROPE IN THE ABYSS" Blackbird Theater 347 W. 36th St., $18 www.rabbitholeensemble.com Runs through April 19
Natalie Zutter is a staff writer. E-mail her at theater@nyunews.com.
