What more can be said about a play self-described as "schlock and bullshit?" Well, it does deliver that, but not much more.
"Vogue," written by Ron Collins and directed by Matt Kenyon, debuted at the Broom Street Theatre Aug. 3 and will be there until Sept. 9. The "schlockumentary" focuses on the mostly fabricated life of Tom Saffady, entrepreneur in the vinyl record production industry in post-World War II America, as he attempts to make it big. Yet somewhere amongst the kitschy humor, melodramatic acting, and the badly edited and boring script, is a play that bombs worse than the pipe dreams of poor Tom Saffady himself.
Granted, only so much can be expected from an amateur theatre with unpaid actors, even one with a history of well-directed cutting-edge plays. Nevertheless, most of the cast never rises above mediocrity as they lose themselves in their hyper-dramatic ebullience. Bree Benson, in the role of Ma Saffady, shines among the rest. Never stammering out her lines, losing her accent or overacting, she's a definite relief. Odari McWhorter, as the eccentric, overly self-conscious narrator, hurts the play with his excessive fervor, deficient charisma and poor delivery. The lead role, Tom Saffady, is decently played by Marisa Kahler, but the audience is all too frequently distracted by the fact that she's a woman uncomfortably portraying a man. If it's a schlockumentary anyway, why not change history a bit more and make Tom a "Tina" instead?
From a technical aspect, as a comedy, not that much importance rests on the lighting and props, which are largely unremarkable, neither impressive nor subpar.
What a comedy lives or dies on is the script, which in this case is nothing short of a catastrophe. It's muddled with clichéd humor, boring pseudo-historical fluff, and groan-inducing one-liners that the audience can tell are supposed to be funny, but aren't. The most glaring symptom of the script's deficiencies is seen when, several times throughout the play, the only person in the 10-person audience laughing is the writer himself. The fine line between funny and hokey is blurred throughout most of the play: It's not funny, it's not terribly creative and it's not functionally cohesive. Simply put, this play has been done before, and it's been done much better.
In the opening, the cast warns you that if you're disappointed, then it's only $8 and 90 minutes you'll never get back. If you're not too concerned about your time or money, and you like a strange mixture of edgy and cornball humor, give the play a chance, but be warned: "Vogue" is one throwback that should just have been thrown back.
