the fire within
by Douglas Messerli
Eric Overmyer Dark Rapture / ACT (American Conservatory) Theater, San Francisco / I sat next to the playwright for this evening production on March 1996.
Dark Rapture
begins in Southern California with a large nighttime fire not so very different
from those arsonist fires I describe in my essay about the LA riots, “Getting
Along.” Two men, Ray Gaines and Babcock, meet up in the night to observe, with
some exhilaration, flames lighting the sky. Babcock particularly seems to be
enjoying the sight and sounds, the popping of the eucalyptus trees:
BABCOCK: Just sit back ‘n
watch it comin’ toward you. Like sheer
fuckin’ inevitabilty. Lurchin’ outa the
dark rapture.
In the ACT production much of that drama is stolen from us by having Ray
(Richard Synder) begin the work by writing a screenplay concerning the very
events which we are observing. And throughout the San Francisco production, as
directed by David Petrarca, the events of the play seem often to emanate from
the imagination of Ray, an unsuccessful screenwriter, who by play’s end finds a
deliciously ironic way of dumping his numerous previous attempts at writing a
successful script.
Nearly everyone in this play is after some version of “The American
Dream,” but in the perverse visions of Overmyer’s characters that dream is so
polluted even before any search begins that there is no hope of joy or
satisfaction. Ray’s wife, Julia (Deirdre Lovely, a role played in the original
off-Broadway production by Marisa Tomei), has fled to Cabo San Lucas with her
lover Danny (Mark Feuerstein), a brain-dead Hollywood stuntman, where she
drinks all day while enjoying what the soaps might describe as “hot and sticky”
sex. Julia’s dream is to become a movie producer/sex goddess, and she has
illegally procured a “loan,” left safely at home in the hands of Ray, that she
hopes will take her to the top.
But suddenly, Ray has disappeared, perhaps in the fire of the first scene. A body is uncovered in the ashes of his and Julia’s home, which, in scene three, we observe Mafia men Vegas (Rod Gnapp) and Lexington (Matt DeCaro) checking out. Has Ray just disappeared, they query, or conveniently “taken a walk,” his wife’s (actually their) money in hand? So begins a mystery that, in the capable hands of the playwright morphs into a dozen situations, some of them tangential to the main series of stories—such as the murder of Nazim, an American car dealer, by Detroit hitmen Tony and Ron, who kill him simply because his name sounds “Middle Eastern.” From Seattle to Cabo San Lucas, from San Francisco and Santa Barbara to Key West and New Orleans, this apocalyptic story tracks its opportunistic characters, each determined to stop or escape from the others.
Some figures, such as Babcock, are so shadowy we can hardly tell on
which side they stand; others are more like Shakespearian fools—but all are
dangerous in that they contain a huge fire within, an anger that threatens to
ignite the entire universe. Their greatest pleasure is to destroy, to consume
the world about them.
Having transformed himself into another, a trope that might be applied
to several of Dark Rapture’s
characters, Ray (now Avila) is finally cornered by Vegas and Lexington with his
new girlfriend Renee. Having forced the manager to open the vault wherein lay
Ray’s suitcases—presumably filled with Julia’s cash—they drag Julia herself
into the room to confront him. A quick thinker, she refuses to recognize him
knowing it is the only way to save her own life:
I’m saying I don’t
know who this man is. I’ve never seen him
before. My husband is
dead. He died in the fire....
When they pop the locks from the
suitcases, they discover only “spec scripts,” and, after a hilarious whoop of
laughter from Julia, they release Ray and Renee. Ray has been reborn, has been
allowed a new life. Julia returns to Danny and her dream in Los Angeles,
arranging to pay back the mafia “loan.” The last scene reveals Ray in St.
Vincent Island with an earlier girlfriend, Max, thrilled by being able to chat
with the Prime Minister. But real happiness, it is clear, may still elude them.
In a world of such counterfeit and lies there is no reality, and, accordingly,
no identifiable self left perhaps to enjoy even the ill-gotten gains.
Ray and Max slink off into the night, while
another survivor, Babcock (better known as José Marti Chibas Valenzuela), shows
up in the same café with Renee, who turns out to be his daughter, he the Popi
she has long spoken of, the man who claims he killed Kennedy.
Los Angeles, September 8, 2010
Reprinted from USTheater (September 2010).
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