photo: courtesy of Collaboraction
Adam Rapp's "Trueblinka," brought to us by Collaboraction, wants you to know a thing or two about revered American social institutions like the Church and the Family. They're apparently festering with vileness and corruption. Who knew?
"Trueblinka" is a reference to an infamous Nazi concentration camp, indicating that perhaps the script was a finalist in a cheeky-title contest. The play follows the plight of the Klieg children, Ephesia and Avis (earnestly portrayed by Laura Tatar and Mick Larocca), who live in terror of their vicious mother Rilthe (Craige Christensen), a Christofascist and cartoon monster.
When she's not abusing her children with the help of her older son, Amos (a "Deliverance"-style sadist played by Brad Smith), she spends most of her time tossing off surprisingly articulate monologues about the inferiority of the mongrel races and the swellness of Jesus. She doesn't devour any live puppies onstage, but you get the feeling they were thinking about it.
Also hanging around is the children's father (Bill McGough), whom we are told in his day was as perversely evil as mommy but now suffers from brain damage and is therefore Wise and Good. He speaks in a series of witty and lyrical non-sequiturs, the way all fictional crazy people do.
The play never wavers in its determination to obliterate its easy targets. The litany of horrors we're subjected to—murder, rape, incest, torture, even the deformed sibling who is kept prisoner in the attic—are surely meant to be shocking, but come off as familiar. Nothing insightful is said about the nature of religious extremism other than the fact that it is bad.
Committed acting and exceptionally good lighting and set design do lead to a few genuinely creepy and affecting moments, and things undeniably pick up in the second act, when the pretensions to social relevance are largely abandoned and the show rises to the level of competent melodrama. At this point we can cheer at the plucky Klieg children's effort to escape from the clutches of their wicked oppressors.
Unfortunately, given the epic two-and-a-half hour length, the climax comes far too late, Rapp would have done well to prune his horrific displays of depravity a bit. A polish by children's author Lemony Snicket might have taken the play to heights of greatness.
Through Dec. at Chicago Dramatists, 1105 W. Chicago. Shows 8 p.m. Friday-Saturday; 3 p.m. Sunday. Tickets cost $18-$25, call (312) 226-9633.
