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A CurtainUp DC Review
Falling Out of Time
An earlier book, To the End of the Land, which deals with the tragedy of parents losing a child, Grossman experienced great misfortune. One of his sons, who was serving in the Israeli Defense Forces, was killed in the Second Lebanon War in 2006. Grossman's next novel Falling Out of Time describes vividly the grief such a loss causes in real life. So much sadness is hard to witness. In Falling Out of Time, the play not the novel, the characters are already on stage and in the audience— immobile, dazed, not lively, as patrons take their seats. It begins with the Chronicler (Michael Russotto) visiting each inhabitant of the "village" shared by grieving parents, to record their stories. The Woman, played with exquisite sensitivity by Erika Rose, speaks. She wonders why her husband, named Man (Joseph Wycoff, in a strong performance), insists on visiting the place where their son was killed or where his body is buried (I'm not quite sure which). This piece has many ellipses. The Woman stays at home, wracked by grief. The midwife (Nora Achrati) mourns the death of her daughter while her husband, the Cobbler(Rafael Untalan), inflicts brutal wounds on himself. The Chronicler's Wife (Nanna Ingvarsson) is earthy but somewhat estranged from her husband. Duke, played by John Lescault with a patrician manner, oversees what is happening in the metaphorical "village" where residents share the same horrific experience. Leo Erickson is the Math Teacher everyone wishes that they had had. What a sweet, endearing performance. He would like to encourage others in their adventures with maths, while trying to calculate how to survive the death of his child. And locked into the stage, with only half his body visible for most of the evening, is the Centaur played by Edward Christian, whose deep voice, disheveled appearance and curt manner and yet plausible, makes him the most forceful, the most deranged of all the characters. Grief upends civility. Where Grossman's very moving description of what it feels like to be in a daze, unaware of anything other than sorrow, loses its profound grip on the audience is when the piece (it's not really a play but more a telling of stories) becomes less naturalistic. Actors, one by one, join Man circling the auditorium, holding on to each other presumably for empathy, for comfort. Lighting Designer Colin K. Bills has kept the stage suitably dark up to the circling business. Then, as if out of nowhere the lights get brighter, sunnier and the characters seem to be less unhappy (though not ready to dance the hora by a long shot.) After lightness, director/adaptor Derek Goldman has all the actors strip down to body suits that are embellished with red and blue lines of twine representing arteries? veins? They then lie down on stage and get up again. Say what? Are they being reborn? Maybe this confusion was intended maybe not. But up until this final scene, which is too long, Grossman and Goldman have provided great insight into the form of grief that comes from a parent losing his or her child.
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