'Dead Man's Cell Phone' connects despite static
Sarah Ruhl's "Dead Man's Cell Phone," in its Chicago premiere at Steppenwolf Theatre, begins with an intriguing premise. A woman, annoyed by the incessant ringing of her fellow cafe patron's cell phone, goes to confront the man and finds him dead. When his cell phone continues to ring, she answers it. Before long, the woman, played by longtime Ruhl collaborator Polly Noonan, has insinuated herself into the lives of the man's friends and family to whom she provides awkward but heartfelt comfort. In doing so, this lonely woman finds the human connection that has eluded her.
The playful dramedy concludes on a lovely, lyrical note with Noonan's mousy but endearing Jean insisting upon an "absolutely requited" love that will endure because of and not in spite of each partner's flaws and eccentricities.
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But somewhere around the middle of the second act Ruhl's theatrical, often poignant yet self-consciously surreal play gets too wrapped up in itself. Relying too heavily on whimsy for whimsy's sake, it loses its way. Even for a play that embraces the fantastic the way "Dead Man's Cell Phone" does, when the protagonist charges off to Africa armed with good intentions and a homemade kidney lamp, the play has drifted off the dramatic highway and onto its gravel shoulder. (For the record, Ruhl's "Passion Play," which had its Chicago premiere last fall at Goodman Theatre, had similar problems).
That said, this meditation on communication and connection and the capacity for technology to both bring us together and drive us apart, "Dead Man's Cell Phone" has a quirky charm. Its existential musings keep things interesting. And while they don't add much to the narrative, the twirling umbrellas and softly illuminated paper houses look adorable.
Directed by Jessica Thebus, the play unfolds on Scott Bradley's Edward Hopper-inspired set defined by muted colors and long lines and dominated by a large picture window that opens onto a dark void that seemingly suggests the ether where souls and cell-phone conversations ultimately reside.
Noonan plays the childlike Jean -- whose circumstantial connection to a dead man threatens the very real connection she makes with his living brother -- with an appealing vulnerability that grows a bit tedious but is hard to resist.
Marc Grapey plays Gordon, the dead businessman who "redistributes organs" among a worldwide network of suppliers and customers. It's his phone Jean "inherits."
Grapey, who plays the role with the confidence and menace of a mob boss who's just had his latest indictment overturned, gets the play's best monologue: a darkly comic riff in which Gordon recalls his last day alive. His soliloquy opens the second act and Grapey performs it flawlessly. In doing so, he injects the play with a welcome shot of adrenaline and testosterone.
Gordon's brother Dwight (a sparingly written role nicely acted by Coburn Goss) lacks Gordon's swagger. But he makes up for it with a gentle soul which finds its mate in Jean. Bonding over stationery -- an archaic but ultimately more concrete mode of communication -- the misfits fall sweetly in love in one of the play's loveliest scenes.
Rounding out the cast as the women in Gordon's life are Sarah Charipar as his zaftig mistress; Mary Beth Fisher as his ambivalent wife Hermia and the great Molly Regan as his imperious and moving as his mother who has resigned herself to mourning him forever.
"Dead Man's Cell Phone"
2#189; stars out of four
Location: Steppenwolf Upstairs Theatre, 1650 N. Halsted St., Chicago
Times: 7:30 p.m. Tuesdays to Fridays; 3 and 7:30 p.m. Saturdays; 3 p.m. (through June 22) and 7:30 p.m. Sundays through July 27; also 2 p.m. June 25, July 2, 9, 16 and 23
Running Time: About 2 hours, with intermission
Tickets: $20-$68
Parking: $9 in lot adjacent to the theater
Box office: (312) 335-1650 or steppenwolf.org
Rating: For adults, strong language, mature subject matter