Playwright: Beth Wohl
At A Red Orchid Theatre, 1531 N. Wells Ave. Tickets 312-943-8722 or ARedOrchidTheatre.org; $30-$40. Runs through: Dec. 9
The wordlessness of A Red Orchid Theatre's Small Mouth Sounds takes getting used to, at least initially. But playwright Beth Wohl's 100-minute drama about a "silent retreat" lacks nothing in drama or storytelling. In director Shade Murray's seven-person ensemble, the intricate lives of six retreat participants and their increasingly frazzled teacher are vivid, compelling and dynamic.
A largely dialogue-free play could seem gimmicky, more of an exercise for actors than anything an audience could fully appreciate. But Wohl has descriptive powers that many more conventional wordsmiths lack. Murray's ensemble is up to the formidable task of creating characters largely without the benefit of words.
As the group trudges in toting various backpacks and satchels, each individual in it takes shape. Rodney ( Travis A. Knight ) is some kind of Youtube yogi, tall, supple, and a fan of shirtlessness, leather necklaces and the micro-bikini briefs that male Bikram devotees favor. Joan ( Jennifer Engstrom ) and Judy ( Cynthia Hines ) arrive as a couple, their faces etched with stress and hope. Alicia ( Heather Chrisler ) is wried with tension and can't stop twiddling with her phone. Ned ( Levi Holloway ) has the bearing of somebody who has been beaten down, repeatedly, for years. Jan ( Lawrence Grimm ) is uneasy, all suspicious glances and awkward limbs.
Wohl incrementally, ingeniously illuminates the reasons that brought everyone to this wilderness of wordlessness. Holloway gets a monologue ( in the retreat's "satsang," aka a sacred gathering and/or Q and A session ) that reveals a lifetime of woes that would try Job. It's to Holloway's credit that his soap-opera worthy litany makes Ned a figure of genuine empathy. You'll feel for the guy, even if he is all but wearing the thumb-and-index finger "L" on his forehead.
Engstrom and Hines' Joan and Judy are also dealing with tragedyor rather, the very real possibility that tragedy will hit them both with tremendous force in the very near future. When Joan has a meltdown that sends her fleeing for the nearest Starbucks, it's as primal as it is relatable. Hines' Judy doesn't have the same emotional pyrotechnics, but in her stillness, there's immeasurable, unmistakable anger and sorrow.
Chrisler shows the reason behind Alicia's inability to unplug with ferocious impact during a feral moment when the only sounds are screams and the lulling birdsong of the forest. Rodney, meanwhile, is wholly fascinating. He's one of those people who seem to glide with ease through the world: Exceptionally, conventionally beautiful by any measure and wholly at ease with his body. Rodney's issues, Wohl leads us to conclude, aren't necessarily rooted in things that have been done to him but rather things that he has done.
Gerachis' off-stage teacher offers guidance you can find in just about any self-help book you'd care to peruse, but it's not without wisdom. Still, her soothing tranquility cracks as the retreat continues, eventually revealing that enlightenment is always a destination, never a place one actually reaches.
Grimm has one of the toughest assignments as Jan, for reasons that don't become clear until the final moments of the production. There's a short, searing ( wordless ) moment when he reveals the reason for his stay, a quick shrug that makes up understand precisely what has happened to him. But when the retreat ends and the others grasp in relief at the connective tissue that words provide, Jan remains misunderstood and isolated.
Sound designer Jeffrey Levin fills the space with the alternately soothing and fearsome sounds of untrammeled nature, while Myron Elliott-Cisneros' costumes provide a thousand words ( at least ) worth of character development.