Playwright: Carrie J. Sullivan
At: The Factory Theater, 1623 W. Howard St. Tickets: TheFactoryTheater.com; $18-25. Runs through: April 21
Set in 1997 Chicago, Factory Theater's world premiere of The Next Big Thing shows a tacit understanding of the decade, and the city at the time, at best.
Yes, everyone proudly displayed his or her angst alongside flannel shirts and cut-off jeans. Yes, open-mic nights and soulful singer-songwriters reigned supreme, while the resurgence of bubble-gum pop was just around the corner. And, yes, Tamagotchi virtual pets were in vogue. Other than these factors, playwright and Factory ensemble member Carrie J. Sullivan hasn't done her homework on the late '90s or how recording contracts work, nor can she choose a protagonist. Add into that the completely tasteless representation of gay men and The Next Big Thing, which starts out fairly promising, soon devolves into a mess of half-baked one-liners, a predictable plot, and half-baked one-liners and cultural references.
The Next Big Thing is Sullivan's first full-length play, and it shows. Although it clocks in at a mercifully short one hour and 45 minutes ( counting intermission ), the action drags and the dialogue is decidedly not compelling.
The play is a standard fish-out-of-water story, with naive 19-year-old Beth ( Allison Grischow ) arriving from Michigan with her guitar and a dream, only to find out that the record producer who discovered her has since passed away. When the producer's adult daughter, Alex ( Mary Jo Bolduc ), and his grandson, Toby ( Raj Bond ), decide to take a chance on her, they're met with resistance by flashy rival Clive ( Tim Newell ) and his protegee, hopeful pop princess Monica ( Kiayla Ryann ). ( Never mind that pop stars of the late '90s and early aughts were mostly former child hoofers grown in LA or Orlando, not rich girls from Winnetka who dressed like characters from Clueless. )
Although the plot is standard, The Next Big Thing could have been a fun nostalgic piece or a twist on a tale as old as time. Instead, only Alex is written with any sort of nuance: a woman struggling to keep her father's dream afloat while still mourning his death. The rest of the characters range from irritatingly predictable to downright insulting. Clive is a Truman Capote parody, flinging around his sparkling scarf and demanding that a dive bartender mix him a Tequila Sunrise.
Even worse, the personal assistant to one of Beth's heroes, played by Jake Szczpaniak, is nasty, high-voiced and limp-wristed, at one point sporting a T-shirt that says "I Love Wiener." It's as if Sullivan's only exposure to the queer population was very early episodes of Will & Grace. These offensive characterizations are reason enough to avoid The Next Big Thing, which from beginning to end relies on laziness rather than the innovation on which '90s singer-songwriters prided themselves.