Awkward Age

Eighteen becomes sidetracked in its exploration of female masochism

If you don't think too hard about Eighteen, the centerpiece production of Kitchen Dog Theater's 2001 New Works Festival, this small, concentrated domestic drama will give you the kind of chills normally inspired by supernatural yarns. There's not a drop of ectoplasm to be found in native Texan and Southern Methodist University grad Allison Moore's play about a fragile teen-age girl who unwittingly comes between a thirtysomething married couple, but this trio lives in what could fairly be described as a haunted house. They're spooked by unfulfilled ambitions, unknown and scary futures, tragically disrupted pasts and a seeming inability to separate their desires for food, sex and love.

Director Dan Day and sound designer Sam Wagster have chosen to play innocuous sounds at loud levels in darkness and semidarkness to set the creepy mood--ice clinking in a bowl, a door creaking slowly open, heavy breathing during sex and perhaps most disturbing of all, the sound of fat frying. They're visitations of stray physical sensations, and they suggest the cravings that operate behind the polite, concerned faces in a disintegrating household.

Tina Parker and Jill Matelan are trapped in a twisted family dynamic they're barely aware of in Kitchen Dog's premiere of Allison Moore's domestic horror story.
Tina Parker and Jill Matelan are trapped in a twisted family dynamic they're barely aware of in Kitchen Dog's premiere of Allison Moore's domestic horror story.

Details

Eighteen runs through July 1 at the McKinney Avenue Contemporary, 3120 McKinney Ave. Call (214) 953-1055.

The BFG: Big Friendly Giant runs through June 24 at El Centro College Theater, 801 N. Main St. Call (214) 978-0110.

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Christine (Jill Matelan) is just a short time away from her 18th birthday and wrapping up her high school senior year. The unexpected death of her mother has landed her in the house of her uncle Dan (Max Hartman), a computer expert, and aunt Marie (Tina Parker), a nurse and amateur chef of awesome ability. Dan's on the verge of trying to sell his own allegedly revolutionary software--a virtually tamperproof program that reads fingerprints and allows only those authorized to access information--while Marie is pondering late motherhood and the possibility of opening her own restaurant.

Everyone's life in Eighteen is harried and on the brink of change, but nothing seems untoward, at first. The circumstances accumulate slowly. Christine goes to the kitchen at night to compulsively eat, drink water and immerse her hands in ice cubes. Dan's impassioned belief in his own software as savior of the Information Age veers close to obsession. And Marie cooks up ever more elaborate meals at all hours of the day, which she insists Christine eat--at first with an air of doting concern, and later with a punitive enthusiasm. As the teen-age guest spirals into despair over her thickening body, Dan and Marie's marriage shatters in a single, witnessed act of "nurturing."

Leaving aside the fact that Matelan as Christine flubbed a few cues on the Saturday night I attended, all three performers are exemplary. But Eighteen loses some of its affectingly mordant sheen the longer you ponder playwright Moore's ideas and how they do--rather, don't--fit together. Dan's privacy-preserving, fingertip-identification technology, in particular, seems an excuse to debate recent Internet-era fears about identity theft and the sanctity of personal information; it's never satisfactorily incorporated into Moore's more visceral explorations of warped body images and parental affection congealing into carnal desire. There's a peculiar variety of self-loathing that only teen-age girls seem capable of, one that leads them to cut their arms, starve themselves, regularly induce vomiting and overeat till they swell. No one has made a hard connection between these punishments and the onset of menstruation and sexual curiosity, although most people believe it's there. The playwright and Kitchen Dog Theater guide us impressively through this swampy psychosomatic hell; if only they can find ways to keep the sights along the tour pertinent and authentic to this region, then Eighteen will be an unqualified success at mapping female masochism.


"Grown-up humans is not famous for their kindness," declares The BFG, or Big Friendly Giant (Douglas Burks) to Sophie (Kelly Abbott), an orphan he's snatched from her bedroom while walking across England at midnight. His statement almost serves as a manifesto for the late children's author Roald Dahl; it certainly is the common experience of many a heroine/hero penned by the gloriously nasty English writer. The tyrannical headmistress who rules the orphanage locks Sophie in the closet as punishment--a small detail in Dallas Children's Theater's stage adaptation of Dahl's The BFG: Big Friendly Giant that makes you flinch from the unintended parallels to a recent horrific North Texas tale of child abuse. Would that kids in the real world were as resourceful and generally unflappable as Dahl's pint-sized survivors and adventurers. And yet the author never frames their perils as character-building or them as role models of superhuman courage. They merely possess a certain Anglified common sense that allows them to stand back and let the wretched adults who neglect and oppress them become entangled in grown-up vices of greed, sloth and bad personal hygiene.

The BFG: Big Friendly Giant sacrifices little of Dahl's taste for wicked cartoon sadism in David Woods' script and under Artie Olaisen's gleeful if sometimes scattered direction. Although, if I remember correctly, the author's original story contained description of the bones and blood that roaming giants with names like Meatdripper and Gizzardgulper slurp down during nightly jaunts across Europe eating citizens. The adapters have mopped up the carnage a bit, leaving The BFG to mournfully describe to Sophie the "crackety-crackety-crack" sound of the locals being munched without culinary detail about their red juices.

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