By Jim Schutze
By Rachel Watts
By Lauren Drewes Daniels
By Anna Merlan
By Lee Escobedo
By Eric Nicholson
There isn't much to hang onto plotwise, either. Out for a walk, a young couple, Joyce (Lori McCarty) and Karl (Abel Flores Jr.), sneak into what they assume to be an empty mansion. Instead they find rooms occupied by a neurotic rock star (Iknur Ozgur, a dead ringer for Gina Gershon), a hyper teenager (Mardi Robinson), a bald baron (Brad Hennigan), a giggling exhibitionist (Raquel Lydia Leal) and a monster (Ben Miró). Joyce and Karl get separated on their through-the-looking-glass adventure and spend close to two hours trying to get out of the house—or whatever alternative reality or psychological weirdness the house symbolizes.
Characters say things like, "Do you want to talk about the philosophy of exhaustion?" and "I'm having a bird moment." There are endless repetitions of banalities such as "We have to talk" and "Everything happens for a reason." The baron, wearing Spider-man underwear, grabs his crotch and says, "The balls speak in mysterious ways."
3636 Turtle Creek
Dallas, TX 75219
Region: Uptown & Oak Lawn
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Actually, everyone here seems to be talking out of his or her ass. It's a prolonged, profane mess.
If Riccio was going for something akin to a mash-up of Alice in Wonderland and Sartre's No Exit, he's only succeeded in making the audience feel trapped and confused. As the actors shriek on and on about shaved pussies, talking scrotums and vibrating testicles, you'll begin to obsess about another organ—the eardrum—and how to puncture it. Look under the seats for a pencil stub, hairpin or rusty nail. Really, anything pointy will do.
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