by Michele Markarian
‘Cardboard Piano’ – Written by Hansol Jung. Directed by Benny Sato-Ambush. Presented by New Repertory Theatre, 321 Arsenal Street, Watertown through April 14.
Adiel (Rachel Cognata) and Chris (Marge Dunn) are young lovers – Chris is sixteen – who have planned a makeshift wedding ceremony for themselves on New Year’s Day, 2000, in the church in Uganda where Chris’s missionary dad is pastor. The young woman are very different – Adiel is comfortable with her sexuality, Chris is not (“Fuck around in my house of worship and I’ll throw a bolt at your head,” Chris says in God’s voice, when thunder and lightning abound outside). Chris’s parents have found out about her and Adiel and are very upset, to the point where Chris has drugged them and stolen their car keys so that she and Adiel can escape. After saying their vows into a tape recorder, Chris and Adiel are interrupted by a young man of thirteen, Pika (Marc Pierre), who brandishes a gun and threatens to kill Chris. Pika is wounded, and Adiel insists on taking care of him before they leave. After dressing Pika’s wound, Adiel goes to her aunt’s house to say goodbye and grab a suitcase. Pika, an abducted child soldier, tells Chris that he has committed sins too atrocious for even God to forgive (“I’m a terrible soul and so He has forgotten about me”). Chris insists that God will forgive, and on the same tape recorder used to record her “marriage”, creates a healing for Pika that absolves him of his sin. But Pika is wanted, and a young soldier (Michael Ofori) comes to the Church looking for him. Instead he finds Adiel, returning with a suitcase. A scuffle ensues, Pika commits one more atrocity, and then, when he discovers the true nature of Adiel’s and Chris’s relationship, commits another.
It’s a taut, tense first act. Dunn and Cognata play well off of each other, with Dunn being the more self-conscious and uptight of the two, while Cognata is looser, more open. It’s the attraction of opposites. Pierre captures the broken, sad child inside of the burgeoning man, and Ofori is menacing as the soldier. Indeed, I clutched my companion’s arm and emitted a few gasps before the hour was up. We all sat, spent, as the lights went up after the first act. Murmurings of “Where can they go from here?” circulated in our corner.
Unfortunately, the second act that lacked the tight writing and suspense of the first. Chris has returned to the church from the States, many years later, to bury her father’s ashes. I won’t give the plot away, but there’s a series of coincidences that stretch credibility. Nonetheless, Chris, ever the pastor’s daughter, manages to overcome the trauma of being confronted by her past and deliver yet another healing. What I found confusing is that the two actors playing Pika and the Soldier have traded places, so that the grown up Pika is not the same as the teenaged Pika, and it takes a while to catch on. The play also ends with the pastor’s wife, Ruth (Cognata) listening to the girls’ original “marriage” ceremony on the tape recorder. As it wasn’t Ruth’s journey, this didn’t make sense, at least to this reviewer.
That said, director Sato-Ambush and his excellent cast deliver. Dunn has a self-contained vulnerability in Act Two that works well for the broken, adult Chris. Ofori captures well the losing battle with Pika, or Pastor Paul as he calls himself, with his inability to forgive. Pierre lends a sweetness to Francis. Cognata’s Ruth is a pleasure to watch; she embodies the loving spirit her husband is trying to approximate. Cognata also has excellent comic timing; the few moments of levity throughout the two-hour play come from her quick delivery. Scenic Designer Jon Savage, Lighting Designer Scott Pinkney and Sound Designer Dewey Dellay contribute greatly to the verisimilitude of the Ugandan township, where child soldiers and anti-homosexual laws can tragically co-exist. It’s a stark and startling reminder to remain vigilant and aware, even in our country where such things don’t happen – yet. For tickets and information, go to: http://www.newrep.org/
