I’m not sure what to call this. “Play” seems inappropriate; slice of life theater? Like French films, one has a sense of history before and after our observation. The piece has no arc, which may put some of you to sleep. Several minor occurrences, one major event, and some inexplicable behavior occur along an unseen time line. Orange sections are devoured like Manna from Heaven. Often everyone talks at once.
“What if like my pad falls out?… Coach is like so hung over. It’s embarrassing…What’s The Khmer Rouge …They’re like Nazis in Cambodia…We don’t get genocides till senior year… Try not to make jokes like that-the pregnancy joke…I always wanna call Central America Middle America…Doesn’t your mom drive a Prius?… You’ve got a sexy mom…. She has social anxiety disorder= SAD…my father’s ski house, but he won’t be there…he sells pot in the basement…upper body strength…all those Mexican kids in cages. They have like no place to go. …you guys are retarded…I think you mean Yurt, not yogurt. I live in a yurt with my mom…”
We watch girls synchronously exercise with visual variety. Looking down, there are sections that recall a Busby Berkeley production. One is socially fast. Two are scouted by professional teams. One has a breakdown. One is dying to make the finals and see Miami. One has a tendency towards concussions. (No kidding.) One throws up before every game. One ends up on crutches…We meet a mother under bad circumstances.
Actors are skilled. Everyone’s limber. Timing is precise. Dialogue is authentic. But why?
Paola Sanchez Abreu, Mia Barron (soccer mom), Brenna Coates, Jenna Dioguardi, Samia Finnerty, Midori Francis, Lizzy Jutila, Sarah Mezzanotte, Tedra Millan, Susannah Perkins
Photos by Julieta Cervantes
Lincoln Center Theater presents
The Wolves by Sarah DeLappe
Directed by Lila Neugebauer
The Mitzi Newhouse Theater
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