Written and directed by Jessica Almasy
Starring Matt Baguth, Kate Benson, Jill Frutkin, Fernando Gonzalez, Hannah Heller, Hannah Kallenbach, David Neal Levin, Teri Madonna, Eliana Mullins, Christopher Nunez, Nazli Sarpkaya and Brendan Titley
There are some interesting metaphors and provocative ambiguities at the center of Jessica Almasy’s kaleidoscopic examination of predatory instinct. There’s also quite a bit of clutter and noise, which mostly serves to obscure – and not in an intriguing, Dadaist way – the author’s intentions.
The plot concerns a group of twenty-somethings, a bit high and looking for adventure, who break into a zoo after hours. Two of them find a quiet place to make out, while the others stand by a tigress’s cage and philosophize about the nature of the cosmos. When one of them approaches the “tiger goddess”, the animal becomes hostile. Escaping her confines, she mauls the man to death. The whole thing is caught on security cameras, but the incompetent zoo cops but can’t figure out if the kids did anything to provoke the tiger, or even if the sex between the other couple was consensual. A TV pundit hosts a show concerning the event and callers chime in with opinions. Lots of other things happen as well: Girl scouts looking for thrill go to visit a psychotic cross-dresser, a pill addict encounters a talking tooth (who has the show’s cleverest line), various people spout obscure poetry and there are droll group therapy sessions which, despite the show’s avant garde trappings, feel like territory that’s been ploughed before.
Especially in the earlier scenes, the sound design is so thick and clamorous that the actors are forced to give unsubtle performances in order to be heard. Other beats are intentionally, though not compellingly, played flat, as when the news anchor sits and reads all the parts of a panel discussion as if it were a courtroom transcript (while on a projection screen we are for shown someone with A.D.D. endlessly revising a text message). The sad part of all this randomness is that when Almasy stays on-topic, she does achieve potent theatrical effects. There’s a sensitive monlogue in which the tigress, floating in a kind of afterlife, explains herself to her victim. And there are some erotically-charged scenes involving a courtship between the predator and her prey, and in which a possible rape victiim reaches a climax while telling her aggressor to stop. Here, at last, we have some primal questions: Are human beings attracted to the very things most likely to destroy us? Do we want to be taken, devoured? Do we identify with wild beasts even as we seek to remain safe from them?
These moments show talent and imagination, and it’s a shame that Almasy couldn’t see her way clear to pruning away the play’s more self-indulgent schtick. There’s nothing wrong with challenging an audience, prompting us to work harder to find connections between seemingly unrelated events. But good experimental theater is more than just a receptacle for sundry brain blips. As much, if not moreso than traditional forms, a non-linear presentation requires the author to separate the truly original from the merely weird. Both as a writer and and as a director, Almasy needs to take a more rigorous approach to honing her asthetic and finding the internal rhythms that make for a strong dramatic statement.
tiger tiger (on the nature of violence) continues through November 21 at Dixon Place, 161 Chrystie Street, New York, NY 10002. Tickets: https://web.ovationtix.com/trs/cal/171