Becky Shaw, by Gina Gionfriddo opens with a most irritating, fast-talking performance by David Wilson Barnes. It's a grating exhibition of repulsiveness as tedious reminiscences are shared with his faux sister with nothing happening, and the word "fuck" used as an adjective every other paragraph.
I found the remaining play to be annoying and boring, like a bad sitcom, but stayed to see what it might become in the second act. It got a bit better: a try for relevance with a psychological examination of racism and a little melodrama, robbery and sex, and a few good aphorisms. Annie Parisse, as the title, brings life to a character who appears to be just a pretty moron but turns out to be, perhaps, clever. Parisse is a good actress in a bad soap. The rest of the cast are all quite good, except that Barnes remains as nasty a repellent as I've ever seen on a stage. I would blame director Peter DuBois for the excesses in this performance. And the "fucks" get thicker perhaps a feeble thrust at naturalism by the author.
Derek McLane's active set is excellent, as are costumes by Jeff Mahshie and lighting by David Weiner. Obviously, this wasn't my cup of drama.
