Next Act Theater's production of Purgatorio gives Milwaukee audiences a chance to see two actors at the top of their form. They play a cat-and-mouse game that is completely spellbinding for the play's 90 minutes.
Playwright Ariel Dorfman (who also wrote Death of a Maiden often tackles weighty issues, and this play is no exception. In Purgatorio, his vision of the afterlife is a sterile room, almost bare except for a metal table and chairs and a metal hospital bed. (In fact, most hospital rooms these days are far cheerier than this set.) Perhaps the set looks more like an antiseptic psychiatric ward. In any case, the room's only door sits near the back of the stage. It is metal, too, and contains a small, square window laced with chicken wire. Yet, the door is unlocked.
That doesn't stop the room's occupants from anxiously peering out of the window from time to time. They refer to each other as Man and Woman. One wears a lab coat; the other is casually attired in shades of gray. Notably, the Woman is barefoot. The situation reverses itself about halfway through the play. Without changing costumes, the actors swap the lab coat. It becomes evident that whoever is wearing the lab coat becomes the interrogator, the guide, the one in control. Both characters express their discomfort with this set-up. As the play progresses, one of the characters utters a key phrase about time being elliptical "it turns back on itself." The pair come to find out how true this is.
In creating the play's scenario, Dorfman borrows from Greek mythology. The Man and the Woman could easily have been called Jason and Medea. The Woman betrays her own people and her own identity to further the Man's ambitions. Eventually, he discards her for another woman. In revenge, the Woman kills her own sons rather than let them be taken away.
Although Dorfman argues for the healing power of forgiveness, he understands human nature. Feelings of guilt, hatred, revenge, loss and acceptance must all be settled first.
Angela Iannone portrays every nuance her character provides. At first, she is edgy, distrustful and angry at the Man who was the love of her life. Wearing a clipped, dark haircut and a formless gray dress, she prowls the room like a jaguar. Her fiery eyes convey the magical powers she once claimed she had. She whips her head dramatically at the interrogator's questions like a force of nature that has been captured in a bottle.
As artfully directed by Mary MacDonald Kerr, the Man reacts dispassionately to her outbursts. He often threatens her with leaving. "You'll be assigned to someone else. I won't see you again," he warns, dispassionately. When the roles are reversed, Iannone take on the detached, analytical role while Artistic Director David Cecsarini (the Man) paces about the room. She is amused that he spends so much time toning a body that is clearly not his. Only his soul, and his memories, remain from his past life. He is as distrustful and antsy as Iannone was in the previous scene. He keeps thinking that if he can "fool" his captor he will win an early release from his room. But the lab-coated Woman has other duties in store for him. The ending if not shocking will certainly come as a surprise.
Only an acting duo as powerful as this one could wring the full meaning out of Dorfman's script. The pair must be evenly matched, and the director assures that the delicate balance is maintained. It is a pleasure to watch such fine performers burst forward with hurricane-force strength from the theater's intimate stage. This is a powerful, thought-provoking play that is likely to stir conversation long after the curtain has come down.
