Mark St. Germain’s play is not about dancing lessons, as its name suggests. In fact, any lessons imparted are about autism, the hero, Ever’s, condition. At a National Autism Coalition banquet honoring him, he needs to perform a dance, preferably short, fast, and with little or no touching his partner. Will he learn how from neighbor Senga?
A professional dancer, Senga’s wallowing in pills and liquor and overworking her remote pointing toward music programs since a car hit and treatment left her in with a full leg brace. At her door, Ever surprises her with an offer: if she’ll teach him the dance he needs, $2,153 for an hour. He’s based the amount on his accustomed data research, which also found her. Their interaction amounts to a theatrical cute meet, and it seems bound to lead to more than one kind of partnership.
As they get to know each other, Ever’s behavior--avoiding touch and close eye contact, speaking with little inflection, gesturing awkwardly, constantly explaining facts or himself--seems more and more “normal.” Senga, who begins as all surface and devoted to her own problems, eventually accepts Ever’s offer and gets to liking him, teaching him, and learning from him. But she’s still inhibited by what’s really a fear of an operation that might restore her to dancing and a previous romance or else have opposite effects.
Can the two really change? Should they? There’s a titillating or funny (depending on one’s point of view) scene of sensory exploration by Ever and (for regular theatergoers) the obligatory sex scene, with condoms not forgotten. But what about banquet night?
During the duo’s relationship, videos of their pasts and present activities (hers centered on x-rays, his on his coming speech plus her dancing) inform them, as well as the audience. So there are hurtles to be met before the banquet’s come and gone, leaving a good or bad change.
Just as it seems the playwright didn’t know how to finish the story he’d begun, the drama comes to the end that assures it’s a comedy. As usual, director Kate Alexander has helped the cast find the truth in their situations and emotions. Jason Cannon’s Ever, although initially seeming more blind than autistic, carries on with humor but also personal dignity and professorial awareness. Vanessa Moresco’s at-first cool Senga warms up to a change of heart and perspective.
The actors‘ costumes reflect their professions, though I doubt Senga as a dancer would have an extensive, highly placed visible tattoo--inappropriate even for auditioning.
Thanks to the designing Curley-Clays, Senga has an appropriately messy apartment with colorful unmade bed, an Alvin Ailey poster, a wide city view, soft sofa, and small barre. Lighting is extraordinary and sound well-cued. Ms. Alexander can shout, like her cast but also about her crew, “We did it!”
