Consider for a moment how many great works of art originated with a young man trying to impress a girl (or boy—let's be fair), or a young woman pouring out her heart to an unseen listener/viewer. Consider, also, the popular icons whose acclaim faded with the passing of their fan base. (Thomas Kyd's dramas consistently outsold Shakespeare's, but how many theaters do The Spanish Tragedy nowadays?)
The fact is, we can never truly be certain of our legacies. Eric Argyle, the hero of Ross Dungan's play, isn't thinking of posterity as he records his memoirs in a series of faux-fictional tales, addressed to his best friend's widow, but never mailed. When the solitary chronicler perishes at the age of 58 in an accident while crossing the street in the town he never abandoned, the unanswered questions his sudden departure engenders mandates the assembling of a tribunal in the afterworld to examine his stay upon the earth.
The purpose of this inquest is to determine, not whether the deceased is to rest in peace, but whether those he left behind are to do so. Will the jury ( that's us, by the way, but don't worry—our verdict is conveyed by silent assent) decide to allow the humble village store-clerk to die as anonymously as he lived, or will it vote to orchestrate a resolution for the survivors whose destinies were influenced, however briefly, by his acquaintance?
Well, what do you THINK it does? Can there be any argument over the worthiness of a lonely lover reaching from beyond the grave to comfort the woman who never suspected his devotion—not to mention the neighbors, classmates and relations comprising his narrow social circle? Oh, and let's not forget the musician who never met him but unexpectedly finds herself the recipient of a lengthy manuscript posted to the previous owner of her house, whom she vows to locate, despite the intervening distance, for delivery of the belated epistle.
Author Dungan erects numerous obstacles to ensure that the road of you-know-what never run smooth, but a narrative proposing a performance time of 105 intermissionless minutes demands presentation sufficient to hold its audience's attention while setting up its premise. The thirteen-member Steep Theater cast operating under the direction of Jonathan Berry accomplishes this task, navigating their intricate text with agility and alacrity right up to a suspense-filled climax that will have theatergoing romantics sniffling into their hankies and the rest pretending not to.
