When somebody offers to give you a large sum of money, the prudent response is either, "I'll believe it when I see it," or (more diplomatically), "That's very kind of you." Characters in plays, however, are presumed to proceed with sights riveted unwaveringly on the carrot at the end of the stick, never questioning the motives underlying such a transaction.
In Genius, we first meet Sara Portman, a once-cutting-edge feminist author whose books are now labeled "old favorites" at the local bibliothèque, and her husband, Joel, a museum curator currently under disciplinary suspension after emailing a picture of his—um, Anthony Weiner to an underage intern. Ah, but Sara has just been appointed one of the sworn-to-anonymity judges charged with nominating a candidate for a prestigious MacArthur fellowship (sometimes vulgarly called a "genius grant"). She promptly flouts the rules of her office by hinting to independent filmmakers Peter and Charlotte that she is considering recommending them for the sumptuous bequest. There's a catch, though—since the award can go only to a single individual, the potential recipients (who are also married to each other) must advise their King Lear-inspired benefactor regarding the more deserving.
Kate Walbert starts her story near the end of an evening's visit, the dramatic action subsequently flashing backward and forward in time. This mosaic narration strives to keep us off-balance as the expository revelations pile up, but playgoers refusing to be distracted by—yawn!—marital-power issues may observe that both Peter and Charlotte's replies to Sara's query, while reflecting the greed and betrayal she expects, nevertheless ascertains that their business will benefit, no matter which spouse brings home the philanthropic bacon.
Of course, this same scenario can be viewed (perhaps even by the playwright herself) as simply another threadbare case study in troubled-marriages-among-the-privileged-classes, but where's the fun in that? Director Darrell W. Cox has instructed Liz Zweifler, Stephanie Chavara, Cale Haupert and Robert Breuler to play their cards close to the vest, even when shifting Michelle Lilly's ultra-compact origami-like scenery, allowing audiences to parse the dynamic as guided by their own experience.
Anyway, this isn't even a play yet. At this stage of its development, it's more a first scene for a play, introducing its personnel and telling us what's eating them. What Walbert now has them do will ultimately determine where her finished play's empathies lie.
