Chicken Shop is a coming-of age-story that takes notable twists into the realm of sexual trafficking as well as sex-related obsessions, problem-packed parenting, and bullying. As teen-age Hendrix, son of a lesbian mother and absentee father, Joseph Flynn makes an impressive debut in and along with a new downtown Sarasota theater dedicated to edgy plays of contemporary import.
Accosted physically and emotionally by schoolmates, who think he must be like his demonstrably gay mother, he hopes to confirm his male sexuality with Moldovan prostitute Luminita (Ashley Scallon, devastating). Controlled completely by Hungarian sex-slaver Leko (Jason Bradley, strong, cruel but ruthlessly charming) she can only “work, clean, sleep” upstairs of a fried chicken shop.
Contrasts between life with Hendrix’s mother Hilary (Lauren Wood, rightly playing conflicted) and sessions with Luminita abound. Owner of an organic foods store, Hilary insists on her son’s dietary regime and decries his devotion to TV gaming in their ‘60s furnished flat. She’s underwhelmed by his bruises and desire to change schools because she’s besotted with her new lover, after the recent loss of a seven-year one who replaced Hendrix’s walkout father.
Hilary needs youthful Katie (Lucy Lavely, always self-centered) to make her “feel young” again. Katie’s interaction with Hendrix, though, mixes desire to have him like her as if she were his caring sister with a compulsion to tease him about sexual issues, like possessing porno. She’s into demanding trust that she herself doesn’t give. About all the three share is red wine.
Luminita’s challenge is to get Hendrix to perform. Though it’s her duty at first, she develops feeling for him. In her dim lit, small austere room with closed draped window, she’s eaten only chicken until Hendrix brings her an organic apple and orange. She drinks and dispenses cheap beer.
Whereas elaborately nightgowned Hilary and Katie engage, pot-aided, in a sofa love match, Luminita prepares for customers with a more potent smoke from Leko and wears a scanty black outfit with easily removed panties. But Hendrix shows his affection for her by connecting her via his mobile phone to her sister at home. It’s her birthday, but in a way, his too.
Musical bridges and short blackout prove effective between scenes. I’d wish for some indication of where the kitchen is in Hendrix’s home, because all that’s seen is a dining table and chairs with a low cabinet in back but no refrigeration. His bedroom intrigues because it’s postered almost entirely with pix of male musicians.
Director Barbara Redmond manages to use the small stage space to advantage, though the last scene seems a tad cramped. She’s picked up on all the telling details Anna Jordan’s absorbing play offers. The ending involves comparisons, not contrasts, between Hendrix and Luminita. It’s well worth waiting for in Urbanite Theater’s production, with actors, especially Flynn and Scallon, so ably guided by Redmond.
