Carlotta Brenton as Claudia ( (left) listens attentively as Riccardo (Ace Young) shares painful memories and concerns for the future.
Individuals bearing scars of sexual victimization may prefer alternate histories to feel empowered and capable of some control over their lives. Those victims repeatedly denied justice may react more harshly than those receiving swift redress from perpetrators. In Vatican Falls, playwright Frank Avella vividly depicts the struggles, residual scar tissue, and raw anger of survivors of sexual assault by Catholic clergy whom they trusted.
Tucker Aust as Vi (left) and Riccardo (Young) confront some difficult truths.
The victims of Vatican Falls are unwilling to accept the church’s ongoing silence about, and complicity with, priests identified as abusers. Avella paints an explicit and disturbing account of survivors who recognize that the church, left to its own auspices, will neither end priest abuse nor publicly “name and shame” abusive clergy. Therefore, they conclude, their only recourse is drastic actions. In telling his story, Avella moves globally, to Boston, Rome, New York, and Los Angeles, as well as in and around the Vatican.
In conversations that transpire over decades, and in flashbacks of church services and home visits, it emerges that Father David has been preying on two vulnerable Italian American teenagers, Riccardo and his younger brother Peter, with increasing duplicity and potential deadliness. Avella amplifies the voices and pain of these brothers, and later, that of their alcoholic mother, Teresa, deluded by Father David’s surrogate fatherhood. Riccardo finally confronts her: “Where were you while your son ... sons were being molested by your precious confidant? Oblivious?” He adds, “Or maybe you knew and just didn’t want to really know?”
Riccardo (in an outstanding characterization by singer-songwriter Ace Young), now in his 30s, gets a job in Rome and romances Italian-born Claudia (Carlotta Brenton), a Vatican tour guide whose brother Gianluca (Jacopo Costantini) has his own secrets—even from her. Thus, family members’ rage is palpable when they discover their loved ones’ pain and the church’s complicity in perpetuating it.
Splitting the action into two nonlinear narratives, performed side by side, Avella and Brenton (who is also a co-director) skillfully alternate scenes of the brothers’ anguish, the blossoming romance between Riccardo and Claudia, and the verbal sparring of a heterogeneous group of men at Survivors of Catholic Abuse Refuge—acronym SCAR—meetings. It’s a global, heterogeneous network of men, straight and gay, married and unmarried, who hail from Boston, Los Angeles, and other cities. Their anger initially leads them to rip into one another, rather than those who betrayed them, in a way that is sometimes humorous and sometimes vicious, and reminiscent of The Boys in the Band.
The barbs directed at one another are soon supplanted by Vi’s (pronounced VEE) call to action. Vi, a flamboyantly gay activist, is portrayed by Tucker Aust, whose exaggeratedly overt passes and insults aimed at each of the men belie his deep solidarity with them. Vi is unwavering in his commitment to avenging the church’s complicity in hiding priests’ misdeeds. Danny Hilt convincingly portrays Charlie, a straight, working-class Bostonian and believing Catholic who distances himself from Scar’s gay members, especially Vi.
Vi: Gentlemen, are we a simple but fabulous threesome today?
Matt: Hi Vi!
Charlie: Jesus Christ.
Vi: Yes, love, it is his day of resurrection. If you still believe in all that.
Charlie: I do.
Vi: Is that attitude necessary? Do I really represent such a threat to you? You’re more than welcome to leave ... or stay. Your choice.
James Gracia as Peter (left) receives communion from Father David (Edward L. Simon). Photographs by Ashley Garrett.
Danny eventually marries, divorces, and aligns with Vi, as SCAR gathers in Rome to mobilize against the church.
The men’s conversations reveal sexual abuse’s visceral and psychological effects. The perpetrators never fully compensate for any harm inflicted. The church hierarchy ignores their crimes, shifting priests with records of abuse among different parishes. Vi rails at Pope John Paul II, who publicly condemned many injustices, says Vi, “but did he ever apologize to us? To the thousands upon thousands who had their purity pillaged?”
Frustrated by the church’s indifference and complicity, SCAR members’ anger escalates. They harness their demons and inflict punishment on both molesting priests and the church itself; their retribution recalls another alternate history, Quentin Tarantino’s film Inglourious Basterds.
The narrative and nonlinear timeline of Avella’s play is unique in conveying not only the rawness of the characters’ emotions but how they aggressively resolve it. For those audiences who believe that violence only begets more violence, the play may be extremely unsettling. Nevertheless, bearing in mind that this is theater, not reality, the intensity of the characters’ vocal condemnation of the church, from Pope Francis to his predecessors in centuries past, is a testament to the toxic effects of sexual abuse and its ripple effects from generation to generation.
Vatican Falls runs through Nov. 20 at The Tank, 312 W. 36th St. Performances are Thursday, Friday, and Sunday at 7 p.m. and Saturdays at 3 p.m. For more information, call (212) 563-6269 or visit thetanknyc.org/vatican-falls.
