One (Leonardo Gómez) reviews a job applicant in The Hummingbirds, a dystopian drama by Garret Jon Groenveld.
The fun thing about writing a fantasy set in the future or in some alternate universe is, of course, you get to make up your own rules. Garret Jon Groenveld’s The Hummingbirds, a dystopian fantasy set in a future of indeterminate distance, has been kicking around for a decade or so, but it is currently making its New York debut at the Chain Theatre. Groenveld depicts a highly regulated society, yet a violent and anarchic one, and it’s debatable whether we’ve moved closer to such an environment since he wrote it. But no question, the man has imagination, and his vision is efficiently presented in a well-staged, well-acted little production.
Two (Francesca Ravera) is mostly sending job applicants off to be strippers.
We see this disturbing landscape through the eyes of two civil servants, One and Two, who, the script is careful to delineate, can be played by “any age, race, gender.” In this instance, One (Leonardo Gómez) is thirtysomething and single, while Two (Francesca Ravera) is married. The audience learns the specifics of this semi-police state in dribs and drabs, mostly through their on-the-job interactions at a very special, government-run unemployment office. “If you can walk, you can work,” goes a state motto, and if you haven’t had a job for a while, One and Two will find you one, which you had better take. Sifting through a pile of manila folders (what, does this future lack computers?), they address applicants with a starched civility, assigning them unappetizing-sounding positions for which they may or may not be qualified.
The most ubiquitous job available—to both sexes, evidently—is “stripper,” with subsidiary responsibilities that aren’t hard to guess. The government runs huge strip joints, and that turns out to be what Two’s husband does. The least employable applicants are sent to “the front,” where, one gathers, a brutal war is being fought, and they’re not likely to return. Oh, and yes, there are hummingbirds, and they’ve become nasty predators, somewhat recalling Regretfully, So the Birds Are at Playwrights Horizons last season.
“Groenveld depicts a highly regulated society ... the man has imagination, and his vision is efficiently presented.”
Groenveld has a schematic way of structuring scenes, seizing and expanding on a point in an unnatural, nonliteral way. Sometimes it’s used to good comic effect, as in a scene of One and Two assigning increasingly absurd jobs: “Drafter of semicircles.” “Testicle processor.” “Kerfuffle coordinator.” Another, with Two being held for interrogation, has her unspooling a long monologue where she recalls better times, a series of “Used to be”s. It’s a tough scene, and Ravera ably communicates the uncertainty and panic Two is experiencing without overdoing it.
Overt emotions, in fact, seem to be frowned on in this landscape, which keeps both Gómez and Ravera underplaying. The handsome Gómez inhabits what is probably the closest thing to an average guy in this awkward environment, where One leads an unexciting, regimented existence. He can read, but only state-sanctioned materials. He can go to bars and “get lucky,” as he puts it, but he’s not much inclined to. Two goes to the movies. Both are subject to random violence, requiring them to be constantly armed, and must conclude each workday with an end-of-day report to unseen intimidating authorities. They use stilted language: One lives in an “abode,” Two in a “dwelling.” Spontaneity just doesn’t happen. Don’t be late for work, and no time off, even if you’re in mourning. The society may sound fascistic; it’s not, quite, it’s just a total quirky invention of Groenveld’s.
One works his way through a fresh stack of jobless applications. Photographs by Nicole Wilson.
What he’s trying to say about One and Two’s world versus the real one isn’t altogether clear, but he appears to be anti-regulation and concerned about growing terrorism. Director Kim T. Sharp gets an austere atmosphere going with minimal effects, from Zee Hanna’s flashing lights to Emily Hao-Yun Hsieh’s barely-there set to Jason Lee’s astute sound design, including, thank heaven, no mikes. Gómez and Ravera don’t need them, and if their accents feel a little heavy at first, we soon adjust to them. Both do well, conveying the fear and reserve that go with being in a society where you’re always being monitored.
It’s a small play, and capped by a surprise fate for Two that one may well see coming a mile away. But it’s not boring, and you may enjoy analyzing what Groenveld is suggesting about a possible drift toward dystopia, even if you can’t quite figure it out. A postscript: The Chain Theatre is a small black box, capacity about 60, and at the performance I attended the audience consisted of yours truly and the director. The hard-working Gómez and Ravera surely deserve better, and so does Groenveld. If you have a butt, you might do well to get it in one of those 58 unoccupied seats.
The Hummingbirds runs through April 21 at the Chain Theatre (316 W. 36th St., 4th floor). Evening performances are Wednesday through Saturday at 7:30 p.m. Matinees are Saturday and Sunday at 2 p.m. Tickets are available at thehummingbirds.eventbrite.com.
Playwright: Garret Jon Groenveld
Director: Kim T. Sharp
Sets: Emily Hao-Yun Hsieh
Lighting: Zee Hanna
Sound: Jason Lee
