The evening begins with Ellipsis, by Steven Fechter. In it, Paul (Michael J. Lombardi) is preparing to go to work downtown on the fateful morning, while his wife Helen (Ann Carr) makes painful efforts to discuss their marital problems in ways that ultimately lead to regret because of their sharpness, and timing. We quickly realize that what we're seeing is a replay of these moments in Helen's head, as Paul says "back" or "forward" when the scene is repeated, each iteration an attempt by Helen to revise her approach to their talk. The concept is not as well-managed as it could have been by the playwright, keeping us at a distance from the couple, revealing their mutual tenderness too late in the piece to warm us up to their pairing. Lombardi does nice work as Paul, and Carr shows promise in her role, but Richard Mover's direction cannot provide shadings that the script has not.
The best piece of the evening comes next with Floating World by Laren Stover, whose success as a fiction writer serves her well in this one-woman piece which is extremely well-acted by Patricia Randell. Composed of a series of negations that generally have nothing to do with the tragic events, ("I do not subscribe to the Paris Review. But I've always wanted to be published there. How do you get in there?") this approach gives us the strangely personal detail and oblique angle from which to view the personal consequences of the tragedy. As her statements begin to include more specifics from the tragic day, Randell seems to embody her nameless character, whose view of the world does not include many other people besides her handsome financial advisor whose attentions she craves. Her narrow focus provides us an example, haunting because of its subtle accuracy, of the solipcism and selfishness that governed many of us before our world exploded, and continues to do so.
A piece with some potential but an enormous identity crisis, Rosen's Son brings lauded playwright Joe Pintauro's dramatic pedigree to bear on the topic. Mr. Rosen arrives at a dinner party on the Upper West Side to confront Eddie, his son's former lover. Mr. Rosen's son died recently, and Eddie's new lover Harrison has moved in two months later. Mr. Rosen has arrived with a gun, threatening to kill himself. Mr. Rosen is a Holocaust survivor. If this sounds like too much to bite off in a short play, it is. If it sounds contrived, it did to several others in the theater as well. Pintauro's play was written in 1989, which makes it a statement about loss in a broad sense, but its presentation here associates it with other events, muddling a difficult evening with an unsuccessful work that takes on too much already. This piece is reasonably well directed by Mr. Mover, whose performance in it as Mr. Rosen works far better than the accent he uses. Eric D'Entrone gives us one of the evening's moments of power when his Eddie is reduced to tears by Rosen, and Nathan Cline does his best as a character who insists Eddie's attentions should favor a dinner party to the father of a dead lover.
Next up we have another play by a widely praised playwright, Romulus Linney, whose actress daughter Laura is becoming better known than he is. In Coda, four people who have passed away reflect on what they remember and do not. The piece is absorbing, at times a bit slow-moving, but is the most poetic of the evening, providing a lyrical balm for the more blunt approaches to dramatizing the issues we encounter. All the actors do good work, including Lombardi again as Young Man, Alice Gold as Older Woman, Ann Farrar as Young Woman, and Allan Mirchin, whose voice and stage presence makes one wish he had seen more of him in another piece. The lighting for this piece was well-handled by Ray Thys. The works gently haunts us, but one wishes its conception of the afterlife had been more imaginative or risk-taking, which could have made the piece in turn more engaging and moving.
The show's final piece, Cocooning, is intended as comic relief, but never fully manifests comedy or pathos. Tosh, played by the evening's director, has holed up in his apartment, canceled his cable television, and not left for three months. Keith has come to his apartment and found, after what one hopes were many other attempts, that Tosh is not only alive, but will open the door. The disappearance of a friend or family member for that amount of time, even (as is the case here) months after September 11, would have been cause for police involvement. But we put aside logic, and attempt to enjoy the humor as Tosh listens to Keith rant about the state of the world, arriving eventually in a panic that turns Tosh into the advocate of getting out into the world, and Keith into the agoraphobic. The Open Gate's Artistic Director R. David Robinson plays Keith in this piece he wrote with some spark of comic ability, but never fully brings it off either in the script or the performance.