Review: This Is Government Depicts DC Interns Under Lockdown

In representative democracy, we the people elect a legislator to represent our interests in Congress. They listen to us and voice our concerns on the House floor—in theory. But if you call up Jerry Nadler’s office right now, you’re not likely to be patched through to the congressman unless you happen to be a major campaign donor. If you speak to a human at all, it will be someone like the three characters in Nina Kissinger’s This Is Government, now playing at 59E59 in a coproduction by Pendragon Theatre and New Light Theater Project.

Tip (Charles Hsu) and Emi (Kleo Mitrokostas) are interns at the DC office of Rep. James Bochman of California, both subsisting on a stipend of $1,200 a month (and one suspects, generous subsidies from mom and dad). Kaz (Vann Dukes) is the staffer paid $38,000 a year to oversee their work, which includes compiling press mentions and taking calls from constituents. It’s not very different from the setup one might find at any not-for-profit theater in America—a well-paid star at the top supported by underlings hoping to be compensated in resume credits.

When one of their regular callers, Stevie (Susan Lynskey), shows up outside with what she claims is a bomb, the building goes into lockdown. With nothing but time on their hands, and against Kaz’s explicit instructions, Tip and Emi pore over Stevie’s voicemails looking for clues about her motive that might help police diffuse the situation.

It’s more interesting than you might suspect from reading the title, which suggests a C-SPAN roundtable or quirky BBC sitcom. Hsu plays toward the latter with a broad performance of an incorrigibly sassy homosexual that, however clichéd, still pays comedic dividends. Mitrokostas is similarly committed in her portrayal of a child of privilege (what Richard Reeves would call a “dream hoarder”) stumbling into the ruling class despite her considerable neuroses. There are panic attacks.

As the adult in the room, Dukes wisely opts for something more subdued, holding their cards close to their chest in a way that makes us want to know more about a character who clawed their way out of a much poorer, redder corner of the district than the one enjoyed by their two young charges.

Sarah Norris directs the play with the lightness necessary to make the comic beats land. Daniel Allen’s scenic design convincingly evokes the Cannon House Office Building, complete with mismatched furniture and revolting carpet. Scant natural light from the one window slowly dissipates until it is completely overtaken by fluorescent (authentic lighting by Hayley Garcia Parnell). Sound designer Jennie Gorn undergirds the transitions with pulsating gameshow music, so the tension never slackens. As far as 90-minute pilot episodes go, it’s solid.

But it’s Lynskey’s portrayal of Stevie that gives This Is Government dramatic heft. Soft-spoken but vibrating with rage, she calls not out of despair, but in the naive hope that government will actually work as described in high school civics class. She’s not a nihilistic young man, but an older woman whose life has been thrown into disarray by government policy. Krista Grevas costumes her in cargo pants and a floral t-shirt, her lonely eyes framed by big ovular glasses, hair pulled into a slightly disheveled ponytail. She looks, sounds, and feel like a lot of frustrated Americans right now—she could be my mother. Lynskey’s sure-footed, sympathetic performance defies easy dismissal.

But, of course, Stevie was dismissed repeatedly over the years, leading to the events of the play. Beneath the quips and kvetches, This Is Government is an insistent warning about the return of political violence prompted by a great breakdown in communication. If citizens no longer feel their concerns will be taken seriously through traditional channels, they’ll increasingly resort to drastic means to make themselves heard. It’s not a problem that can be managed into submission—certainly not by upper-middle-class Gen-Z strivers hoping to get a foot in the door of a crumbing house.