Serendipity
If you walk along Randolph between State and Wells, you’ll see the words “theater district” emblazoned on the sidewalk’s concrete. Above your head, the marquees of the Palace and Oriental sparkle. But take a good look at what’s going on there (or will be soon): a Mel Brooks retread and a Rodgers and Hammerstein retread. For the moment, the district’s largest houses have as much life as a 40-year-old corpse.
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By contrast Martin could grow into the best legit playwright Chicago has seen since David Mamet. Serendipity is a taut psychological thriller set in a seedy motel room where a purported bank robber, Trip, holds a woman named Sara hostage. He’s something of a bumbling fool, wielding his pistol as though not quite sure where the trigger might be, while she’s remarkably well prepared for her predicament: though handcuffed to the bed, she manages to bring the phone receiver to her ear and begin dialing–with her feet–five seconds after Trip goes into the bathroom. Unlike nearly every other female hostage in Western literature, Sara never cries, whimpers, screams, or trembles in abject terror (except perhaps when a loaded pistol is shoved into her mouth). Always scheming, she aims to manipulate Trip’s unsettled emotional state to her own advantage.
Scott makes everything look awful. His Gelo to Oblivion has the aesthetic of an industrial accident. Although he populates his demented children’s program with eight clowns, this is a dark, sordid world of repugnant camp, equal parts Artaud, Genet, Warhol, and Ludlum. Scott makes it clear from the start that he’s not out to make any kind of conventional sense; during the first minute of the show, Fifi stands with her back to the audience and says “blah, blah, blah” over and over. Then various other clowns enact near stream-of-consciousness scenes inevitably centered on images of sexual depravity and death: a Catholic schoolgirl dreams of watching a boy in her class fellate his rosary; an erotic dancer strips topless, then saws off her own hand; a hulking man in an army trench coat and leather face mask becomes a sexual whipping boy for anyone who’ll oblige him.
