IN
As a member of the yellow-program group, I began in the basement with “#1,” a perverse monologue performed with unsettling naivete by Beau O’Reilly. He tells us the long history of his relationship with his “number one,” from the shame his parents made him feel when he first pulled it out of his pants to show them to the series of complicated “mechanisms” he’s constructed to give himself maximum pleasure. Payne has devised an abrasive cartoon world for him that’s bright yellow, full of the harsh springs, coils, and spikes that make up his machines.
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This play presents an image of utter paralysis. We have in essence returned to the source, where the creators of this evening sit paralyzed; it’s as if the blank page or canvas has taken over the entire room. Coming last for my group, this untitled piece was a stunning conclusion to the evening; while these two creative minds sit trapped, unable to produce anything, we’re aware that their highly creative work goes on in the other rooms around us. It seems the perfect encapsulation of the terror that overcomes the artist after creation, of the sudden abyss that opens, reminding the artist that creativity may never come again.
