POCKET THEATRE, PRT. I (LAMBS OF GOD)
A collection of character portraits conceived and performed with a maximum emphasis on objectivity and honesty, Pocket Theatre is the kind of show that leaves the viewer thinking: I know these people–what does that say about me? Many theaters in Chicago fancy themselves purveyors of “true grit,” real observations of the human condition; far too often, the “grit” is just technique turned to the service of shock. Pocket Theatre is different; there are no contrived conflicts or pat revelations here, and no flashy displays of acting prowess–only the process of investigation played out in the presence of an audience.
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Not that this show, a collection of seven original pieces, is without artistic refinement or stylization. Joe Larocca and John Harriman, the talented young writer-director-actors who are the main creative force behind this work, are quite consciously working in an expressionist mode influenced by early Eugene O’Neill and later Tennessee Williams, by visual artists such as George Grosz and writers such as William S. Burroughs. The monologues in this “record album for the stage”–instead of acts, the evening is divided into “side A” and “side B”–aim at a careful blending of rawness and refinement; the different characters’ patterns of speech and movement are pared down to an almost caricatured (though not cartoonish) essence to reveal an inner emotional state that we could only guess at if we saw these people in real life.
The funniest monologue in Pocket Theatre is also the most frightening: “Piece Through Strength,” in which a shirtless, muscular Joe Larocca takes on the persona of a bat-wielding street punk. A self-styled “army of one,” Larocca’s character Scabies is a study in constant motion–gesticulating hands and weaving torso perform a ritual ballet of threatening force as precise as an Indian Kathakali dancer’s moves. Fixing each member of the audience with a direct gaze that simply states the fact of his presence, Scabies explains his deeply held beliefs: “I take what I want . . . I fuck what I want.” No apologies, no forced anger, no strutting defiance–just this is it. It’s the most real–and yet the most theatrical–stage impersonation of a sociopath I’ve ever seen.
