THE KASHUBIAN TAPES
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The evidence, despite the fragmented way in which it’s presented, is compelling. The protagonist–whose name Reinemann picks each night during the prologue by opening the phone book at random (it was “Robert North” the night I went)–gets on the evidence-gathering trail as an OSHA inspector investigating a south-side manufacturer of tank parts. He finds some rather odd firing practices: one man was fired for refusing to authorize shoddy equipment, another immediately after maiming his hand in a press. North also finds that unmarked green crates are being shipped to Copenhagen, from there to Marseilles, and from there to Athens. At Athens he loses the paper trail; the green crates ship out secretly at night. But he manages to trace Richard Secord’s and Oliver North’s financial arrangements to a Swiss shipping magnate, whose ships full of unmarked green crates make it through the Persian Gulf during the toughest battles and arrive safely in Iran.
Whether or not this material is true–Dan Sutherland, the playwright, claims it’s a fictionalized treatment of real events–it makes a good play. “Robert North” needs to be unleashed on a stage. Explosive, intelligent, funny, he tells his story in a rambling, human way, addressing us directly and at one point handing out candy. Direct address is appropriate to the confrontational nature of the show, and Peter Reinemann–worried, likable–makes it work. The sad, distracted, sweet way in which he delivers the last line–“Thanks for listening”–is surprising and moving. Rarely does a character seem so vulnerable.
