WITHOUT SHOES
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Susan Murray’s Without Shoes, a curious little one-act, sets out to take a metatheatrical journey into the dark night of the soul–though its route is decidedly cute and lighthearted. The play begins with self-described “new-age performance artist” Sally Yaddo (Murray herself), dressed in black pumps, black tights, and a white T-shirt with a big purple question mark on it, standing behind her dressing table, preparing for tonight’s performance. She tells us that her main objective is to reach out to us, though she also warns that “bonding takes time, especially if it’s temporary and among strangers.” Almost immediately, before this particular stage reality has had a chance to gel, a voice announces that the house is empty and the show has been canceled, and a young man carries Sally’s table brusquely offstage. Sally is left staring at her audience, wondering how the house can be empty when people are staring back at her.
Murray successfully exploits the tensions created by these conflicting theatrical realities during the first half of her play. Trying to make sense of things, Sally decides that her journey must be some kind of preparation for a performance–perhaps even an audition–which will allow her to “find her audience.” An audience, though, is something that has always eluded this artist. The highlight of her career, she tells us, was “landing a part in a TV series as an extra in the opening credits.” She was even featured in an issue of Never Heard Of magazine.
Despite these shortcomings, Without Shoes demonstrates a certain simplicity and sincerity that rings true. This is a modest, bare-bones production entirely without airs, and no one in the cast pretends to be an accomplished actor. But certain lines seem simple, heartfelt truths: “Try to pay people back; it’s all we can do.” “Sometimes the best journey is taken in one place.” And the actors’ honesty illuminates them.
