Some pieces of theater are distractions. Mere escapes. We need those every once in a while, surely. However, some pieces of theater capture your soul in mason jar and shake it up. Some pieces of theater tear away your facades and your pretensions and self pities and force you to look at yourself– really look at yourself. They make you ask yourself the hard questions. Some pieces of theater change your outlook, they change your life. A young playwright named Elizabeth Leavitt has written such a piece of work and has been professionally interpreted by director Stephanie Breinholt Foster. Stuck on the Edge’s production in the BYU Margetts Theater was one of the finest plays to come out of that University in years.
There was a time when I thought BYU was the best place to see theater in Utah. For a while in the mid to late nineties when I wouldn’t miss a show at BYU because consistently what I saw there spoke to me in deep places and changed my entire outlook: Eric Samuelsen’s The Seating of Senator Smoot and Gadianton. Joyce Baking. The Glass Menagerie. A Man For All Seasons. Consistently, I would walk out of the the Harris Arts Center a changed man (well, at the time, a changed teenager). It was a place of solace for my young soul. It was a holy place to me.
Yet then as the years passed by, it became more hit and miss. The production values were always stellar, of course, but their Theater program was having less of an impact on me. Was it because I was getting older and thus more critical and cynical? Or perhaps– just perhaps– was it that BYU was losing their touch? That they were putting less soul into their work.
Whatever the case, my view has changed. A new star has come into the heavens, a new play. Am I spouting hyperbole? Maybe. Maybe I’m over enthusiastic. But one thing I know for certain is that after Stuck on the Edge I once again walked out of the Harris Fine Arts Center a changed man.
Stuck on the Edge had a unique plot. Four friends in their early thirties meet together to honor their friend Peter, who had died of cancer while they were in their college years. They read the letters which Peter had told them he would write for them after he had died– one a year. In the letters Peter writes messages for his old friends and asks them to do crazy things– things to keep them young (keep them in those college years when he left). They sky dive, eat Chinese food, “tag” buildings with graffitti, dance in water fountains. Seize the day! Invictus! Forever Young! etc.
Yet things are not as they seem. Their dead friend, sometimes referred to as “Perfect Peter,” ends up not being so perfect as their reflective, idealized view of the dead loses some of its shine when the very tightly written plot reveals itself. When I first heard about the play and read its brief plot synopsis, I was hesitent. Was this going to be some emotionally manipulative, self-indulgent work, wallowing in cliche, false-emotional-heart-tugging? My oh my, was I so pleasantly proven wrong! Twists and turns and revelations turned what I thought the play was going to be like completely on its ear. This was no novice’s world I was entering. It was a craftsman’s universe on view.
The character work was top notch. The four friends were clearly, distinctly written and brutally honest. Watching them (and the four actors who so skillfully, almost seamlessly portrayed them) was like spying on the intimate moments in the lives of real people. Not shallow people, not half-baked people, but people of psychological complexity, emotional depth and real life charm.
Two of the characters, Stu and Ali (played by Moronai Kanekoa and Katie Rockwood), are married to each other. Their marriage is a strained one, with Stu being rather unambitious in his accounting job, while dedicating the spare time to his film hobbies (which earlier in his life would have been his career). Ali, on the other hand, is the more practical of the two, but certainly more easily frustrated and embarassed at her husbands sometimes quirky (to her, ultimately embarassing!) behavior. She creates economic stability in the home with her successful career, but she can be demanding and even cruel.
The other two characters, Sam and Audrey (played by Hank Florence and Shelby Pinney) are single, but have had a long– well, let’s say “history” with each other. A complicated history, with its shares of inter-dependencies, emotional strain, and romantic tensions. And looming over all of that is the dead Peter, the “Perfect Peter” who lives on Audrey’s idealized memory– while Sam has been the one keeping her afloat in life. He has been her daily “bread and butter,” the one who has sacrificed (perhaps at some points even his intergrity) for her comfort.
The inter-relationships (and subsequent fireworks) created by the dynamics of these characters was skillfully wrought. One moment Miss Leavitt had us laughing uproariously and cheering for her characters and then, spinning on a dime, left us devastated by the turn of events– and then after that brought her characters back risen and redeemed. These children of her imagination, made flesh by very skilled actors (every one of them– no weak links here), were all deeply lovable, but deeply flawed. There was no affectation in their dialogue. Their words were very natural, very fluid and comfortable, but still brought out with meaning and style. They were a darn interesting people– fascinating people.
However, in the characters, themes and stucture of the play, one virtue outshone all the rest: honesty. Heart breaking honesty. Sometimes brutal honesty. Although in the playwright’s note, Leavitt mentions that the play is not auto-biographical, one gets a sense that this story is coming from some place very deep within her. A place most people keep covered, hidden. She draws from dark places, from hilarious places, from embarassing places, from frightening places, from vulnerable places– when the play exposes itself, sometimes we’re almost uncomfortable because it’s so honest. And, for a piece of dramatic work, that’s a very good sign.
This play was not about societal institutions or exposing national flaws. It was much more ambitious than that– much more universal– much more intimate. It’s not a play that can change the world– it’s a play that can change individuals. It’s not a play where it matters whether you’re a Democrat or a Republican or a Mormon or an atheist or an American or a Korean. It’s a play that speaks on the most basic, most human levels. It speaks to that deepest part of us. That most hidden part of us. That most vulnerable part of us. It then yanks that part into the glaring light and says, “For once in your life, look at yourself! Look! No more hiding.”
My regret in seeing this play, is that my lovely wife was not with me (we were unable to get a baby sitter and so I brought a friend). That I was not able to share this beautiful moment with her who I cherish most and who I know would have loved it. My regret is that I saw it on closing night and thus was unable to tell people to go see it, to declare from the housetops what a superb play it was. It’s my regret that those reading this review will not be able to share that fleeting moment in a theater made holy from the experience.

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