Review: Simply Complicated Life
Two Roads Theater, 4348 Tujunga Ave., Studio City, 818-566-8827
by Jeff Nelson
Sometimes two shows remarkably similar in content or style appear on the scene simultaneously, as if hatched from the collective unconscious. Such is the case with two one-woman shows currently appearing at local theaters, Simply Complicated Life and Life is a Celebration . . . Potholes and All. Both these shows purport to celebrate the triumph of the human spirit over life’s obstacles and adversities, something these women seem to have in spades.
Of the two, I like Simply Complicated Life, written and performed by Angelique Thomason, least. I began to suspect I was in trouble from the very first moments, when a ten-minute video montage of Thomason’s baby pictures and adult head-shots unspooled to the gentle strains of Simon and Garfunkel’s “Bridge Over Troubled Water.” The effect this appallingly long prologue culminated with a shot of Angelique, bent forward at the waist, her décolletage provocatively displayed, while a jarring audio byte by Marvin Gaye and Tammi Terrell cried, “Ain’t nothing like the real thing!!” At that point, darkness fell upon the audience, in more ways than one.
Thomason then appeared, and proceeded to regale the audience with a series of characterizations that included her grandmother and grandfather (the good guys), her mother and father (the bad guys), and herself as a little girl (the victim). It is hard to say which of these depictions was worse, since they all were so adroitly incompetent in their own way. As the grandparents, she acted aged and infirm, peered over a pair of spectacles and dispersed Hallmark sentiments with a crack in her voice. As her mother, she chain smoked and rasped angrily at life. As her childhood self, she tugged at her dress and in a treacly voice wondered why her Daddy was sexually abusing her. This sort of thing might be interesting to, say, Sybil’s psychiatrist, but believe me, it is execrable theatre. There is more to acting than adopting clichéd mannerisms and baring one’s personal history of victimization to a captive audience. By the time the whole self-congratulatory thing was over, I was chafing to bolt from my chair. Unfortunately, I was prevented by a woman who forced “one more round of applause” for Thomason, who showed so much “courage” by “sharing her story.” ♦