by Joel Elkins~

It takes a lot of courage to write a play like The Unexpected Man, and just as much courage to stage a production of it. A play with only two characters is daunting enough, but when those characters, for the most part, don’t even interact, keeping the audience involved requires a tight rope act of engaging writing and fine acting. I’m not quite sure if it was the playwright or the actors who were not quite up to the task, but try as I could, I couldn’t seem to really get into the characters’ stories which consume much of the 90-minute production.

The story itself is quite simple. A man and a woman find themselves sitting across from each other on a train from Paris to Frankfurt. He is a mildly famous author; she, by chance, one of his biggest fans. At this point, I’m thinking this is my kind of play. No minor characters or external plot twists to get in the way of sharply written dialogue. They will start the conversational dance of strangers, deciding how and how much to disclose of themselves to each another, while the audience listens in as equal observers, our familiarity exactly equal to theirs.

However, like a trainer holding a raw steak just out of the reach of the lion, the playwright tantalizes us with the prospect of encounter, but repeatedly pulls it away, begrudging us what we, as audience members, crave and feel we deserve. Instead, the two take turns vocalizing whatever thoughts are swirling on in their heads at the time. And, as with everyone, these thoughts range from the ridiculous to the sublime: family, career, aging, past relationships, changing world mores, events of thirty years ago and events of that morning. But most importantly, particularly in her case, about the person sitting across the aisle. She has recognized him immediately and can think of not much else. What was he thinking about? Where was he going? Should she open up a conversation and, if so, how? Why wasn’t he looking her way? In contrast to her obsession with him, he at first doesn’t even notice her, too absorbed in his random thoughts. But eventually he does slip out of his own bubble and takes notice of the silent women in the adjoining seat. What was her story? As an author, he finds it easy to fill in the missing pieces with complete confidence in their accuracy.

However, even with each now firmly preoccupied with his/her cabin-mate, yearning to make contact, to ask questions, to share feelings and ideas, neither has the guts to break the silence, and we are subjected once more to their inner thoughts.

Spoiler alert: they do eventually communicate, their short conversation serving as coda to the lengthy sonata and leaving the audience with a pleasant taste in their mouths as they leave the theater. But by the time we are treated to this delightful tete-a-tete, we’ve had to endure what essentially amounts to an hour-long dual stream of consciousness.

Of course, one could argue (rather successfully) that the streams eventually do meet and the intensity of the eventual intercourse (in the strictest G-rated meaning of the word) is only a result of the slow and ambagious buildup. How much juicier that meat must taste after having it dangled in front of one’s face for an hour. One could also argue that we’ve seen the classic “two-strangers-meet-on-a-train-and-interact-and-through-that-interaction-undergo-profound-change-before-they-reach-the-station” genre hundreds of times. One could further argue that this genre is simply not realistic. More often, people will sit across from each other the entire trip without ever exchanging words, despite the compelling desire to do so. And while I appreciate these arguments and the courage it takes not to be formulaic, formulas become such because they work. Breaking the formula is admirable when it works, but shouldn’t be an end in and of itself. And, furthermore, the storybook ending seriously undermines any serious anti-formula argument.

The script by Yasmina Reza, who is most famous for her universally acclaimed play Art, places the cast in the unenviable position of having to engage the audience without being able to speak with it (or each other) directly. Judy Jean Berns and Ronald Hunter, excellent actors both, do their professional best to do so, but, for the most part, are unable to sustain interest during the highly contemplative and excessively torpid passages in the script.

The set design by Chrystal Lee is understandably simple but employs two interesting devices. First is the conspicuous contrast between the two sides of the stage. The right side, where he is sitting, appears modern, with plastic seats and chrome metal luggage racks. Her side, stage left, is all old-style wood with fabric seats. Is the message that he is more modern while she has an “old soul”? Or was it done simply to emphasize what different worlds they were in, even while traveling on the same train, in the same compartment?

The second staging decision is the giant double screen above the stage exhibiting a steady stream of stylized photographs relating, more or less, to what each character is thinking about. Presumably, the screen is split to again represent what dissimilar places they are in while sitting in the same passenger car, until the very end, when the two screens for the first time join in a single image.

I wish I could say that the play’s culmination is worth the investment of the slow buildup or that the enjoyment of art, as life, is in the journey, but on this ride, I would have gotten off around Reims.

The Unexpected Man is performed Fridays & Saturdays at 8 pm, and Sundays at 3 pm through March 28, 2010

The Lounge Theatre 2 is located at 6201 Santa Monica Blvd. in Hollywood, just east of Vine

Ticket are $20. Reservations online at www.plays411.com/unexpectedman or by phone at (323) 960-7785.