by Geoff Hoff~

(Full disclosure: The director of Summer in Hell, David Jette, was once a writer for LATR.)

At Rumeneck Cove, the shore is partitioned off into private beaches for the well-healed owners of the vacation houses. The privileged offspring of money consider themselves entitled to whatever they want and will use whatever means at their disposal to get it. They live lives of either casual debauchery or haughty chastity, both of which come from the same sense of privilege and often result in the same outcomes. The local “Townies”, however, have learned or are learning, at the feet of their “betters”, the fine art of spiteful indifference.

In the program for Brimmer Street’s original production, Summer in Hell (written by fellow Brimmer Street member Miles Brandman), Director David Jette says that the characters in the play are not good people. He’s right. None of them are. He also cautions his audience not to try to find any social lessons in what he calls a guilty pleasure. He says it is cruel, but “… a love story, somewhere in its rotten heart.” It is cruel. It does have a rotten heart. And, much like Dynasty in the 80s or (although not nearly as forgiving) Metropolitan in the 90s, it is a guilty pleasure.

The question Mr. Jette poses in the program, which is a fascinating place to start, is, why is it so much fun to watch rich kids in bathing suits behave so badly. The play itself doesn’t shed any light on that question, or pretend any philosophic stance besides voyeurism, it only presents the events of an afternoon and evening on the island to be enjoyed by those who like that sort of thing. Most would probably not admit to such enjoyment. I probably wouldn’t on most occasions. But I’d be lying. I did enjoy watching these four young vipers savage each other.

Milton and Patricia (Tyler Jenich and Amy K. Harmon) are cousins, spending the summer at the family cottage on the island. It is the week where the adults trundle off to other family obligations, leaving the two at the cottage by themselves, the week each year where they can indulge in their oddly indifferent, yet oddly passionate coupling without anyone knowing about it. Nick (Dan Gordon) is the gorgeous young Townie who Pat disdains and longs for. He is dating the virginal Barbara, played by Melissa Powell. (It is interesting that, in stories about the Townies, like Mystic Pizza, there is always a gorgeous rich guy, and in stories like this one about the rich folk, there is always a gorgeous Townie. Their masculine beauty must be what allows them entry in the “other” society.)

The abuse starts early as the two lovers alternately shun and cleave to each other. Enter Nick, who is both proud to be dating one of the rich girls and frustrated that she refuses any advances. He is also as smitten by Pat as she is by him, but hasn’t yet learned to be aloof about it. His casual cruelty toward Barb is almost as extreme as Milt and Pat’s casual cruelty toward him. Both Nick’s and Barb’s arrivals are events manipulated by Milt so that he can sit back and watch the sparks while drinking and popping pills. No one here likes each other, yet there is much lust that seems in an odd way to translate to a (very warped) love.

There is also much humor in the script and I found myself feeling only a little shame that most of the laughter was derived at the expense of at least one of the characters. After all, ultimately, they all deserved it to one degree or another.

The acting in this production was top notch, the two women especially. Ms. Harmon as Pat is charming, distant and passionate. She has a quiet intelligence that makes the way she inflicts casual pain both very dark and very disarming and makes her petty games seem, somehow, more sophisticated than they are. Quite a feat. We really want to like her, and do, ultimately, despite the games she plays. Ms. Powell as Barb is amazing. She is slight, almost birdlike, and plays Barb as much less sharp than Milt and Pat, but no less a part of the crowd. Her disdain for them and their rumored debauchery is, perhaps, even greater than theirs toward her silly flightiness and proper, lady-like posture. Her performance is so rooted in reality that I wondered what island she summers on and what Townie she has dated and left sexually frustrated.

The set, by Sarah Krainin, perfectly evokes the walled off lives that separate one family from another and separate the summer people from the townspeople. It is a wooden deck surrounded by a high wooden fence, at the back door of the cottage. The lighting, by Ian Garrett, was also very good, although there was one glitch the night I saw the show where the lights inexplicably dimmed for several moments as if evening had just fallen hard. I suspect a computer light board hiccupped. Costumes, by Fabiana Pigna, were perfect. Mostly very simple (shorts, bathing attire) except for Barb’s outfit, which was quietly elegant and felt as out of place on this deck as she did. The distinction between the simple clothing Milt and Pat wore and that of the townie Nick’s was subtle but very effective.

Mr. Jette loves to challenge his actors (he had two of them carry out a real bathtub in Leiris/Picasso!) and his audience. He is intelligent, educated, witty, personable and has a delightful dark streak. He uses all that in his direction of this piece. He never panders to the audience, but doesn’t berate them, either. He has a gentle way of conveying the delightfully callous savagery of these young men and women that makes us not only not hate them, but actually, in some dark way, admire them. And there was more broken glass in this play than I think I have ever seen on stage before.

The script by Mr. Brandman was good, very funny, very compelling and very cruel.

Summer in Hell plays Thursdays, Fridays and Saturdays at 8 pm through December 18th

Studio|Stage is located at 520 N. Western Avenue, LA, 90004, between Beverly and Melrose.

Tickets: $15 (a portion of all ticketing fees goes toward supporting LA Stage Alliance through their partnership with Patron Technology.)

Reservations on-line at www.BrimmerStreet.org or by phone at (213) 290-2782