Partial Comfort Productions

Baby Girl

nytheatre.com, David Fuller, March 11, 2006
“Baby Girl is a new play by Edith Freni, directed by Padraic Lillis for Partial Comfort Productions. What a good show! And I don’t use “good” lightly. Now, “great” for me is Death of a Salesman great, or, True West great. Is Freni’s show great? No, but my use of that last Shepard metaphor is purposeful. I really think she has a voice that recalls Shepard. Is she the “next” Sam Shepard? Of course not, she is the next Freni! But her absurd naturalism certainly stakes a claim as a bona fide 21st century commentator on the human condition, as perpetrated by the American culture.

In the plot, Elise (Trisha LaFrache), a shall we say girl of “loose” morals, has had a baby out of wedlock by Richie (John Summerour), who happens to be the transgendered half brother of both Jason, a New York City policeman (Chris Kipiniak), and Patrick, a cook (chef?) in a successful restaurant (Curran Connor). In their Long Island community, Elise was the “easy lay” of these boys in days gone by. Now the “chick” has come home to roost—she had her baby girl to experience motherhood and now she really is determined to be a good mother. But who is going to be, or willing to be, the father?
I loved Baby Girl for its examination (and confrontation) of an all too common story of the struggle of children having children. And its darkly comedic take on the proceedings made me really think about the plight of the heroine. Moreover, we care about all the characters, which is why I think Freni could insert an intermission without fear of an audience exodus. We aren’t going to leave—we want to know what happens.

I will not comment further on the plot, for you must experience it yourself. Let’s just say the entire cast is wonderful. Now, such credit certainly goes to the actors (I have neglected to mention the marvelous supporting characters played by Sarah Hayon and Andrew Stewart-Jones), but credit is also due director Lillis. Paradoxically perhaps, Lillis was absent, which, in my mind, shows how much he was present: I think, the mark of a good director is often the ultimate apparent absence of a director.
Les Liang’s non-realistic set perfectly suits the play in the space, ably lit by Jason Jeunnette. Lex Liang’s costumes suit the characters well. The sound design by Zach Williamson is appropriately energetic and trendily loud—again, perfect for this production.

See this play. Some of my fellow audience members found it funnier than I did, but, of course, so what? If I didn’t laugh I was still always engaged. And you will find it funny, or sad, in places that neither I nor my then fellow audience members did. Such is the mark of a good play. Such is the legacy of maestro Shepard.”
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Time Out, New York, Jessica Branch, March 23, 2006
“Pity the titular infant in Edith Freni’s action-packed new play: Her mom’s an emotionally troubled high-school dropout and ex-junkie with no job and nowhere to stay in the disreputable neighborhood she somehow can’t escape. As for her dad, who’s unexpectedly reappeared in her life—well, let’s just say he makes mom look stable. Case in point: his elaborate scheme to have the baby adopted by a gay couple.
It is indeed a hard-knock life, but despite its melodramatic nature, the plot takes enough intriguing and even shocking twists to keep audiences wide-eyed and guessing. As the action unfolds, the baby crisis proves to be a way into the tangled history of feisty mom Elise (LaFache), the deadbeat father (Summerour), his cynical cop brother (Kipiniak) and the one guy Elise just might be able to find true love with (Connor)—if she can only get him to talk to her again.

Freni’s script suffers from a few too many overly slick rejoinders and character inconsistencies, but the action canters along, even allowing the occasional moment of introspection, especially for the desperate, pint-size mother. Though the actors start out shaky, they ultimately deliver solid performances, most notably Andrew Stewart-Jones as an ersatz lawyer straight out of a Quentin Tarantino flick, Sarah Hayon as two very different medical professionals and LaFache as the teenage mom who, perhaps, will finally grow up.”
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Theater Talk’s New Theater Corps, Aaron Riccio, March 13, 2006
“Life is just a matter of perception: no better or worse than what we make of it. “Baby Girl,” a new play by Edith Freni, is just a mater of life, a young single mother’s, but it is far better than what we initially make of it. Don’t et thrown by the convoluted plot—it’s a necessity to throw our perceptions for a loop. What we see isn’t necessarily reality—the protagonis is far from reliable, and trust is a huge issue in this play—but the emotional truth beneath the gritty surface sucks the audience in like quicksand, and the swift pacing, urban soundtrack, forceful acting and realistic direction by Padraic Lillis keeps us there.

Many people talk about choice, but for a girl like Elise, who sleeps in her car with her two-month old baby, hoping the heater doesn’t drain the battery, what choice is there? Her only option, odious as it seems, is to sell her baby to the father, now a pre-op transexual, and his well-off lover, a crazy black man with a penchant for Dr. Pepper (Andrew Stewart Jones, one of those rare scene-stealing forces of nature). It’s all so fantastical (and in fact, may be a metaphorical means of Elise dealing with the pressures of motherhood), and yet so sincere and sad that we buy the whole thing, crook, swine and drinker. What other choice do we have?

As Elise, Trisha Lfache is a modern tragic hero, brought low by her own manic flaws. Whether by necessity or habit, her lies turn everything to shit, justify them as she might. She is the type of woman who “could burn water.” A normal discussion between her and her ex goes like this: “You cheated on me.” “Once!” she replies. “You brought a married couple home and fucked them in my bed,” retorts the man. “Yeah,” she admits, “But you can’t count that as twice!” It’s a funny line, a funnier thought, but an altogether serious situation. Complicated, too: this many, Patrick (the noble and conflicted Curran Connor), still wants to lover her. His brother, Jason (the slightly monotonous Chris Kiiniak) loves her too. Even their half-brother, Richie (the delightful John Summerour) the baby’s father, once loved her. In another tragic, realistic twist, none of them can learn simply to love her, as is.

“Baby Girl” goes a bit over-the-top sometimes (the actors, as well as the plot), but it’s all purposefullyy crafted to bolster this dystopian faerie tale. Open your eyes to the vibrant life radiating out of every inch of the show, and don’t make the same mistake as the characters. Love them simply, as they are.”

Gameboys

Open House

FringeNYC Festival Review, Stephen Speight, August 13, 2006
“Open House is sprawling, impossible to ignore or dismiss, and likely to induce everything from belly laughs to shocked effrontery—just like the tasteless monster-of-a-yard-display that prompts its action. According to Open House, America has been reduced to a battle between self-absorbed, morally dubious elitists on the left and xenophobic racists on the right, here living right next door to each other on the same cul-de-sac somewhere in suburban America. When Alistair and Beverly, our preening liberal couple, approach the day they hope to sell their home (and trade up their neighborhood “before the housing bubble bursts”), they must confront their neighbors, Lewis and Melanie, and the garish, post 9/11 tribute to the patriotic wars of America they have stretched, border to border, across their front yard.

Using such an ugly metaphor for the pervasive, myopic American patriotism rampant in our country, the play seems firmly positioned to skewer it, but playwright Ross Maxwell doesn’t make it so easy. Frankly, these right-wingers can’t hold a candle to the liberals on the pristine side of the fence when it comes to awful behavior. Alistair and Beverly are condescending and self-serving in their righteous concern over their neighbors’ front yard display, and narcissists who seem, somehow, entirely oblivious to the fact that their “tween” daughter Sylvia is on the fast track to insanity. (Bess Rous’s performance as boy-crazy Sylvia is alone worth the price of admission in a show full of strong and funny performances, ably directed by Josh Hecht.)

The upshot, unfortunately, is that we have no one to root for—pretty much every character in this play commits what, if it isn’t, then OUGHT to be a felony, including intent toward sexual abuse of a minor (or, at the very least, intoxication of and indecent exposure to one), kidnapping, assault, and destruction of property. Even the children, alienated victims in this whole ruckus, are devious and opportunistic beyond their years and, in the case of one of them, entrapping his sexual predator, terrifying. If the point of Maxwell’s scathing satire is that everybody in corrupted America is corrupt, then it’s the kind of funny idea that loses steam as your sympathy for the characters dwindles over the course of the play. Start to pull for someone, anyone, and they perform some irredeemably heinous act.

Still, it’s a terrific showcase for the actors, and Maxwell’s script is chock-full of excitingly playable scenes, well played. Bill Dawes (Alistair) and Cynthia Silver (Beverly) do a great job with parts they are too young for, and Nick Gregory and Kathryn A. Layng (right wingers Lewis and Melanie) have cartoonish fun in their devil’s advocate roles (Layng’s self-justifying, racist retelling of her getting a salesgirl fired is priceless). Rous and Greg Keller fare best, as Plath-ian 12-year old Sylvia and her imaginary friend Dick, whose incarnation shape-shifts to accommodate Sylvia’s varying needs. (Keller also plays Alex, the babysitting son of the right-wingers.)

But by the time Open House has digressed into a kidnapping caper, (our Red State-ers LITERALLY holding our Blue State-ers captive), playwright Maxwell has written himself into a corner, and a wrap-it-up combination of illegal fireworks and threats of slander and perjury bring us to the unsatisfying conclusion of this tale. And when we finally see the display that caused this entire moral collapse, it appears rinky-dink and petty. Better to have left it to our imaginations; otherwise, you feel that, well, none of this would have happened had calmer heads, with less blackened hearts, prevailed. Perhaps that’s Maxwell’s point.”

‘nami

New York Times Theater Review, Jason Zinoman, September 20, 2006

“For 2 Couples, All’s Fair in Love and New York Real Estate
Renters and homeowners will probably agree that Partial Comfort Productions doesn’t actually provide any comfort at all. Since it was founded in 2002, this emerging company has established a bare-knuckles aesthetic that has zeroed in on, among other things, what may be the source of the greatest anxiety for citizens of New York, after perhaps terrorism. That is, of course, real estate.
“… A Matter of Choice,” which opened last year, was about a looming eviction. “Open House,” a hit at the 2006 Fringe Festival, had a good time with the problems of selling your home. Now “Nami,” Chad Beckim’s well-acted but overheated drama at the Kirk Theater, provides evidence that it might not to be such a good idea to get to know your neighbors.

The early scenes, alternating between two couples, provide a realistic domestic portrait of these down-and-out pairs. Mr. Beckim — a founder of the company (with Molly Pearson) — successfully establishes these relationships, impressively capturing the voices of four very different New Yorkers.

His portrait of the somber African-American Keesha (Quincy Tyler Bernstine) and her irresponsible husband, Roachie (the charming Alfredo Narciso), is as convincing as those of the girlish and mentally unstable white Lil (Eva Kaminsky) and her taxi-driver husband, Harry (Mark Rosenthal). There are echoes between these seemingly separate stories. For instance both women desperately want a baby, and their marriages, in different ways, have taken the form of parent-child relationships.

Keesha, played with a single-minded determination by Ms. Bernstine, treats her husband like the immature man that he is, especially after he gambles away the rent money. Lil feels trapped, cooped up in her apartment, always teetering on the edge of insanity. When the lives of the couples eventually intersect in a subplot involving a mysterious Indonesian child whom Roachie has been paid to take care of, the characters, which had been drawn in shades of gray, shift to black and white. Mr. Rosenthal’s performance becomes unhinged, and a violent villain out of an action movie emerges: the landlord. (Who else?)

Jason Jeunnette’s stark lighting begins to editorialize, and John Gould Rubin’s otherwise nimble direction becomes clumsy, especially during scene changes. As the melodrama increases, occasionally at the expense of the logic of the plot, it almost looks as if an interesting relationship drama about real people has been hijacked by a Hollywood executive who insisted on something loud and sensational. “Add lots of blood,” he might have said. “More skin, too.”

But that’s not how it happened. The playwright, Mr. Beckim, helps run his own company, which just goes to show that movie producers aren’t the only ones who think some blood and skin make a boffo finale.”

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nytheatre.com Review
, Martin Denton, September 13, 2006
“I’ve been reading a book called Off the Map, which is all about famous journeys of exploration, from Marco Polo’s trip to China to Shackleton’s visit to Antarctica; one of the recurring themes of the early chapters is the conqueror’s propensity for enslaving the conquered. Over and over again, from Genghis Khan to Pissarro in Peru to the British in the South Pacific, human beings have viewed other human beings who differ from them in terms of race, language, or religious practice as being inherently inferior: chattel rather than people, ripe not just for colonization but for total subjugation and appropriation.

This thought hit me rather hard after seeing Chad Beckim’s smashing new drama ‘nami, and not just because the play’s overt and rather sensational subject is the post-tsunami trade in Indonesian orphans, who are sold to rich Westerners or Japanese as sex slaves. No, though that heinous notion fuels Beckim’s plot here, what’s simmering underneath is just as incendiary and just as worthy of our exploration. Why do we sometimes confuse unilateral control for unconditional love? Why do husbands think they can “own” their wives? Why is the fundamental humanity of an “other” something we can discount and ignore so easily?

‘nami takes place in an inner-city apartment building, one that’s decrepit and cheap. Here we meet two couples who are next-door neighbors, thought they’re barely aware of each others’ existences. Harry and Lil are a white couple, married 15 years; he’s scraping by as a taxi driver, while she is still recovering from a recent mental breakdown that had seen her institutionalized for some period of time—one (though perhaps not the only) problem Lil suffers from is significant depression over not being able to bear children (and indeed in the play’s stunning first scene, we hear Lil and Harry having sex offstage, after which Lil emerges to announce that she is now pregnant. Harry simply says, sadly, “No, you’re not.”).

Keesha and Richie are people of color; Keesha’s black and Richie is Hispanic. She works at McDonald’s and is striving toward a life of lower-middle-class stability that her socioeconomic status makes elusive at best. He’s a petty hood in the employ of the building’s landlord, a hulking monster named Donovan who was once Keesha’s pimp and now forgives their delinquent rent by making them run “errands” for him. The current errand is to temporarily care for a little girl from Indonesia. Richie tells Keesha that the child is waiting to be picked up by a rich family that is adopting her. But in fact, she’s about to be sold as a sex slave. When Lil overhears Donovan and Richie discussing the plan through the apartment’s thin walls, she goes ballistic trying to figure out how to save the child. Harry, exhausted from coping with her mental instability day-in/day-out, doesn’t believe her, thinking she’s delusional. What are you supposed to do when your husband knows you’re crazy and won’t believe you when you’re telling the truth?

‘nami follows that hook to a grand, dramatic conclusion in a dynamite second act that’s loaded with suspense, violence, and terror. But this is no cheap horror story; Beckim has serious intentions as he investigates the dynamics of each of his married couples’ relationships, along with their tenuous security vis-a-vis the utterly amoral Donovan. It’s gripping, edge-of-the-seat drama that gets under the skin and keeps you talking and thinking for hours after the show has ended.

Beckim’s writing is solid throughout, weaving dark humor and genuine earnest romance among the threads of his main thriller plot. The dialogue and characters feel 100% authentic, which makes us wonder a bit where and how this young playwright learned so much about life’s harshest realities; and if the ending isn’t entirely satisfying, the total experience of ‘nami is indie theatre at its very best.

Of course, Beckim isn’t working alone on this project. His director, the enormously skillful John Gould Rubin, has staged the play spectacularly well, with not a moment wasted and not a single beat missed. He trusts his actors and his audience to make the play vivid, with significant segments taking place out of sight, so that our imaginations kick in where verisimilitude would be difficult; for example romantic scenes are played offstage, and the climactic fight sequences (choreographed brilliantly by Qui Nguyen) are strategically arranged so that the gory, bloody parts are left for us in to fill in in our heads. Rubin’s designers—Heather Wolensky (set), Lex Liang (costumes), Jason Jeunnette (lighting), and Zach Williamson (sound)—all contribute spare, naturalistic designs that contribute mightily to the taut, intense atmosphere of the piece.

The five-person cast is excellent. First among equals is Quincy Tyler Bernstine as Keesha, who conveys the desperation, anomie, and courage of this conflicted young woman with astonishing felicity. Eva Kaminsky is similarly effective as the troubled Lil. The three men in the company—Michael Gladis as Donovan, Alfredo Narciso as Richie, and Marc Rosenthal as Harry—all create rich, potent characters as well.

‘nami is the most exciting new play I’ve seen so far in this young season, and it’s so accomplished and compelling that it will likely prove to be one of the very finest new works of the year. This is an unsettling piece about deeply disturbing ideas—specifically, the notion that one of us can literally own, buy, or sell another of us. Somehow that impulse seems to come naturally to an awful lot of people. ‘nami tries to understand how, and what on earth, if anything, we might be able to do about it.”

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Curtain Up Review www.curtainup.com by Julia Furay, September 2006

“The haunting sound of a child crying echoes through ‘Nami, the intense, harrowing new play by Chad Beckim produced by Partial Comfort Productions. The unseen child is a victim of the December 2004 Tsunami — hence this continually fascinating and rewarding play’s title, which is also an acronym for the National Alliance for the Mentally Ill.

The story focuses on two married couples, next-door neighbors in a squalid apartment building. Both pairs are already teetering on the edge of violence, madness and despair when the play begins. Keesha and Roachie are on the brink of poverty and at the mercy of their landlord as they struggle daily with Roachie’s crack addiction as well as his screw-up tendencies. Harry and Lil don’t have it much easier. Lil’s mental instability is evident by her acting like a child and apparentlyincapable of leaving the apartment. Her relationship with Harry is more that of a parent and child than a husband and wife though the situation is ndlessly frustrating to both of them.

The drama heightens when the ruthless pimp/gangster landlord, Donovan, brings the mysterious four-year-old into Keisha and Roachie’s apartment. The two couples are pushed even closer towards the edge when Lil and Keesha begin to suspect the fate in store for the child.

This is an unflinching story of heartbreak and menace with the audience uncomfortably riveted to watching this high stakes game of just who will go overboard. Playwright Beckim (also co-artistic director of Partial Comfort) is to be commended on creating a drama that is so smartly constructed and with well-rounded, damaged but also funny character. Beckim[s beautifully written script is well served by the cast and director John Gould Rubin.

The five actors are all standouts, beginning with Eva Kaminsky who seems to literally throw herself into the role of Lil as she explodes in tantrums, begs her husband for a puppy, and sobs in despair and terror when she discovers what is going on next door.

Quincy Tyler Bernstine as Keesha is as grown-up and world-weary as Kaminsky is childlike. Her deadpan reactions to both Roachie’s irresponsibility and Lil’s instability provide some of the first act’s funniest moments as the revelation of her backstory and her determination to right what’s wrong make for the most moving segments in the second act.
Alfredo Narciso captures Roachie’s inherent weak-willed nature as well as a surprisingly poetic soul underneath. He’s a man who perpetually disappoints his wife but nevertheless rambles on about the beauty of her laugh and the poignancy of the moon.
Marc Rosenthal as Lil’s husband Harry initially seems an endlessly patient and heroic caretaker but as he too inches dangerously towards the breaking point, we see his capacity for fury unravel and explode. Tj e cast is rounded out by Michael Gladis as the heartless Donovan, whose early threats become appalling reality as the play wears on.

Gould Rubin’s direction allows everything to tie together. He does so by seamlessly interweaving the scenes in the two apartments, often cleverly overlapping the end of one scene with the beginning of another, as when during a particularly intense scene between Lil and Donovan, Harry slowly starts to walk in. At first you think he’s part of the current scene and begin to relax, knowing Lil is safe, but it then becomes apparent that what is going on with Lil and Donovan is going to play its course before Harry actually arrives. Even though Harry is only a few feet away in reality, this amps up the already tense situation and makes it even more harrowing.

While I wasn’t entirely satisfied with the climax, which seemed a little too quick after such a gradual, tense buildup, Beckim’s story, about the damage people can do to each other with the best of intentions is a very moving one. ‘Nami isn’t a a happy play, nor easy to watch. But it’s one that keeps you transfixed and stay with you after it ends.”

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New York City Theater, Irene Backalenick, Sept. 15, 2006

“Nami,” a new offering of a young company (the Partial Comfort Productions), is an extraordinary piece that grabs you by the throat and never lets go. All the elements—plot, dialogue, characterization, performance, direction—come together in a raw, brutal drama. It is only toward the closing, when a character is allowed a long, expository monologue, that the play falters.

Written by Chad Beckim, co-founder and co-artistic director of the company, “Nami” is safe in the hands of director John Gould Rubin, whose production moves ahead with steadily mounting—almost unbearable—tension. The show is also blessed with a superb cast (Quincy Tyler Bernstine, Michael Gladis, Eva Kaminsky, Alfredo Narciso, and Marc Rosenthal) and an infallible design team which brings the gritty milieu to life (Heather Wolensky, set; Jason Jeunnette, lighting; Lex Liang, costumes; and Zach Williamson, sound).

“Nami” is the tale of five losers who interact in a no-win situation. Two married couples live side by side in two ramshackle apartments, overseen by the menacing super Donovan. Harry and Lil act out the roles of caretaker and patient. She has spent time in a mental hospital, a place to which she is likely to return at any moment. Roachie and Keesha share a different dynamic. He is a thoroughly useless druggie, while she, a former prostitute, now supports the couple by working in a fast food outlet. Donovan looms over this latter couple, using Roachie for his own evil purposes. The catalyst which brings all five together is a character we never see—a little Indonesian girl who whimpers in the background. Donovan, who is evil personified, is about to sell this child into sexual slavery, and only the intervention of the two women can save her.

This gifted team provides what one always hopes to find in the off-Broadway world—an unexpected gem.”