Norris plants the seeds of a whole garden of questions about his characters. Is Hadid an exterminator or a lonely widower invited to dinner simply to provide some perspective? Do Clay and Kelly have a solid marriage, or is it all a façade? Could the overprotective Clay be responsible for Kayla's horrifying genital rash, or might the avocado-munching intruder be the cause of it? Some of these ideas are red herrings, but the fun lies in discovering which ones turn out to be fishy and which ones fact.
In a clever reinforcement of "practice what you preach," one of the central themes of the play, plastic surgeon Cash tells Hadid a story about a successful, yet unattractive woman who comes to him for a nose job, but proclaims that she doesn't believe in cosmetic surgery to solve life's problems. He is struck by the irony that she is motivated to improve her looks in order to find happiness, and that she is willing to sacrifice her beliefs to do so. The message lingers in an awkward silence between the two men and wafts over the audience until it sinks in. For all of his righteous parental superiority and panic about the evils of the outside world, Clay does more potential damage to Kayla by suppressing her natural exuberance, collecting porn videos, and setting a poor example when he alternately rants or sulks and disrespects his own mother in front of her. What is his responsibility and where does evil really lurk?
The snap and crackle of Norris' dialogue and crisp direction by M. Bevin O'Gara in her Company One debut make the action pop like kernels of corn in a hot fryer. Lights flash on or off over the living room or dining area to clearly indicate the flashbacks and forwards in time, music and videos are perfectly synchronized, and, in a departure from real life, all of the components of the Thanksgiving meal are ready to be served together. (I wonder if O'Gara cooks?) Without a doubt, her cast is cookin' on all burners. Doherty's tightly-wound professional woman is as removed from her free-spirited Sally Bowles in Cabaret, as is Carroll's relentless, oblivious mother from her role as Joan Didion in The Year of Magical Thinking. Lilly lends an air of down-to-earth dignity to the proceedings and tells Hadid's emotional story with authenticity. Mia is a charmer with a spot on accent and a nuanced performance as the outsider who wants to fit in with the family, but won't take mistreatment in trade. Steinman looks like she's enjoying the best play date ever, but lacks a little focus.
The Pain and The Itch is well-served by playing in the cozy Plaza Theatre where the audience is so close that it seems like we are also sitting in the living room, voyeurs peeping into these imperfect lives and feeling their discomfort. Fortunately, there are a lot of laughs in this dark comedy to break the tension and an array of surprises toward the end that will send you out into the night shaking your head. Lastly, it kind of makes you appreciate your own relatives.
Photo: Joe Lanza (Clay), Aimee Doherty (Kelly)
