Gift Theatre's 'Cloud 9' Deserves Sold-Out Run

Reviewed By: Alex Huntsberger

How would you feel about a character onstage that is a woman being played by a man? Not too weirded out by that? Okay, how you would feel if that woman was later played by the same actress who played her mother while the actor who played the woman originally now plays her son? Confused? Well, what if the son was originally played by an actress who's now playing the lesbian lover of his sister: a sister that was originally played be a headless doll? Oh, and the man who played the family patriarch is now playing that lesbian lover's five-year-old daughter. Oh, and the family's black butler is played by a white man? Would any of this make you confused, angry, or titillated? Would it make you deeply, existentially depressed? Would it make you laugh and/or cry and/or both simultaneously?

If you want to find out the answers for yourself, then get thee to the Blue Line and jet on up to Jefferson Park because the Gift Theatre's production of Caryl Churchill's 1979 play Cloud 9 (running through December 4th) is a harrowing, hilarious, high-wire act that deserves a sold-out run. That shouldn't be hard either, since the theatre only seats around 30. And don't expect those seats to be comfortable either, because they're not. The theatre itself has that quintessential store-front feel of having been hastily thrown together fifteen years ago and then occasionally patched up with duct tape and safety pins. But when Cloud 9 kicks off to the galloping drums of The Decemberists' "Infanta" you might as well be on Broadway, because director Maureen Payne-Hashner has marshaled a production worthy of great attention.

Cloud 9 is an experimental piece, but that's not to say that it's arduous. After all, it's a comedy. Act I opens in Victorian Africa, where it follows the brutal sexcapades surrounding colonial administrator Clive (Kurt Conroyd). Act II opens in London, 1979 and follows the lives of Clive's wife and children, now all grown up. A century has passed for England, but for the characters, it's only been 25 years. The Africa of the first act––a place of rules and strictures and secrets and taboos––has given way to London of pre-Thatcher modern day: everyone and their sisters (literally) are questioning their gender or their sexuality or their general place in the world and all the nice little boxes that people used to fit each other into are being ripped to shreds and remodeled into rather stunning, gender neutral accessory wear. Childhood, with all it's cruel certainties, has given way to adulthood, with all its uncertain freedoms.

The Gift's cast is fantastic and ensemble member Hillary Clemens deserves special praise for her two-hander first act (she plays the adulterous neighbor, Mrs. Saunders, and the lovesick nanny, Ellen) and her gorgeous, vulnerable second act (wherein she plays Clive's daughter, Victoria). The ensemble plays and feeds off each other exquisitely, whether it's Africa's farcical runaround or London's exhausted torpor. The only performance I took some issue with was Conroyd's and even that one I'm a little unsure about. Conroyd brings a strange, transsexual energy to Clive's stuffiness. He is equal parts Allan Cumming, Frank N. Furter, and Jack Sparrow. This Clive is odd, unsettling and effeminate, and while I thought Conroyd played this interpretation superbly, I began to question whether or not it was the best choice for the character. Clive is the fulcrum of the entire play. His traditional patriarchy is what the other characters are all reacting against. He is the so-called "normal" from which all the others run the second they have the chance. And so to make Clive a freaky subversive robs the play of its Victorian standard-bearer. Cloud 9 becomes in, in essence, villain-less. This is not to say his performance was "wrong" but it was certainly something that, as an audience member, I wrestled with. Of course, this is also a compliment to Conroyd who plays his interpretation so to the hilt that his Clive becomes a force the audience can't not reckon with.

The Gift's set (by Courtney O'Neill) is lo-fi but effective. The stage is a tall, anti-monolith: an empty white cavern. There are corsets and hoop skirts hanging from the ceiling, like skeleton trophies from Clive's sexual conquests. Against the stark whiteness of the set, the colorful costumes by Branimira Ivanova pop, while lighting designer Andrew Glasenhart uses the space as a blank canvas to blast his rock and roll lighting during the productions rollicking transitions. The design elements in this production all do great work with minimal budgets, concocting a sand box wherein Payne-Hashner unleashes her actors to play, fight, kick scream, and make a glorious mess.

The easily offended be warned: Cloud 9 will surely upset your sensibilities. From the comical evocations of rape (that only make the act more terrifying) to Clive's butler Joshua: a self-loathing African who is portrayed by Jay Worthington, a white actor. Churchill's motive is clear: Joshua's desire to be a white Englishman instead of a black African has been internalized so deeply that he now sees himself as white: unlike the others who still treat him like a trained pet. Cloud 9 is full of these sorts of contradictions, and it is exemplary of the Gift's stellar production that Worthington's ghoulish, puppy-eyed grin encompasses all of them.

Cloud 9 runs through Dec 4, 2011. 4802 N Milwaukee Ave (at Lawrence Ave)(773) 283-7071 For more information visit: thegifttheatre.org

The Gift Theatre