By Lloyd Rose. Washington Post Staff Writer.
The Washington Post.
Tuesday, November 7, 2000; Page C01
Greta Sanchez-Ramirez and Nancy Rodriguez in "Two Sisters and a Piano.""Two
Sisters and a Piano," at the Studio Theatre, is a study of the
psychological consequences engendered even by relatively unsevere political
oppression. The script could be played as a nightmare of paranoia and the
elusiveness of motive, but director Serge Seiden has made the equally legitimate
choice to concentrate on the emotional complexities, bringing out playwright
Nilo Cruz's compassion and tenderness.
In 1991 Havana, the romance novelist turned political activist Maria Celia
Obispo (Greta Sanchez-Ramirez) and her younger sister, Sophia (Nancy Rodriguez),
are under house arrest after spending two years in prison. Maria's husband is in
exile. His letters are kept from her, and she has no idea whether he is going to
be able to get her out of Cuba.
Twenty-four-year-old Sophia, more a political hanger-on than a committed
activist, is the shallow Ismene to Maria's stoic Antigone. Sophia is tired of
poverty and confinement, tired of having no fun.
Daniel Lee Conway's set, with its stained stucco walls and worn furniture,
underscores the impression of stagnation and decay. Periodically, when the
sisters dream of freedom, the walls become transparent, revealing a lilac sky
and a white sea, with dark splotches too distant to decipher: Are they trees or
decaying buildings, or are they actually mildew growing on the walls of the
house in which two lives have stopped?
Into this potentially volatile situation comes Lt. Allejandro Portuondo
(Paul Morella), an ambiguous figure who has the power to release Maria's
husband's letters to her. When he tries to get her to talk about her writing,
she suspects he's merely attempting to trap her into some incriminating
revelation. Even later, when he expresses sexual and romantic interest, she
isn't quite sure he's on the level. On the other hand, the audience notes, she
also appears to be trying to manipulate him, even if she's only half-aware of
it.
The emotional line of the story is sometimes hard to follow because Seiden
hasn't directed the actors to prepare us for the coming changes in their
characters. They just seem to change personalities about midway through.
Morella's Portuondo starts as an oily, grinning villain, and the sensitive,
confused man who emerges later, though well acted, comes out of nowhere. In her
early scenes, Rodriguez makes Sophia engagingly natural and sane, so her
eventual crackup is unconvincing. Sanchez-Ramirez is sternly the same all the
way through, but she's acting in a mannered style of poses and odd gestures
(turning to leave a room, she kicks up a foot behind her, like a dancer) that
clashes with the other actors.
The most satisfying acting, partly because the character has no trajectory
but is in only one scene, is from Lawrence Redmond as Victor Manuel, the piano
tuner Sophia flirts with. An ordinary man who comes face to face with his own
vulnerability and wistful longing, Redmond's Manuel is continually surprising us
and himself. It's a complicated, affecting performance.
This is a play about the consequences of thought--imprisonment,
persecution--in which none of the characters is really sure what he or she
thinks. Cruz works this paradox not for cruel humor but for its complexities.
Portuondo is the man in charge who knows what's going on in the government but
not what's happening in his own heart. Maria not only can't be sure what he's up
to, she can't be sure of her own motives. These conflicts aren't resolved in a
sentimental, satisfying way; Cruz keeps his characters, and us, off balance,
lost in a wilderness of mirrors.
Two Sisters and a Piano, by Nilo Cruz. Directed by Serge Seiden. Lighting,
Joseph Appelt; costumes, Helen Q. Huang; sound, Gil Thompson; props, Sue Senita
Bradshaw. At the Studio Theatre through Dec. 10. Call 202-332-3300.
© 2000 The Washington Post Company |
