Good from grief

By Jacob Coakley

Dog Sees God, by Bert V. Royal, is framed by a letter from the main character, CB, played by Joshua Laird, to his pen pal. In the letter CB tells how his dog, a beloved beagle, got rabies, killed a little yellow bird that was always hanging around and snapped at CB. Animal Control comes, takes the dog away and puts it to sleep. As the action of the play begins, CB starts asking his friends what they believe happens after death. The rain cloud is definitely hanging over our favorite blockhead once again.

Like the classic comic strip upon which it’s based, Royal’s play charts the emotional dislocation of CB—only in a much more adult register than Peanuts attempted. (Here, all names have been changed to protect the innocent—namely nonprofit theaters producing the play—from lawsuits launched by Charles Schulz’s estate.)

To relieve his anomie, CB dares to start up a relationship with Schroeder (sorry, “Beethoven,” played by JJ Gatersman), the musical genius who has become the school pariah and brunt of the violent bullying of CB and his pal Pigpen (er, “Matt,” Brandon McClenahan).

When a play makes bold choices that reimagine familiar characters, the challenge is to present the characters in such a way that brings them beyond the gimmick. Here, Matt is a psychopathic germophobe. Peppermint Patty and sidekick Marcie (“Tricia” and “Marcy,” played by Breon Jenay and Kat Bauer, respectively) have morphed from tomboys into the ultimate high school glam mean girls. Sally (“CB’s Sister,” Amanda Kraft) can’t decide if she’s going to be a Southern Baptist, a goth-queen performance artist, a hip-hop fly girl or a post-Britney schoolgirl slut. Linus (“Van,” Sam Craner) is a stoner—we get it. The actors clearly love reinterpreting these classic characters, but this frisson is not enough to drive a play; it needs more of an emotional underpinning than simply audience nostalgia. And that’s where the show falters.

It’s unclear if the holes in this production are faults of the script or of its realization. At points it seems like the actors are relying strictly on the idea to carry them through the night. Tricia and Marcy have a couple of scenes in the school cafeteria that should play bloodier than a knife fight after a Coumadin cocktail—but the daggers are turned into sporks. There are some moments where everything clicks—Van’s protracted rant on the inanities and insults of cafeteria food, for example, is milk-out-your-nose funny, thanks both to its outrageousness and the moment within which it happens—but too often it feels as if the cast has played the obvious and left the real insights into the emotional lives of the characters alone, leaving the audience to fill in the blanks. When characters veer into very dangerous, definitely-not-handled-in-the-Sunday-funnies territory, it’s less clear as to what, exactly, is happening emotionally.

In this the cast is not helped by the staging. For example, Beethoven and CB’s time together, the surprising emotional heart of the show, is strictly limited to a stage-right location, in front of the entrance to the theater—which means no seats, and no audience members, are directly in front of them. Scenes also feel strangely claustrophobic. Director Walter Niejaklik has divided the stage into areas, and each scene is confined to a specific area. Perhaps this static effect was intentional, as one of the major themes of the show is the idea that high school really, really sucks, but it becomes harder to chart the emotional vicissitudes of the characters when they’re so hemmed in.

But even with these weaknesses, there are some truly emotionally moving moments in this production that cut to the heart of what it’s like to find yourself in a world not of your making, at the mercy of others and unsure of who you even are. And without giving too much away, the play ends with a sequence evoking the comfort of a security blanket without disregarding life’s traumas. So my heart likes it a lot more than my head says I should. Despite its postmodern pose and sharp, wicked humor, Dog Sees God has a sentimental core, and manages to be as sweet as Dolly Madison cupcakes.

Dog Sees God

***

Through May 18, Thur-

362-7996, lvlt.org

Photograph by Alana Brown