Young Jean Lee’s “Straight White Men” is receiving a terrific production at Westport Country Playhouse. Expertly directed by Mark Lamos, this admirable piece—as close as Lee has come to writing a “well-made play”—will challenge audiences from the moment they walk into the theatre and will continue challenging them throughout the 90-minute run-time. As the curtain fell, I was initially puzzled, if not frustrated. However, the more I thought about the evening, the more I realized that my frustration stemmed from my own conventional expectations, which are exactly the expectations that Lee is determined to push against.
As audience members pick up their tickets, they are assaulted by very loud rap music with very explicit lyrics, sung by female rappers. This is not Lamos’ choice but is written into Lee’s script. We are also accosted, in a friendly way, by two clearly non-binary people in sparkly purple suits with matching sparkly masks (Akiko Akita and Ashton Muñiz). These “Persons in Charge” tell us that they are checking in on everyone, and they hope we are doing well.
Inside the theatre, the music continues and is accompanied by flashing lights. Whatever will happen onstage, we are clearly not in Kansas anymore. And that is clearly Lee’s—and Lamos’—point.
The play itself begins with each of the “Persons in Charge” giving us a quick lesson on what non-binary means and telling us that they understand we may be feeling uncomfortable at this point when we are used to going to the theatre and feeling at ease. Their message is that they themselves encounter discomfort 99% of the time in our heteronormative world. Here, however, they run the show—literally. When they snap their fingers, the lights go on and the action begins; another snap, and the stage is in blackout. Even more interestingly, for each scene they lead the characters onto the stage and position them, as if the men were puppets.
Lee’s play masquerades as the most familiar situation comedy possible: on Christmas Eve, two adult sons, Jake and Drew, join their aging father, Ed, and their oldest brother, Matt—who lives with Dad—for the yearly celebration. And yes! —the men immediately revert to the children they once were: playing video games, annoying each other to the point of physical fighting, and bringing out the game of “Privilege,” which their now-deceased mother created out of a Monopoly board to teach them about, well, how privileged they are.
Continuing with the situation comedy, Dad brings in matching Christmas pajamas, which just happen to look like adult-sized onesies, and insists they all wear them. Chinese take-out follows, and while they eat and joke, Lee gives us the mysterious event that we recognize as the first-act curtain line, although no line, per se, is spoken.
The second half of the play concerns itself with this event, inviting us to speculate about Chekhov’s proverbial gun on the mantelpiece and the big revelation that will surely make sense of all that has gone before. The less said about that here, the better.
The acting in this production is superb. Denver Milord gives Matt, the oldest, a mild sweetness that perfectly suits his role in the family as the one who cleans, runs errands, and has chosen to live with and care for his dad. Bill Army, as divorced banker Jake, is intense in every way: physically, he is tall, slim, and fit; emotionally and intellectually, his Jake is sharp, brilliant, and often cruel. Nick Westrake, as Drew, the youngest—an author and academic—plays the character’s many moods and colors to perfection, from determinedly irritating, to childishly hung-over, to warmly, insistently, concerned. And Richard Kline, as Ed, their father, nails the gradual transformation from jolly, to perplexed, to chilling.
The excellent set design, by Kristen Robinson, gives us kitchen-sink realism onstage framed by a whimsical proscenium constructed with what look like red and blue leggo blocks, reinforcing the theme of regression. Fabian Fidel Aguilar’s costumes capture each man’s very different personality. Alison Soloman’s choreography is delightfully spot on, and Fight Director Michael Rossmy makes the men’s violent horseplay look truly dangerous.
Between Lee’s play, Lamos’ direction, the acting, and the production values, “Straight White Men” is an experience well worth its provocative elements. In fact, not all art is supposed to make us feel at ease, and discomfort often leads to deeper thought.
“Straight White Men” continues at the Westport Country Playhouse, 25 Powers Court in Westport through June 5. Masks and proof of vaccination are required. For further information, call the box office at: 203.227.4177 or visit: www.westportplayhouse.org.