With the popularity of the Boston Theater Marathon (held annually by the Boston Playwrights' Theater), in which 40 short plays are performed in one 10-hour session, similar -- although somewhat less ambitious -- endeavors are appearing elsewhere in town.
Centastage's "The Boston Plays" includes only six plays, but it is similar to the Marathon in that it illustrates the same two points. First: The theater scene in Boston is vibrant. Playwrights are tackling potentially riveting topics, and they are not afraid to experiment with form and structure. Second: When a short play does not work, it can feel much, much longer than it really is. If the first half of "The Boston Plays" occasionally feels like a chore to sit through, it is because the first four plays, despite being about different things, are similar in their reliance on one of the least exciting theatrical devices: explicit exposition. They all concern Person A relating something for the explicit benefit of Person B (and, thus, the audience), limiting the possibilities for conflict and dramatic action.
Granted, two of these four plays use the device effectively. The first play, Bill Lattanzi's My Way, clearly knows when to say enough. It is a one-joke play but does not overstay its welcome, being approximately three minutes long. The last of the four, Arrhythmia, by Ginger Lazarus (performed at the last Marathon), is genuinely witty and engaging, especially because of a deadpan performance by Joe Siriani as a pragmatic doctor.
On the downside, both What Mother Knows, by Janet Kenney, and Click, by Michael Bettencourt, are borderline tedious, despite promising subject matter. Both are static, mannered, and obvious in their dramatics. And as each relies on the dramatic power of the final revelation, this obviousness is a severe drawback.
The occasional flashes of humor in "Mother" and passion in "Click" are shortchanged by plodding direction (for example, the recurring "click" sound effect in the latter is initially startling, but then is so overused it becomes ridiculous). For most of these two plays, the characters are less interesting than the set (an evocative design by Loann West).
The last play of the first half of the show, Joe Byers' The Piney Boy, feels wildly different by contrast, its energy level heightened by the immediacy of the situation. The characters are somewhat simplistic (making one of them intolerant and racist reduces the complexity), but the drama makes for a powerful conflict.
It is the second half of "The Boston Plays," featuring Dean O'Donnell's Legwork, that makes it worth enduring the occasional tedium of the first. "Legwork" is witty, breathlessly paced, assuredly plotted, and hilariously acted. Joseph J. Pearlman and Joe Siriani are not exactly creating solid characters -- they are more interested in crafting wicked caricatures, and this is exactly what this satire needs. It is reminiscent of Mamet (the echoes of Glengarry Glen Ross are especially prominent), but it's Mamet lite, less interested in social criticism than in being preposterously entertaining -- and it succeeds in spades, feeling much shorter than it is.
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