SOLO SHOW A MANIC ROMPTALENTED ACTOR CARRIES IT OFF
There are rare moments in theater when a production is stripped so bare that the primal act of storytelling is all that remains, leaving nothing to hide behind. No curtain. No stage. No backstage. And no supporting cast. Just a static room waiting to be sparked by action. Brian Bryson's ``Romance: A One-Man Show'' presents one of those even rarer moments when the presentation actually succeeds, spotlighting an actor so talented and schizophrenic he needs no supporting cast.
Kicking off Actors' Theatre's Bare-Stage Series with manic verve and comic tenacity, Bryson has devised a techno-sensory production that at first looms as pretentious as an experimental student thesis project, but ultimately emerges as a ridiculous romp through the complexities of modern matchmaking.
Meet Bob Blissman, the crackpot owner of Romantic's Video Dating Service. His multimillion-dollar empire is founded on the ability to teach dopes like Stew, a perverted football freak turned Romantic Special Agent, the art of pairing unlikely couples -- namely Toby, the day-tripping speedfreak, and Tina, the giddy-up, bong-smoking sexpot.
Donning a bright yellow blazer and floppy yellow beret, from the moment Bryson addresses the audience (the eager class of Romantic Secret Agents that we are), there's no stopping the dictatorial madness as Blissman barks out libidinous philosophy, even plucking a brave soul from the crowd to demonstrate his time-tested techniques.
Set in a modest bedroom, the meager space is framed by a video camera and two television screens utilized not as props but as clever tools of multiplicity, each an alternative window into Bryson's madcap fantasies.
The multifarious play unfolds in a series of hilarious skits and show-and-tell sessions. Strung-out Toby and gyratory Tina tape and retape their dating-service video introductions. Stew plots his first assignment, pausing between raving moments of obsessive 49ers fervor to divulge his game plan for the two lovebirds.
Constantly morphing, Bryson makes the most of live and programmed video feeds, acting in perfect synch with pretaped recordings as he ``monitors'' his subjects via the revolutionary Romanticam.
But video transitions designed to occupy audience attention while Bryson changes costume in a dark corner come across either as obtrusive as an MTV video or as painfully random as a recycled Michelangelo Antonioni montage. It's a telling sign: Without Bryson the stage is empty, no matter the device.
On the basest level, ``Romance: A One-Man Show'' succeeds in the art of sheer physical contortion. Just watching Tina dance the pelvic pony, her red wig shimmering in the strobe light as Bryson's hairy beer-gut hangs over a skintight black miniskirt, is worth a few laughs.
And yet there's more to this hourlong show than just gags. Near the end, Bryson injects a probing mortality that hints at another one-man show -- Beckett's ``Krapp's Last Tape'' -- as Blissman launches into morose diatribe, recording a hypercritical final confession.
``Romance: A One-Man Show'' is certainly one of the most ingenious and resourceful performances to run in Sonoma County this season, proving there's still room for minimalism in this high-rent theatrical age of musical extravaganza.
To watch Bryson perform is to witness an actor peel himself apart, revealing layer upon layer as he summons the uncanny voyeuristic sensation that whatever transpires would be happening whether or not we were there to observe it.
©© The Press Democrat
BYLINE: John Beck
Staff Writer
PAGE: D4
COLUMN: THEATER REVIEW
