This query resonates. While these overeducated & underemployed members of the nation’s lost generation keep saying, “you know,” none of them do. This bittersweet drama may remind some theater audiences of Eric Bogosian’s slacker navel-gazer, “subUrbia,” but it’s distinguished by a style that turns inarticulateness in to the sort of poetry that rewards close listening.
“I mean, wouldn’t you think, it’s a bit, you know,” begins a typical exchange of ideas in “Enjoy,” Toshiki Okada’s smart portrait of the comically desperate part-time employees of a cafe in recession-racked Japan. A co-worker (Alex Torra) responds, “What do you mean, you know?”
The playwright casually breaks the fourth wall, with the actors (whose characters are Actor 1, Actor 2, etc.) narrating directly to the audience, setting the scene before joining it. It fits six of the play’s central themes: how easy it is to spend more time commenting on your life than living it.
If the listless characters translate easily ( to the point of banality) to a different culture, the blunt colloquial language elevates this drama in to something more daring. Pig Iron Theater’s co-artistic director Dan Rothenberg’s pitch-perfect direction teases out performances that capture the way hipsters talk in Williamsburg, as well as in Tokyo.
The laughs here finish in dreary shrugs. Mr. Okada, with the help of a skilful translation by Aya Ogawa, makes sure that even if it take a while to communicate a thought, a mood of indulgence & despair emerges clearly. The play argues the reverse of “ignorance is bliss.” Intelligence here seems like hell.
Some audiences may find the “Godot”-like pace of the plot irritating. Conversations that could be summed up in two words — “I like you” — take 10 minutes. Six of the best jokes is how nerves make besotted young people sound like lawyers. In the mumblecore-style performances of Kris Kling & Frank Harts, men only in their 30s seem spent, as they make fine distinctions about how the attention of a younger woman (played with an excess of charm & quirk by Kira Sternbach) can make you feel, well, you know.
There is something moving about the self-consciousness of these characters, & ultimately hopeful. The words can be trite & the feelings as elderly as time, but perhaps that’s what makes the stammering appropriate; ordinary feelings deserve ordinary prose.
The title “Enjoy,” like much of the dialogue, can be read several ways. There is the frozen-smiled cheer of customer service, the sarcastic sneer of the ironist &, when one lovers kiss at the finish, the possibility of something genuine. I mean, like.
