I thought I was quite lucky when I managed to get two discount tickets for Steppenwolf Theater’s The Flick, an award winning (so hard to believe) play by Annie Baker. That feeling lasted 10 minutes when my hope that the play would entertain or enlighten at all was starting to vanish.
The Flick is a long, (3 hours, 10 minutes) dull look at two men who sweep and mop up the theater and the female projectionist, who’s a vapid loudmouth. The advertisement called the show “mesmerising” and I can only imagine that’s an agency’s spin on “sleep inducing.” I came expecting humorous banter about the love of film by some theatre employees with quirks and some sort of meaning or at least novel social observations along the lines of the very quotable Clerks film.
Those hopes were dashed rather early one by prolonged stretches of mopping or sweeping interspersed with dull dialogue about stealing from the till, the projectionist’s personality and sexuality, and movie trivia between the new guy, a nerd with high levels of social anxiety who’s little more than a walking IMDB.com. The nerd does realise he doesn’t have much personality his life is going nowhere but his long winded phone conversation with a therapist just bored me.
The play desperately needs 1) a plot, 2) more characters, 3) cut about 90 minutes out of it, 4) somehow find a theme and 5) take the characters you’re stuck with and give them some personality.
Evidently, the play contains humour, but I only know that because the theatre employees who sat behind me laughed. Any laughter in the theatre came from about 10% of the audience whom my friend and I guess were parents of the actors. During the first half of the play, I looked at my watch three times, not a good sign. I was relieved to get to intermission and delighted when my friend asked, “Would you mind leaving?”
Certainly not! Ninety more minutes would be hell.
As I went to collect my coat, my friend asked an employee what happened in the second half. “It’s pretty much more of the same.” That’s what we guessed. If the playwright had any ability or sense, she’d have put something good into the first half of this long, long opus. We overheard some people trying to decide whether to stay or go. My friend shared the employee’s comment. After exchanging some comments about how dreadful this show was and trying to figure out why a high quality theatre like Steppenwolf would choose to do this and how this Annie Baker managed to not only win a Pulitzer but also a Guggenheim so she’s getting a fortune to continue to write dull plays, we all decided to leave. Life is too short.
We weren’t alone either. I figure my $20 was a gift to the arts. We were so sorry that Domesticated with Tom Allen was sold out.