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At the Pizza Hut-Taco Bell combination in Queens, Jamaica, the gender-fluid Thorn is working on a rap – attached to the line “I have to leave New York City” – that will hopefully lead to an escape via a “Goths of America”. Talent victory. Thorn, a trans woman, is played with irresistible charm by nightlife artist Jae WB, so it’s almost impossible not to support her.
C. Julian Jiménez’s eccentric new play “Bruise & Thorn,” currently being staged at ART/New York Theatres, gives the character a chance to freestyle, fashion and enter the heart of the audience.
Never mind that his cousin Bruise (a very charming Fernando Contreras) has to hold the fort at the laundromat where they both work, while imagining Thorn’s quick escape. Saving for her own cooking school aspirations, Bruise’s caring jolly heart must make room for the homeless Old Fart (Lou Liberatore, hilarious) and her demanding boss, Mrs. Fiery Zuleyma Guevara, who tied him to the cockfighting racket).
Hanging outside is the Lizard (Carson Fox Harvey), a sketchy figure who shakes her commitment to Thorn on the condition that she let go of the in-between of her identity – sometimes implied that she uses pronouns to appease her – and lives like him. a man. The Lizard’s character, perhaps by design, isn’t as fully realized as the others to keep him a mystery, but his shabby plaid boxers are more than enough. (The costumes are by Saawan Tiwari.)
Besides well-understood performances, “Bruise & Thorn” counts unforgettable originality among its best qualities; The job is so weird, so Latin, so New York City. Filled with hip-hop, impromptu duck walks and loving shadows, Jiménez’s humor is performed with infectious enthusiasm by the two lead actors. At the beginning of the game, as the characters’ personalities are introduced, it’s almost impossible to believe that WB and Contreras did not create the material themselves, but lived so naturally.
Mixing resourcefulness with acting, the production eschews realism for gay fantasy; Sasha Schwartz’s laundry set looks like a McDonald’s playground designed for Teletubbies. Multicolored spots adorn the floors with washers, dryers, and multi-purpose cardboard boxes that add an appropriate quirk to the final scenes: a series of drag-ball contests representing cockfights (with birds magnificently played by androgynous dancers) and a culminating discussion between the two. Cousins.
Once the balls are in, Jiménez’s play becomes even less concerned with realism and uses fantasy as a genuine way to get these characters out of their situation. It may sound like a bit of a narrative breakout – I’m still not sure exactly how some of this plot unfolds – but the scenes are satisfying enough to dispel most concerns.
These flights of fantasy are essential to the game’s quirkiness, but Jesse Jou’s leisurely direction sucks momentum from the characters’ risky decisions. The first hangout scenes let the actors’ quick comic presentation and charisma set their pace, while the later more tense ones allow too much pause, too much teasing and hesitation, as if to telegraph gravity through passivity.
When it comes to the ideas of gender, identity, and class it evokes, Jiménez is wise to not promise more than this playful game can handle. “Bruise & Thorn” knows exactly how to stay awake despite all her dreams.
Bruise and Thorn
At the Mezzanine Theater at ART/New York Theatre, Manhattan, through March 27; pipelinetheatre.org. Working time: 1 hour 35 minutes.
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