New York’s ERS Shows That The Story Isn’t What Counts (English Translation)

by Marian Buijs

For a moment we unsuspecting theatergoers are confused when, just after the first scene, two people stand up and quietly but conspicuously make their way out. Was that part of the show or not? After all, the actors run up through the audience from time to time, or in and out of the dressing room. A latecomer with a program in his hand looks like a spectator. But no, he shoots into the dressing room.

These American actors in Cab Legs aren’t averse to a little confusion. With them the accidental enjoys free range. Or so they say. Because naturally most of the “accidents” are deliberately arranged.

The New York theater group Elevator Repair Service (ERS) is a hit on the alternative theater circuit. Their director John Collins is the soundman for The Wooster Group, and that’s not the only connection. Just like the Woosters, ERS can’t stand overly polished and predictable theater, especially the kind commonly found on the stages of Broadway.

The plot of Cab Legs (taxi legs) might be derived from Tennessee Williams’ Summer and Smoke, and the story might have much of the feel of a soap opera (Linda meets doctor, feels something for him, but her sister Maggie, her demented mother, and her father stand in the way), but the fragmentary manner in which it’s represented completely obliterates the comparison.

It’s as if the director sent his actors onstage each with a handicap. Linda has stomach cramps; during conversation now and then a high shrill belch bursts out of her. Maggie has such squeaky shoes that her nervously fidgeting foot makes a deafening noise, while the doctor is ruled by his troublesome need to pluck invisible critters from Linda’s neck.

Sometimes the performers seem like they stepped out of a cartoon, backed by numerous bizarre sound effects. But later you catch them in uncommonly realistic dialogue. Not that this streamlines the story, on the contrary. For them this struggle for ‘realism’ onstage means that each hesitation, worrying about the audience or waiting for each other, things rightly hidden in an ordinary production, are openly exposed here.

As funny and disarming as that often is, it has one drawback: the actors talk “just like life” to each other, at a volume that suits a private conversation. We do our very best to cath the words, but the mumbling here is elevated to an art form. The incomprehensibility is irritating, all the more so because the performers are so funny you don’t want to miss a syllable.

Is that why the two people left? If so, they made a mistake. With amazing energy and unremitting self-mockery these actors mix mime, dance, and melodrama. One moment you’re laughing at their idiotic bouncing and the next you shudder at the neurotic babble of such a typical Tennessee Williams woman. In short, it’s such an unusual show that you soon stop worrying about things like a storyline.

translation by Scott Shepherd