“The Wolf at the End of the Block” (by Ike Holter) is, perhaps appropriately, a downbeat urban drama about a young Latino man with a troubled past, who alleges that he was beat down by a white plain-clothes cop in an unprovoked, late-night barroom brawl. Or was it a “hate crime”?
Director Addae Moon’s atmospheric staging for Theatrical Outfit opens on Atlanta newcomer Matt Mercurio as Abe, who, in an adrenaline-rush of a monologue in the immediate aftermath of the incident, breathlessly recounts the situation to an unseen gas-station attendant. “I know what it’s like to run,” the former high-school track-team athlete hyperactively rattles on to the clerk. “Now, I run for fun, just to get some aspect of my old life back,” he says.
Credit: Casey G. Ford Photography
Credit: Casey G. Ford Photography
By the time the drama ends, Abe is, more or less, reiterating the same speech for the unseen camera of a ruthless local television reporter — wearing “like a badge” how proud he feels to be a “symbol,” rather than a victim, in the interest of doing the right thing. But is that what he’s doing? By his own repeated admission, Abe is “not unimpeachable,” and neither are most of the other characters in the play, for that matter, which ultimately poses a distinct quandary for a theater audience usually accustomed to clearer choices and easier answers.
During the 90-odd minutes in between, the story unfolds in an inner-city Chicago neighborhood (evocatively depicted by scenic designer Seamus Bourne and set decorator Nick Battaglia), where the buildings are covered in graffiti, the sidewalks cluttered with garbage cans and assorted junk.
Abe lives in a low-rent apartment with his sister, Miranda (Erika Miranda), who has kept a protective watch over him ever since a fleetingly mentioned family tragedy involving his drunk driving. He works at a convenience store operated by the avuncular Nunley (Anthony S. Goolsby is terrific); after some cash goes missing from the store safe, Nunley would rather not watch his own surveillance video than to doubt the faith and trust he has placed in Abe. When the three of them are together, their gregarious rapport and rapid-fire banter bristles with a legitimate credibility.
Credit: Casey G. Ford Photography
Credit: Casey G. Ford Photography
Once Abe explains how he sustained his visible injuries from the night before, Miranda, an otherwise unemployed blogger, promptly reaches out to a ruthless investigative TV journalist. Frida (Maria Rodriguez-Sager) unapologetically boasts about her own importance — as a woman whose career is “above reproach” and as a Latina who brings a certain “exotic disposition” to a profession largely inhabited by white men. She often uses generic pronouns like “they” and “them” in referring to the general public (or whites, in particular).
“Who do you call when you can’t call the cops? My voice is the only protection you have,” she asserts, urging that time is of the essence. “Every minute that goes by is interest lost. Nobody cares once the blood dries.”
Later, the play (and Abe’s version of events) begins to unravel. When Nunley’s curiosity gets the better of him, he visits the scene of the so-called crime, where he has one or more too many and begins to strike up a conversation with a new drinking buddy, James. Actor Mark Kincaid’s mere presence in the role insinuates an imposing menace, and Nunley’s gradual realization about the guy’s true identity is portrayed by Goolsby with a chilling, sobering nuance.
As things develop, nothing may be quite as it seems. Abe’s “not unimpeachable,” after all. Miranda comes off smelling like a rose by rejecting the thought of “lying” for him. But Nunley, “too scared to fight back,” reluctantly concedes, “I believe him, and that’s good enough for me.” And Frida finally admits she doesn’t even care, insofar as she and her news story are “covered.”
Credit: Casey G. Ford Photography
Credit: Casey G. Ford Photography
There’s no telling, in the end, if James might be the titular predator, or whether Abe is simply a proverbial boy who cries wolf. The uncertainty is decidedly unsettling — and highly frustrating. Why should we care any more than Frida, when our own sympathies are so deliberately called into question?
THEATER REVIEW
“The Wolf at the End of the Block”
Through April 24. 7:30 p.m. Thursdays-Saturdays; 2:30 p.m. Sundays; 2:30 p.m. Saturday (April 9 only). $45. Balzer Theater at Herren’s, 84 Luckie St. NW, Atlanta. 678-528-1500, www.theatricaloutfit.org.
Bottom line: A downbeat urban drama.
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