October 2019
The
White Chip is an addiction-and-recovery
drama probably like no other, because while, in the grand tradition, it pulls
no punches, it is also, in defiance of tradition, uproariously funny. Most of
the time. It is also, often, horrifically uncomfortable. But that balance
between addiction realities and painfully self-aware irony is the key to its,
dare I say, theatrical magic. And there's one other distinguishing feature; the
road to recovery takes an unexpected turn…just when you think that, after all
the genre-busting, we're back to JP Miller Days
of Wine and Roses case-history basics (brilliant for its time, get me not
wrong, but it's six decades later), stifle my disappointed yawn, we go through
a different door. And that's what brings it home.
The (almost certainly
autobiographical) script by Sean Daniels
is performed by three actors. There's Steven (Joe Tapper), a roaringly successful director and regional artistic
director, for whom roaring alcoholism seems to go hand-in-hand with success…for
a time; and there's a man (Genesis
Oliver) and a woman (Finnerty
Stevens) who play everybody else.
There are numerous ways to stage a
script The White Chip, which is equal
parts narrative, equal parts cameo scenes
but Sheryl Kaller has cannily
chosen to do it with a lot of chalkboarding on a center, flappable blackboard,
and available recurring props on shelves off to either side. This allows for a
combination of informational grounding combined with quick motivic visual cues,
which keep everything that's going on clear even as the story whips along.
And did I say it was funny? Arguably
the most important thing about all this is that Ms. Kaller and her cast have a
knack for humanist comedy; they know where the funny lives and they know how to
deliver it without seeming like they know they're delivering it. It's all
played for real stakes; a far rarer gift than you might think.
And that's what gives The White Chip permission to be touching
as well.
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