Astrid Van Wieren and Mairi Babb in ‘Inge(new) – In Search of a Musical’, Photo by Dahlia Katz
Bridget (Mairi Babb) an actor on the cusp of middle-age, desperate to stay relevant and in-demand, finds herself trapped in an audition. Squinting into the blinding lights, she becomes progressively more annoyed by the complete silence the meets her every attempt at engagement. She does want to endear herself, of course, so she softens the snide comments with her pandering catchphrase: “not criticism, just an observation.”
For musical theatre lovers, the set-up for Inge(new) – In Search of a Musical, might feel, at first, like a cruel prank. We hear the opening bars of a song, but just as her mouth opens to sing, she cuts herself off—over and over and over again. It’s frustrating, quite deliberately so. The book, by Evan Tsitsias, teases us for so long we begin to fear that this searched for musical will never actually be found.
Suddenly, an older actor, Gertrude (Astrid Van Wieren), and Joy (Elora Joy Sarmiento), significantly younger, appear on the scene. All three of them confront the realities of aging into and out of the coveted ingenue role and struggle to understand their place in the world of musical theatre—this show, yes; but, more broadly, in the industry and life. Thrown into the works is a middle-aged male actor, Max (Cory O’Brien), with whom Bridget has some sour romantic history.
Trapped together in this semi-surrealist theatre-scape, their situation begins to feel distinctly existential, very No Exit. Tensions mount as the lines between character and actor get blurred. As they perform scenes from the play they’re auditioning for, it starts to mirror their own lives.
Unmoored and flailing in a sea of familiar tropes, they come together and break apart in a series remembered, imagined, reinvented scenarios. We get toxic mother-daughter pairings, lovers both eager and jilted, examinations of ageism and sexism, and yes—musical numbers! With lyrics by Alexis Diamond and music by Rosalind Mills (some additional songs by Julia Appleton), all of the numbers are genuinely charming and all—except for the finale—are affectionately tongue-in-cheek.
Tsitsias’ staging isn’t flashy yet he does create an expansiveness—a whiff of razzle-dazzle—that is particularly startling given the confines of the Red Sandcastle Theatre. There isn’t really any set, but the carefully considered backdrop of faux-brick wallpaper, crumpled and in tatters, does have a ramshackle allure. It’s a cozy, community theatre-esque manifestation of their collective decline into dissociation and malaise.
Clever and absolutely knowing that about itself, not all of its 105 minutes feel urgent and purposeful; the cast, though, are fully compelling. Initially arch and self-conscious, the writing and performances gradually transcend the brazen cliches, knead the artifice until it reveals pockets of truth.