It is irresistible and possibly worthwhile to take a politically inspired allegory about the ever-present fear of a mysterious, invisible enemy and weld connections to current issues: the purportedly ubiquitous terrorist threat, the dangerous state of panic and helplessness that results. Boris Vian's 1959 play tells the story of a middle-class family pursued by an inexplicable noise that forces the family members to flee upward through their own home to progressively smaller quarters, leaving behind all the comforts they once enjoyed while maintaining a semblance of calm and denial. Their only release seems to come when they beat on a mysterious, dark-skinned, bandaged man who appears in the corner everywhere they go.
The program notes inform us that they play was based on Vian's childhood experience of the Nazi occupation, and that it was also written at a time when French colonialism in African and Asian territories was coming to an end, a time when France was experiencing an increased influx of "dark-skinned immigrants." Vian died before this play would be produced, debated, scrutinized for relevance and meaning. It seems important, however, to note that Vian's friend and translator, Simon Watson-Taylor, has related this anecdote: When a friend of Vian suggested this play was a satire on French colonial policy, Vian replied, "Ha! A splendid idea! But I hope you'll agree that doesn't prevent an absolutely mythical myth from assuming any number of other meanings."
FrederÃque Michel's direction seems determined to contextualize the play as a kind of potential indictment of current American policy, with program notes that discuss the administration's aggression, arrogance, and implicit use of fear to prevent scrutiny. We hear recorded voiceover speeches on "homeland security" between scenes. Yet not only do these elements encourage a more limited interpretation of the play than Vian might be comfortable with, they also seem to intrude upon what is most compelling about the production: the tight, terrifying, absurdist, French world that Michel and her cast so skillfully create.
Michel's staging is often dance-like, each character possessing an odd assortment of physical ticks. A few moments of physical theatre are a pure delight to watch, particularly between Jake Eberle, as our desperately "prudent" father, and his sophisticated, aquiline wife, played by Katharina Lejona. Maia Brewton is well cast as their defiant daughter Zenobia, the only one in the play who admits and addresses the madness their lives have become. Maureen Byrnes is their quirky, amusingly repetitive maid Mug.
Charles A. Duncombe's functional, mobile set evokes the oppressive, shrinking world of this play. And of course the production could not work without Paul M. Rubenstein's carefully crafted sound design that creates a noise so haunting and horrific, yet so eerily unidentifiable.
"The Empire Builders," presented by and at City Garage, 1340-1/2 4th St. (alley), Santa Monica. Fri.-Sat. 8 p.m., Sun. 5:30 p.m. Mar. 19-Apr. 25. $10-20. (310) 319-9939.