“I and this mystery. Here we stand.”
Yes, it is a mystery why 17-year old Anthony has shown up in the bedroom of his classmate, Caroline, brandishing a dog-eared copy of Walt Whitman’s Leaves of Grass and a half-finished poster board. Having announced the premise of her play, I and You, playwright Lauren Gunderson then proceeds to explore, for the next hour or so, the meeting of the two in a feast of delicious teen-speak, slangy references, and getting-to-know-you banter. Anthony has ostensibly shown up because Caroline is too ill for school, although she tries to keep up with assignments, and a poetry project is due tomorrow on the use of pronouns in Leaves of Grass, hence the title. We follow the evolution of the boy-meets-girl thing as it morphs into an unwitting friendship, but that nagging mystery remains.
Opening last weekend at Flying Anvil Theatre under the direction of Jayne Morgan, I and You, reveals the two characters little by little, although it feels as though we know them from elsewhere. Anthony (LoRen Seagrave) is African-American and Caroline (Emily Cullum) is white. He’s handsome and popular, but a bit geeky and shy around girls. Caroline is sharp, cute, and talkative, but her shut-in status has left her somewhat frumpy and tired.
As the homework deadline looms and quotations from the Whitman are strewn about with abandon by the pair, and mixed with philosophy, sarcasm, and a touch of romance, one wonders, perhaps impatiently, just where this is all going. Thankfully, Morgan’s pacing and the performances by Seagrave and Cullum are so accomplished, brilliant, and engaging that one doesn’t really see the inevitable twist coming—a twist of human connections that I unabashedly admit gave me a spine-tingle.
The set of Caroline’s bedroom is a simple, but effective one by David Dwyer—a messy bed and study table, with colorful walls adorned with a collage of the images and obsessions of a teen girl who strangely likes rockabilly artists like Elvis. Lighting is by Jordan Vera.
The production by Flying Anvil has an intermission, although it would probably work even better without one. So, whatever you do, don’t leave. Gunderson has packed a substantial message into the finale of I and You, one that turns the previous hour or so of high school angst and cheerfully deceptive narrative into a memorable dramatic experience worth a gasp of surprise.
The actors were so good, even though we had started thinking of the movie The Sixth Sense after a few minutes. The set was pretty simplistic and sub par lighting, but the actors rose above it all.