Review: River & Rail’s ‘In the Next Room, or The Vibrator Play’

 

Technical innovation always seems to outpace society’s understanding. If you doubt this statement, look no further than the history of the vibrator for proof. A shortcut might be to check out the current offering at the River & Rail Theatre Company, In the Next Room, or The Vibrator Play by playwright Sarah Ruhl, which opened last weekend.

Ruhl’s play, directed in this skillful River & Rail production by Sarah Lacy Hamilton, premiered at the Berkeley Repertory Theater in 2009, and ran on Broadway later that year. The setting is the late 19th Century—and the subject is the shamefully comical ignorance of their sexual identities exhibited by both men and women of the Victorian era.

In the late 19th Century, women experiencing a range of symptoms such as fatigue, sensitivity to light and sound, headaches, anxiety, depression, and loss of sexual appetite were often diagnosed by medical professionals with “female hysteria.” Although it is hard to stifle a 21st Century snigger or two at that kind of pronouncement, 19th Century women affluent enough to seek a medical solution from a progressive physician were often prescribed a manual pelvic massage aimed at producing an “hysterical paroxysm” to relieve said symptoms. Many doctors apparently sought ways to reduce the tedious amount of hand/wrist labor involved, and the electric vibrator seemed the perfect modern solution. 

It is in an upstate New York spa town in the late 19th Century that In the Next Room, or The Vibrator Play, is set. Household electricity has just begun to be installed in homes for those who can afford the luxury, and a certain Dr. Givings and his wife, Catherine, are now enjoying electric lighting and whatever other laborsaving devices may come along. Thanks to Thomas Edison and the miracle of electricity, gynecologist Dr. Givings (Robert Paterno) has become known for his successful “therapeutic” treatment of women with his new electrical device.

Dr. Givings sees patients in his home, in a separate “operating theatre” or “the next room” just off their parlor. A new patient, Sabrina Daldry (Emily Helton) appears with her concerned husband (Kenneth Herring), who describes her problem: sensitivity to light, weeping, and her disinterest in normal marital activity. Dr. Givings diagnoses her issue as “hysteria” and assures Mr. Daldry with medical confidence that he’ll soon have his wife back to normal.

While Mrs. Daldry undergoes treatment in the next room, Mr. Daldry is entertained by the doctor’s wife, Catherine (Sammy Rat Rios), a woman with a charming but non-stop stream-of-consciousness energy and talkativeness that he finds refreshing. Meanwhile, the ordeal of removing Victorian era garments is underway in the next room, guided by Dr. Givings’ pleasant and highly competent assistant, Annie (Laura Beth Wells). With Mrs. Daldry unclothed to the extent of Victorian modesty and properly positioned on an exam table, Dr. Givings connects his device, dials up a rheostat, and begins the “treatment” with medical detachment, seemingly oblivious to what is actually happening. When Mrs. Daldry returns to her husband, she is obviously refreshed and happy having benefited from the doctor’s therapy and definitely agreeable to returning for additional sessions.

As Dr. Givings gives attention to his patients, his own wife Catherine is suffering from lack of attention from her husband, her unhappiness spewing forth with only a little provocation. Having recently given birth but unable to produce enough milk for the infant, Catherine is doubly troubled by her feelings of inadequacy as a wife, and as a mother. Although the Givings find a wet nurse for the infant, Elizabeth (Jazmin Witherspoon), Catherine finds herself jealous of her for the necessity of having a substitute. Oddly, it is Elizabeth who seems to understand what the nature of human sexuality is all about. Catherine, too, has become intrigued with what goes on in her husband’s treatment room. Forgotten articles of clothing become an excuse for finding just what happens there for both Catherine and Mrs. Daldry.

Little by little, with dramatic points tinted with comedy, playwright Ruhl allows us to witness the gap between men and women on the subjects of sexual pleasure and marital control, most sadly when that control is through unconscious and unfeeling adherence to society’s rules and taboos concerning female sexuality.

As Dr. Givings, Paterno painted his doctor as pleasantly detailed, intent on professionalism, although mostly clueless and oblivious to what he is actually missing in his marriage. As Catherine, Rios is a joy and a riot to watch, her energy in the role bubbles and erupts, with high-pitches ending up as pointed fingers and raspy punctuations. As Sabrina Daldry, Helton shows us a beautifully constructed character, a woman who is finding who and what she really is.

Although I’m not really sure where Ruhl was going with the role of Givings’ assistant Annie, there was certainly something there—and Laura Beth Wells found the dramatic magic that made the character three-dimensional and intriguing. Likewise, Robert Parker Jenkins brought some serious depth and comic pathos to the role of Leo Irving, a painter who somehow needs Dr. Givings help, although he may have temporarily regretted it.

The final scene in the snowy garden, which, admittedly, I struggled to see from my seat location, turns the tables on the good doctor, with Catherine delivering “therapy” to the one character who possibly really needed it. Of course, as enlightened/frustrated 21st Century inhabitants encouraging others to find truth, we might find there is an electric message there for us as well.