OFF LEASH!

Walking the dog Theater's Improv Ensemble

M. Hunter ccSCOOP Review 03-01-09 - Off Leash! is a hilarious series of theater games. The games are similar to any that one might encounter in Acting 101 class, but here they are rashly, generously, courageously leapt into by WTD thoroughbreds. Who can resist the giant bubble that blows into one’s brain, migrates to the lower torso, races north, and explodes from the larynx along with tons of carbon dioxide? “Laughter” is too tame a name for it. It’s as good as orgasm—and less messy.

Even though I prefer this company on the leashes of great playwrights, Off Leash! is a laughter-gift to be cherished.

The company offers it to the audience by exposing itself to random parameters (sometimes supplied by the audience) and rules of the games. Like all efforts that lurch toward art, the games make use of discipline/freedom, rules/chance, form/variety. This particular evening was informed not so much by wit as by the group’s sudden, magical juxtapositions of being (human to frog), activity (knitting to giant carrot-offering), story (flying goldfish rescued by the Staten Island Ferry), etc.

The actors exhibit remarkable sensitivity to each other’s physical as well as verbal cues. They arrange themselves like oozing, organic sculptures, making use of levels, line, connection, stillness, weight, energy, and most other physical attributes you can think of—all without benefit of choreographer.

Among peak moments were Paul Boothroyd’s instant transformation of his tall lankiness into the short, metallic R2D2, followed later by his death throes, which bristled with suggestion of popping wires and clanging body parts. Who could resist Benedicta Bertau’s convincing dog-dominatrix or Nancy Rothman’s Goldie, the flying goldfish, who prods the whole company into V formation before dumping them into the Hudson?

Not every game was successful. The emotions game didn’t gel. But we observers didn’t mind because we had long since been defanged by the actors’ willingness to take a pratfall.

Much of the action of the evening was inconspicuously nudged along by Eddie Allen who lurked in the shadows like a loving parent deftly encouraging his precocious children.

Surprisingly, the most interesting moment was not funny, nor was it meant to be. David Anderson made a long, wordless entrance loaded with meaning, causing us to intake breath and think, “What, David? What? What! What!?”

How do actors do that? Talent and technique is the glib answer. But it is difficult to believe that the Michael Chekhov discipline, which these actors espouse, is enough of an enabler of talent to get the WTD result. Maybe it revolves around what the group doesn’t do or have. There is a conspicuous lack of “show,” an absence of pomp and actorly narcissism. You have probably noticed that there is a stench of superficiality and phoniness that lingers around the word “actor.” This group seems to have let go of all that, substituting the process of doing the task at hand without fear of judgment.

Did I mention that Off Leash! is funny?

It happens once a month at Space 360 in Hudson.