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A man (Gerardo Rodriguez) and a woman (Carmen Zilles), zonked out on a sofa, jerk awake and find themselves in a shabby apartment. They don't know where they are, or even who they are. And they also do not know if they are connected to one another in any way. The only clue as to how they got themselves into this fix is the hypodermic needle still protruding from the man's arm. ("What you got dangling there, bitch?" says the woman. "A mosquito?") Their disoriented state is underpinned by Raul Abrego's set design, in which the massive door, the window, and the furniture are placed at odd angles. It appears that neither the door nor the window can be opened, and that the pair is trapped in a confined space worthy of Kafka or Sartre. Gradually, though, they begin experiencing flashes of memory about their individual histories and about their lives together—for together they are, a couple who have (or once had, or, perhaps, never had) a child. The only indication that such a child ever existed is the crib in the corner, filled with bedding and, inexplicably, a fried chicken leg - but no baby. Se Llama Cristina is a play of nightmarish and hallucinatory mysteries that only slowly unravel, revealing random pieces of the puzzle of the pair's difficult pasts, their chance meeting (she was trying to call a rape hotline but reached him instead), and their lives as a couple as they fled together from Texas to New Mexico to Arizona to California, where they are apparently now ensconced. As their escape is depicted through non-sequential flashbacks, the couple is followed by the woman's abusive ex-mate, Abel (David Anzuelo), or at least by his frightening memory. Abel alone seems to be able to open the door and join them in the apartment, where he is at once a threatening and oddly seductive presence. We also learn that the man (referred to at varying times as Mike, Miguel, or Mickey) is a college-educated writer, a frustrated and blocked poet, as evidenced by the crumpled papers that are strewn all over. The language of the play dances among poetic fragments culled from the man's writing, bursts of dark humor, and the argot of the streets where these two Mexican Americans grew up. Theirs is a sorrowful tale, indeed, and neither of the protagonists ought to be viewed solely as an innocent victim (they have a vicious fight late in the play). Under Lou Moreno's taut direction, the pieces of the non-linear plot are not difficult to follow, and, with the exception of one scene in which the man carries on a phone conversation in Spanish with his long-estranged mother, the play is in English. Mr. Rodriquez and Ms. Zilles relate to one another like a pair of long-established dance partners, and, as Abel, the piece of bad juju in the couple's lives, Mr. Anzuelo does a splendid job of being both scary and alluring. As the 90-minute play draws to a close, the playwright leaves the dark path in order to provide us with a bit of optimism by bringing in one other character, referred to as the Kid (Yadira Guevara-Prip), whose presence (real or imagined) suggests the possibility of defying the odds and finding that redemption after all.
Se Llama Cristina
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