“It’s Physics, Not Physical”: The Semantics of Platonic Friendship in [SIC]
Salt Lake City, UT — Melissa James Gibson’s [sic] is not a play for everyone. Think of it as a stage version of Seinfeld: observational, character-driven, rooted in the mundane textures of urban life. But where Seinfeld hands you the joke, Gibson makes you work for it. The humor here is quiet and precise, built from language and character rather than setup and punchline. These are not cheap laughs but they are entirely worth the effort. ThreePenny Theatre Company‘s production, directed by Hannah Orr, understands this completely. Gibson’s script is dense, her characters held deliberately at arm’s length from their own lives. It demands attention, and rewards it generously. ThreePenny’s production proves exactly that.
“Most friends are people you wish you were or people you’re afraid you are.”
—Babette, [sic]
The play follows three quick-witted, yet underachieving neighbors: Theo, a composer perpetually failing to find his hook; Babette, a writer perpetually borrowing money; and Frank, training to be an auctioneer by reciting tongue-twisters. Their lives are so entangled they have almost begun to move as a single organism, and ThreePenny’s cast takes that metaphor literally. The synchronized passages, where two or all three characters speak in unison, are handled expertly. Anyone who has seen this done poorly will appreciate how completely these actors inhabit the same rhythm.
Gibson’s playwright’s note specifies that the rhythm of the piece should reflect the momentum of active thought, and this cast honors that fully. The script’s unusual typography, its line breaks, internal capitalizations, and deliberate lack of punctuation are guides to thought rather than decoration, and the performers clearly understand the difference.
Babette observes at one point that most friends are people you wish you were or people you’re afraid you are. The bond between these three would definitely be the latter, and it is that uneasy, affectionate, occasionally cruel intimacy that the production captures so well. When Theo abandons his synthesizer to knock on Babette’s door and confess his feelings, Babette tells him plainly: “it’s physics, not physical.” She is not unkind. She is just honest. Taylor Wallace plays the moment with a matter-of-factness that lands as the kindest possible thing Babette could do in the moment, and it is one of Wallace’s finest scenes in a performance full of fine ones.
“It’s Physics not Physical Theo by which I mean / you don’t Disgust Me / you just exert a Repulsive Force for me on a what / Molecular Level”
—Babette, [sic]
The chemistry between Wallace’s Babette and Juls Marino‘s Theo is the emotional engine of the production. It is the chemistry of I am telling you no but I like you as a friend: warm enough to keep hope alive, clear enough to make hope absurd. Marino, a they/them performer bringing nuance and precision to a role written male, is a particular revelation. The mannerisms are perfection: the lovelorn synthesizer tinkering, the Carnegie Hall grandiosity applied to music that is, as Gibson’s stage direction drily notes, virtually indiscernible. When Theo eventually croons at that actual working keyboard, “Babette, Babette, you put a hex on me / Babette, Babette, why not have sex with me,” played with such oblivious sincerity that I actually laughed out loud. It is a moment that only works if you believe in Theo completely. Marino makes you believe.
Camas, as Frank, was new to me as a reviewer but left no doubt in their ability. Frank’s defining trait is precise, controlled speech, and Camas’s diction is impeccable throughout. “Belligerent Beulah bellowed bloody bombast,” delivered as a drilling exercise, is harder than it sounds. Camas makes it sound easy, which is harder still. But it is Frank’s camp energy and barely concealed jealousy that give the performance its real spark. Watching Frank vacuum Babette’s apartment before Larry’s party, moving through the space with such proprietorial flair, looks less like a chore and more like a dance. And when Frank interrogates Theo and Babette about the party he was not invited to, the combination of wounded pride and over-the-top theatrics is precisely, perfectly Frank. Camas plays it with complete commitment and considerable wit.
Orr’s production design is where this staging most boldly distinguishes itself. Each character is assigned a color, Babette red, Frank yellow, and Theo green, carried through their apartment doors, their costumes, and the lighting design by Jonah Kirkhart. The system is subtle at first and then quietly impossible to ignore, a visual grammar the audience learns to read alongside the play. This is not prescribed by the script, as far as I can tell. It is a genuinely creative contribution, and it builds toward something extraordinary.
Twice in the play, Gibson’s script calls for all three characters to make shadows in their apartments. ThreePenny realizes this as shadow puppets on the colored doors, paper figures on sticks lit in each character’s color. The first time it happens, midway through, the production introduces the image quietly. By the time it returns near the end, the audience already knows its language, and it lands with the full emotional weight of everything that has built up. The doors that have signaled identity throughout the play become screens. Three overeducated adults who cannot quite be present with each other face-to-face find that they can, briefly, play. It is the production’s most tender idea, and Orr earns it twice.
The airshaft voices, characters who exist at the margins of the three leads’ awareness, appear as shadows projected onto a window. Gibson’s notes insist on obstructed vision, that the audience’s view should be as fragmentary as the characters’ self-absorbed outlook. Shadows on a makeshift window accomplish this elegantly: figures in the window are seen and heard from a distance. The audio attached to those shadows was not always fully audible. Whether by design or technical limitation is unclear. However, it feels intentional.
Produced in June, with a nonbinary director and two of three leads played by nonbinary performers, the casting feels just right for Pride month, not as a statement, but as a natural expression of the story itself. A play about a gay character and the tangled webs of chosen family, staged with this much care for who gets to tell its stories, is exactly the kind of thing theatre should be doing.
A final word for Alex Smith and Ryeleigh Eliza, whose airshaft voices haunt the edges of the play, and for Jack Merlot as Mrs. Jorgenson — the play’s running joke and perfectly absent presence, referenced endlessly and encountered never. Behind the scenes, Syd Peronnet’s work as assistant sound designer and props master, and Cody O’Hare’s sound design, underpin almost everything you see and hear. There are no small contributions in a play this carefully constructed.
[sic] is smart, carefully made, and performed with real commitment to a genuinely difficult piece of writing. I have not seen a production that made me think this much since Good Company Theatre’s Coach Coach by Bailey Williams. Both plays reward close attention. Both hide easter eggs in plain sight, in the language, the staging, the design, for audience members willing to look and listen carefully. As I said, it is not a play for everyone. But for those who like that sort of thing, [sic] is a particular pleasure. Seek it out.
Cast
Juls Marino: Theo
Taylor Wallace: Babette
Camas: Frank
Alex Smith: Airshaft Voice 1
Ryeleigh Eliza: Airshaft Voice 2
Jack Merlot: Mrs. Jorgenson
Creative
Director & Costume Designer: Hannah Orr
Lighting & Set Designer: Jonah Kirkhart
Sound Designer: Cody O’Hare
Asst. Sound Designer & Props Master: Syd Peronnet
TIckets
Tickets are available through Eventbrite at pay-what-you-can pricing, which is ThreePenny’s policy for all shows and all seats. The Eventbrite link is https://www.eventbrite.com/e/sic-tickets-1983370642984 and the venue is 421 N 1200 W, Salt Lake City. threepennytheatre
Location: Alliance Theater – Utah Arts Alliance, 602 East 500 South #Suite E101 Salt Lake City, UT 84102
This show was produced in partnership with Kuchu Shabu. Purchased tickets come with a pre-Show dinner offer of “25% off your total bill excluding alcohol.
Learn more about this local hot pot dining experience by visiting their website: https://www.kuchushabu.com/
About the playwright
Melissa James Gibson is a Yale School of Drama graduate whose play [sic] won the Obie Award for playwriting in 2001-02. Her work is characterized by intricate choreography and visual intentionality built directly into her stage directions. She has said she takes greater visual responsibility for the architectural world of the play than playwrights are typically encouraged to do. Her later credits include the plays This and What Rhymes With America, and she served as co-showrunner on Netflix’s House of Cards.
The title refers to the Latin editorial term signaling that an apparent mistake is in fact accurate, a concept Gibson uses to describe characters who exist at arm’s length from their own situations, as if their real lives were yet to be inhabited.
Don’t use other words. Pick the right ones.
Frank, [sic] — Melissa James Gibson