Samedi

In the cafe, everyone is living off of everyone else to get by. Dreams are deferred and attitudes are suspicious and cantankerous. The stage is well-designed, highly realistic and multi-layered with a full counter with stools, Coca-Cola ads, cozy booths with table juke boxes. Walls are suggested by  staggered hunks of brick, outside of which cigarette butts and old newspapers sit in a heap. Customers begrudge payment on the countless cups of coffee and greasy food. Prices aside, however, the cafe is not in the position to offer what they need. The prostitute sips her coffee but is not content. Whenever the bum gets a cigarette, he doesn't puff with gratitude. No one gets satisfaction because the only quality that animates these folks is their restless seeking.

Boasting a cast of 25 players, the play thrives in offering an impressionistic, highly-environmental portrait of those waiting in the underbelly. In doing so, you are able to learn and empathize with only one or two characters. Aside from Chicago-transplant, Darlene (Kristin Witterschein), the innocent who first appears in a shocking white spotlight, everyone else is a tumble of fitful physicality, verbal boisterousness confusing the landscape. Ms. Witterschein's fantastic, well-paced monologue from a bar stool lends the play much of its depth and thoughtfulness. She tells the humorous yet mournful story of getting her marriage license with her Alabama-native beau, Cotton, and muses on her penchant for collecting luxury hotel towels and her picturesque backyard view from her Chicago apartment. Witterschein imbues Darlene with bubbliness and naivetee, chirping like a semi-obnoxious songbird. Some in the cafe listen but they don't understand that kind of life anymore. Darlene seems doomed to adapt to their hopelessness.

Balm opens with a raucous, frenetic scene at the cafe, producing a choir of chaos. So much is happening you're not quite sure where to look or who to listen to. An audience member is an anonymous observer, eavesdropping in on the lesbian triangle or watching the wild transvestites jokingly solicit. The bum outside is in your face, desperate for change. The cafe thumps and grinds and  all are flailing and jousting. This overwhelming opening is eventually repeated, but features another character speaking over the tumult from the fire escape ladder.

The chaos could have been managed more effectively in this case so that
the audience could hear and appreciate the information coming down at them. With so much stimulus, the audience is delightfully distracted, but there may be a risk of losing some important plot point. This environment teeters between everyone competing and yelling over each other and a unified voice of collective angst.

Cutting through the din is Andrew Vaught's performance as Dopey, an eccentric bum who forms philosophies around things he read somewhere. He lays down the law of the land early in the play, describing the symbiotic social system of pimp and prostitute as a mode of survival. When Dopey attains temporary lucidity, Vaught's booming voice is commanding, which is much-needed in the midst of all the personality surrounding him. He's playful but serious. 

The impressionistic aesthetic is developed by a kind of music video portrait that closes the first act. A heavy, slow emotional ballad soars over the quieted cafe, mostly empty except for Darlene and her charming but ill-fated love interest, Joe (James Yeargain) who holds a stare. Yeargain plays Joe cool and collected , but that veneer is complicated by his skittishness at getting involved with the big drug dealer around town. From chaos to melancholic serenity, Routhier ensures a textured, oscillating rhythm.

Much like the scene at the coffee shop in Wilson's play, the chatter over chai and chess games in the Crescent City is littered with big plans and dreams deferred. Brimming with energy and and tingling with possibility, New Orleans has always been a place where such searchers congregated. This play has the potential to speak to the city's seekers about navigating the harsh real world while keeping one's ambitions fortified. It's heroin in Balm of Gilead, but there's always something easily available to distract you from your dreams. Take a visit to this cafe, but don't stay long. You've gotta get moving.