Sometime not too long ago, Andrus Nichols and Kate Hamill, founding members of the Bedlam company, separated from co-founder Eric Tucker to form their own outfit, The Coop, which, given their lauded previous accomplishments—has created great anticipation for an initial production. It’s here and it’s Barbara Hammond’s new play, Terra Firma, at the Baruch Performing Arts Center, with the outstanding Nichols returning to a local stage after too long an absence.
Those eager to see what The Coop is about might be advised to wait for the second production. Terra Firma turns out to be a disappointment. The work is a mystifying exegesis on who-knows-what that unfolds on an Andrew Boyce-designed rusty metal trapezoid of perhaps an eighth-acre size. The area is equipped with a mast adjoined to a short metal staircase, an apparent hatch approached through another staircase, a trapdoor covering another hatch, a few ropes, and all resting on two wide concrete cylinders.
Okay, “who-knows-what” isn’t exactly correct. Hammond knows and reveals as much in a program note. She’s aware of a Terra Firma-resembling destination somewhere 12 miles off the cost of England known as Sealand. The site is apparently the globe’s smallest nation, started in 1967 by World War II retired British Army Major Paddy Roy Bates, who declared his wife the Sealand nation’s princess and his son the nation’s prince.
Learning of the outlying holding, Hammond decided the locale was a fine metaphor for “the human predicament.” She felt she’d uncovered how she could expound on the way the world is going today—going wrong, that is. Perhaps, she determined, an allegory she could spin from these ingredients would allow her the latitude to say something profound about the threat of reawakened American isolationism. Perhaps she counted on ticket buyers preparing themselves by reading her preface. Or even those who haven’t read it would get her message.
Unfortunately, such good luck isn’t likely. To illustrate her beliefs, Hammond introduces her substitute Sealand nation as Terra Firma, which is presided over by Queen (Andrus) and her husband Roy (Gerardo Rodriquez). (Get it?—“Roy” for “roi, the French word for ”king” as well as a bow to the above-mentioned Paddy Roy Bates.) Also populating the kingdom is son Teddy as prince and sole citizen Jones (John Keating) as resident master of all trades. Joining them is Hostage (Tom O’Keefe), who washes up shortly after events get underway, and The Diplomat (T. Ryder Smith), who hauls himself to Terra Firma safety late in the proceedings.
For an intermissionless while, the six intermingle to no evident purpose. Queen, in a tiara and work clothes, often strolls imperiously around with right arm lifted imperiously in the air and left arm held elegantly away from her body. When not parading, she spends time writing a constitution. Roy and Jones torment Hostage, concerned that he’s an ominous agent. All the time it’s clear he’s exactly the fisherman he says he is. Teddy eventually befriends Hostage and a chess game begins. (Is chess intended to be symbolic of capturing kings and queens?) The Diplomat’s presence is a puzzlement, although before things peter out, Roy and he get in a boxing match over something or other. (Carman Lacivita stages the fight.)
Much as Hammond would want the activities to shed light, they don’t. She writes, “The humor is this play comes mainly from its characters taking themselves too seriously.” What humor? Groundless silliness, yes. Humor, no.
Every once in a while, explosions resound, suggesting that the Terra Firma denizens are under siege, possibly from like communities nearby. (Sound designer Jane Shaw and lighting designer Eric Southern are kept busy enough at this.) For one relieving nonce, Queen et al get to watch a fireworks display. But nothing comes of any of it. Yes, the explosions hint at impending trouble, but what it is remains vague. Or is that the point?
What is the point of anything that transpires as this troupe darts hither and you on the limiting set? The lack of point is definitely nothing director Shana Cooper can do to make sense of, nothing the actors can do other than to speak Hammond’s lines and follow through on the required actions. Neither the normally mesmerizing Nichols nor the others are able to mold something special from their assignments—and that includes Keating, who has to be one of the best Joxers ever to grace a revival of Sean O’Casey’s Juno and the Paycock.
As to The Coop, much better going next time, please—an enterprise truly worthy of the masterful Andrus.
Terra Firma opened October 10, 2019, at Baruch Performing Arts Center, and runs through November 10. Tickets and information: thecoopnyc.org
