Weddings, it is said, can bring out the worst in people. There is “the worst,” yes; but there is something far more vehemently, emphatically outrageous on display in Bryna Turner’s At the Wedding. No, there aren’t chainsaws or the like in evidence; but we do encounter a philosophically jesting discussion of cannibalism while bride and groom become—according to the sign on the bounteous dinner buffet—“anchored in love.”
Not that Carlo (Mary Wiseman) would resort to consuming an ex on the latter’s wedding day. But where’s the harm in a little whimsical speculation?
It is somewhat difficult to separate Wiseman-the-actor from Carlo-the-character from Turner-the-playwright. They seem to combine here to create one very outspoken, very special being. As is perhaps the norm in these my-friend’s-wedding tales, Carlo is a not-so-innocent bystander with direct connections to several of the participants.
And Carlo—or Wiseman—is quite a bystander. The tone of the evening is set by: well, the set (designed by Maruti Evans). This is something of an anteroom at a rustic wedding hall, dominated by five pairs of swinging doors; a monstrous ceiling ornament which is supposed to suggest floral bouquets but looks more like a monstrous piñata; and little else. Except a neon sign on the stage right wall which says not “til death do us part” but simply “til death.” When the house lights dim, the neon “til death” flickers portentously as Turner and director Jenna Worsham set off on their adventure.
Carlo is alone outside the party room (at a California winery?), sipping an orange-colored aperitif in a mason-jar while perched on a chair to which is tied an orange balloon. (Wiseman is adorned by a veritable maze of orange hair which seems to have been pilfered from Bernadette Peters, circa 1973.) You will fall in love and “eventually you will be cast out,” she warns the audience in one of those wall-breaking monologues targeted directly at ticket holders in direct eyesight and direct line of fire. “That loneliness is an agony so profound I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemies. Well except maybe one, may she rot in hell. Or Sacramento.”
Turner is careful, at first, to keep us hazy as to precisely what part Carlo plays in that ceremony behind those doors. The uncertainty is where a good deal of the fun comes in. Encountering Carlo are Eva (Rebecca S’manga Frank), the radiant—almost—bride; Carly (Keren Lugo), an admonishing bridesmaid; Maria (Carolyn McCormick), the bride’s mother; Eli (Will Rogers), a Coleridge-obsessed English teacher somehow mixed up in the proceedings; Leigh (Han Van Sciver), a mysterious wedding guest; and Victor (Jorge Donoso), an obliging cater-waiter who does more than just constantly refill Carlo’s half-empty glasses.
Wiseman herself is a comic find. Left to her own devices by Turner and Worsham at that moment when the “Til Death” neon flickers, she corners her audience—like a boorishly outrée guest at a wedding party—but artfully wins them over to her corner in what promises to be a nuptial battle. (Why did I think, on several occasions, of what Wiseman might do in the leading role of One Man, Two Guvnors?) Everyone else adds to the fun, with lovely scenes from Rogers, Donoso, and Frank, who turns out to be more than just the bride. Most notable among them is Van Sciver, who can sling Turner’s gibes quite as well as Carlo-the-character and Wiseman-the-actor. It becomes quite a slugfest when the two of them cagily match innuendos up on the roof.
At the Wedding is part of Lincoln Center Theater’s LCT3 New Artists/New Audiences series, presented at their intimate penthouse space (“All Tix $30!” say the ads.) The play, at this early stage, is perhaps not quite fully realized; even so, laughter constantly flows, quite often outrageously so, through 70 lively minutes. Making play, playwright, and performers worth a visit to Lincoln Center. No gifts, please.
At the Wedding opened March 21, 2022, at the Claire Tow Theater and runs through April 24. Tickets and information: lct.org
