Denis Johnson’s play takes place entirely in a kitchen. But Des Moines, being given its New York premiere by Theatre for a New Audience, is as far from a kitchen sink drama as you can get. Sure, it starts out that way, with a middle-aged couple, Dan (Arliss Howard) and Marta (Johnna Day), sitting down for a snack and debating such issues as butter versus margarine while Dan eats some leftover microwaved spaghetti. But it isn’t long before this unsettling work from the late author of such acclaimed novels as Tree of Smoke and the short story collection Jesus’ Son turns into something far stranger. During the course of the evening all of the characters liberally consume the potent alcoholic drinks known as depth charges, and this play carries a depth charge of its own.
There’s a potent aura of mortality permeating the drama, beginning with cabdriver Dan’s story about a recent fare who died in a plane crash shortly after being dropped off at the airport. The man’s widow came to visit Dan to find out what her husband might have said to him during the drive and accidentally left his wedding ring which she retrieved from the coroner. Dan, in turn, left the ring behind after giving confession to his local priest and childhood friend, Father Michael (Michael Shannon).
When Father Michael arrives to return the ring, Marta informs both of them that she’s riddled with cancer and has only a few months to live. Dan takes the news rather casually, pointing out that it’s good the priest is there so that he can provide some comfort.
“Well, concerning that sort of thing…I’m saying the mystery of death, the sudden prospect of death, well, there’s very little you can say,” Father Michael comments ineffectually. After Dan and Marta briefly head out to buy some six-packs of beer, Father Mike encounters Jimmy (Hari Nef), the son-turned-daughter of their late daughter who is now confined to a wheelchair after a botched sex-change operation. The bewigged Jimmy, wearing sequined boots, indulges Father Mike’s apparently long-running habit of wearing women’s make-up by painting his face with lipstick and rouge. They’re soon joined by Mrs. Drinkwater (Heather Alicia Simms), the plane crash victim’s widow, who stops by to retrieve her husband’s ring.
The impromptu party that ensues devolves into drunken chaos, but not before such exuberant karaoke performances as Jimmy singing “Folsom Prison Blues,” Mrs. Drinkwater getting down and dirty with “Kansas City,” and Father Michael warbling “Love Me Tender” (Shannon once played Elvis in a movie, which only adds to the joke).
Des Moines reveals a playwright who clearly had little interest in conventional plotting or making his themes explicable or his characterizations consistent. Reminiscent of Sam Shepard, or Edward Albee in his more absurdist mode, the play, which moves at a slow pace despite its relatively brief 100-minute running time, will prove frustrating for those unwilling to tolerate its eccentricities. (At one point late in the evening, a confused Mrs. Drinkwater proclaims “I don’t get it,” which prompted one audience member to clap enthusiastically.) But the dialogue is pungently arresting throughout, as when Dan comments, “There’s nothing more hellish than the sidewalk outside a bar at closing time. It’s like the punishment of the damned.” And if you succumb to Johnson’s mordant vision, the play is a compellingly funny dark ride, especially as performed by this outstanding ensemble under Arin Arbus’ tonally precise direction.
Stage and screen veterans Howard and Day know exactly how to handle this sort of challengingly oblique material, infusing their naturalistic performances with just enough off-kilter undercurrents to keep us on our toes. Shannon, of course, exudes strangeness with his natural demeanor, but here gives his character a moving vulnerability. Simms provides a warm presence as the grieving widow who walks into the bizarre situation, while the transgender Nef, whose breakout performance was in Amazon’s Transparent, proves arresting as Jimmy, whose living quarters are filled with elaborate but far too early Christmas decorations.
Des Moines sputters at the end, as if Johnson didn’t quite know how to end the play, or didn’t really care. But even if its final destination proves unclear, the rambling journey getting there is infinitely rewarding.
Des Moines opened December 16, 2022, at the Polonsky Shakespeare Center and runs through January 1, 2023. Tickets and information: tfana.org
