Author/performer Ryan J. Haddad, who has cerebral palsy (a condition that tends to kick in at birth), offers no trigger warnings. True, the play comes with a prelude: A “Describer” (Alejandra Ospino, narrating from a wheelchair stage right) itemizes the mise en scène in minute detail while Haddad, like any self-respecting diva, dramatically delays his own entrance.
The set, designed by the collective dots, is in essence “a gay, pink bus,” liberally festooned – as she notes – with “vibrant magenta sequin fabric.” An actor who is not Ryan – though his embroidered sweatshirt IDs him thus – comes onstage and starts signing in American Sign Language. This is Dickie (the extraordinarily emotive Deaf actor Dickie Heart), who explains, thrice, with voiceover by Ospino, “I will be playing ‘Ryan’ alongside Ryan, who will also be playing ‘Ryan.’” Meta enough for you? This doubling – smartly overseen by director Jordan Fein – proves a brilliant means of refracting Haddad’s cleverly honed autobiographical tales.
If you’re braced for empathy-inducing pieties, think again. The first story recounts a gay-bar hookup that goes tragicomically awry, in graphic detail. Haddad conveys the detached bemusement of a natural-born charmer, but also the fire of an individual who refuses to be boxed in by his condition. “I am not here to be pitied and I am not a victim, is that clear?” he declaims, having delivered the raunchy anecdote. “That was a completely consensual encounter. Hot. Passionate. With just the right hint of scandal. Only without the happy ending I would have hoped.”
Undismayed, Haddad continues in his quest to connect, via Grindr – and let’s hope that at least some of the encounters went better than the two debacles he recounts. He may refuse the role of victim, but online predators don’t necessarily agree.
One of the most dramatic (and hilarious) segments is Haddad’s account of a fracas on the habitually packed M14D bus – never a picnic in the best of circumstances. Two women get into a fight over disability rights vs. freedom of speech, and Haddad embodies both haranguers as Heart captures their combat postures. (It’s often tough to decide whom to watch, because they’re both so compelling). The kicker to the story comes from a male onlooker who himself requires a cane.
Ospino gets her own moment in the spotlight, to describe the dangers and indignities that New York’s scandalously antiquated, non-ADA-compliant subway system presents to the mobility-impaired. It’s an important message, wedged among Haddad’s generally buoyant accounts of life experienced in a body with built-in limitations.
Haddad does have a gift for finding the light – the humor – lurking in the “dark.” In some ways, one of the strongest messages encased in his brilliant reenactments of adaptive challenges is the frequency with which he must say “Sorry” and “Thank you.”
No, thank you – thank everyone involved in this ground-breaking, much-needed exploration.
Dark Disabled Stories opened March 9, 2023, at the Public Theater and runs through April 9. Tickets and information: publictheater.org
