There are certain actors you follow like a groupie not because they are so brilliantly mercurial, but because they have a niche and it’s one you just love to revisit. Kristine Neilsen is such an actor, and it’s a treat to see her riff on her signature ditsiness – befuddlement seasoned with self-delight – in Julia Izumi’s play, the ornately titled Regretfully, So the Birds Are.
Izumi appears to be very clubbable as well as industrious (her bio lists every developmental project you’ve ever heard of), and this is a well-earned New York debut, co-produced by Playwrights Horizons and the Women’s Project. The script is blunt as to the author’s intent: “These characters have no subtext. This play is a farcical tragedy.” Absurdism, in other words, served up smartly with perhaps just a dash of didactic curiosity.
The presence of a life-size cardboard snowman flanking a suburban living room is our first clue that whimsy will be on the menu; a half-burnt family portrait hints at a less than cheerful backstory. Twenty-somethings Illy (Sasha Diamond) and Neel (Sky Smith) are cuddled up on the roof of a treehouse. Are they finding shapes in the clouds, a time-honored pastime for young lovers? Not exactly. Illy – insufferably saccharine at first take, by intent – is pointing out the parameters of her newly acquired real estate. “All those clouds and all the space in between them,” she brags, “are alllll mine.” The age of “human-to-sky migration” has begun.
This mismatched pair (Illy is bright, a prodigy; Neel perceptibly dim) – are they siblings or lovers? Both, apparently, though they’re related only by adoption. This situation does not sit well with their co-adoptee, Mora (Shannon Tyo), who throws a fit worthy of Yosemite Sam: you can practically see the steam coming out of Tyo’s ears.
As far as arbiters go, their mother (Kristine Neilsen) is a washout; she’s in prison for mariticide (there’s a reason the paterfamilias part of the family portrait is charred), and in any case, after decades spent popping Vicodin, she’s a bit sketchy as to family history. Her response to Mora’s quest to identify her nation of origin? “I sautéed your father before I could ask him to remind me, which was poor planning on my part, I know.”
There is backstory galore – some of it channeled by Cam the Snowman (Gibson Frazier, who also provides paternal pep talks) – and not one but two quarter-life quests.
Illy stays put. What with her stellar career as world-class violist, her Gossip Girls get-up (signifier Chanel-knockoff jacket supplied by costumer Alicia J. Austin), and secured piece of sky realty – Illy is sitting pretty. The birds whose space she’s usurping may not agree.
Izumi’s play is crazy, chaotic, but also cleverly plotted and energetically paced by director Jenny Koons. You’ll be rapt and also occasionally slapped sideways just when you think you’ve settled in. The script is a mold-breaker, a convention-twitter. The only guarantee is hilarity at regular intervals.
Regretfully, So the Birds Are opened April 11, 2023, at Playwrights Horizons and runs through April 30. Tickets and information: playwrightshorizons.org
