Caitlin Saylor Stephens titles her new play Five Models in Ruins, 1981. It precisely describes the situation of Stephens’ rueful comedy regarding glamour that premiered on Monday at Lincoln Center Theater’s Claire Tow space: High-fashion models participate in an overnight photo shoot for a Vogue cover that is being staged in a derelict country mansion in England in 1981. Not revealed by the title is that they are modeling ultra-couture wedding gowns rejected by newlywed Princess Diana.
The 100-minute story subsequently proves to be as terribly thin as the models, who more or less talk about themselves and their careers while knocking back Tab sodas, smoking cigarettes and awaiting orders from Roberta (Elizabeth Marvel), the “sort of a genius” photographer running the session. Alex (Britne Oldford) is the jaded professional. Tatiana (Maia Novi) is the sardonic, at times fierce Russian whose career has peaked. Chrissy (Stella Everett) is the superstar model of the moment who sobs every night and observes, “Bulimia is very hard work!” Grace (Sarah Marie Rodriguez) is the wide-eyed American youngster on her first major gig. Popping up later is Sandy (Madeline Wise) with a harrowing tale of abduction.
Known for staging starkly “cruel” photo tableaux, Roberta confounds the models by asking them to pose as themselves. “I don’t even know what that means anymore,” replies Alex, while Chrissy responds, “Why would I be what I am when I can be what I’m not?” As the young women swap horror stories of their worst photo shoots, middle-aged Roberta struggles with troubles of her own.
A situation that does not develop its promise significantly, Five Models in Ruins, 1981 features plenty of period name-checking (Basquiat, Ungaro, Prince, Roxy Music, Parker-Bowles, “some girl named Madonna?” et alia), a dance party, a thunderstorm, and a protracted scene of caterwauling misery meant to be cathartic—and possibly even comical—but which mostly appears horrifying. It is difficult, frankly, to determine the author’s intentions because these sequences, the often terse, sporadically amusing conversations and several scenes of parallel action are poorly staged and erratically paced by Morgan Green, the director.
With the exception of Elizabeth Marvel, giving Roberta’s underwritten character a fraying sense of authority, the others are relative newcomers to the theater. It is obvious they require more guidance to fully realize their admittedly sketchy roles than whatever the director supplied. Fortunately, they are sharply dressed by costume designer Vasilija Zivanic with a wicked eye on those fashionable times.
Dedicated to presenting new works by the upcoming generation of stage artists, Lincoln Center Theater’s admirable LCT3 division does not stint on this show. The visuals of Green’s production are ravishing, although the director scarcely takes complete advantage of the setting. Scenic designer Afsoon Pajoufar juxtaposes a mildly abstract pair of lofty and beautifully decayed 18th-century salons. They are exquisitely lit in layered shadows and mellow, glowing artistry by designer Cha See. Techno music and tumultuous thunder are among the effects provided by sound designer Kathy Ruvuna; the actors’ voices intermittently were muffled and one wonders whether the audibility problem was a matter of technique, staging, or reinforcement in a 112-seat proscenium house.
