As the editor and chief writer for TheatreStorm, I have seen close to a thousand plays over the past several years. They are usually pretty good. Less usually, they are very good. Occasionally, they are great. And, once in a blue moon, along comes a unicorn: a theatrical experience that is not only great, but unclassifiable and wholly original.
Say hello to Olivia Bratko, a monologist (for lack of a better term) whose performance persona of “Trey,” aka “Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle III,” is a shock to the system of seismic proportions.
Bratko works in that rare form in which the comedy arises almost wholly from character rather than jokes. She has jokes, certainly, but for me they are not particularly memorable. What is unforgettable, however, is the presentation. Bratko is exploring territory in the tradition of great comic creations like Robin Williams’ “Mork from Ork,” Steve Martin’s “Jerk,” Barry Humphries’ “Dame Edna,” Bea Lillie’s, well, “Bea Lillie,” or Klaus Nomi’s extraterrestrial. The creation of a comic persona in solo performance is a tradition; the character itself is wholly original and hilarious.
Bratko opens with an introduction. Her name is “Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle.” Her father was “Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle.” Her grandfather was “Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle.” Therefore, she explains, she is actually “Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle III.” She concludes by remarking, “So my friends call me ‘Trey.'” This information is delivered archly, with a tone that says: “YOU, however, will call me Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle.” This isn’t exactly a joke, and it isn’t obviously funny. But with Bratko’s deadpan, almost (but not quite) hostile delivery, it is so unexpected and delivered with such show-biz panache that one can only respond with a burst of laughter and a feeling of expectant astonishment.
What follows is hard to describe because it is entirely unpredictable. “Trey” (I know I presume, but typing four Kyles yet again is a bridge too far) takes off in so many directions that she left me dizzy and breathless and thinking, “What the F was THAT?” She sings (quite well), she moves with athletic grace, she lectures. At one point, she says, “Now it’s time for the bit where I work the audience.” She sighs in exasperation and is clearly irritated that she has to stoop to this. But stoop she does, with a tone of noblesse oblige. “Where are you from?” she asks one audience member. Ignoring the reply, she continues: “And what are you interested in?” Again, she ignores the answer, shrugging her shoulders as if to say, “So what, but at least that’s over with,” and goes on to the next bit. (I don’t know if I’m describing her exact routine, but I hope I’m capturing its peculiar, offbeat feel.)
Her entire demeanor suggests an attitude of, “I know you adore me and that you can’t help it. I don’t really give a damn either, but as long as it makes you happy I’ll guess I’ll give you a performance.”
At the end of her hour-long monologue, she looks at the audience with infinite ennui and announces, “Now go away.” Then she walks off the stage to enthusiastic applause. She does not take a curtain call.
I’m not going to say that this performance is perfect. There are dull moments. There are confusing moments. It is clearly a work in progress. But WHAT a work in progress!
I urge you to go see “Trey.” The day will come, I think, when you will likely be saying: “You won’t believe this, but I once saw Trey in a small theatre in the Castro in San Francisco, with fewer than 30 seats, before she became famous.”
“Trey” or “Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle III’ plays at Theatre Rhinoceros through August 8th. Tickets are selling out. For futher information, click here.
________________________________
Rating: ****1/2 (For an explanation of TheatreStorm’s rating system, click here.)
_________________________________
“Trey” by Oliva Bratko. Directed by Oliva Bratko. Performed by Oliva Bratko. Sound design by Oliva Bratko. Producted by Oliva Bratko. Additional direction by Katie Armbruster. Lighting Design: Colin Johnson.
TheatreStorm 