In the swing

Trinity Rep rises to Fall

by Carolyn Clay

FALL. By Bridget Carpenter. Directed by Neal Baron. Set design by Eugene Lee. Costumes by Marilyn Salvatore. Lighting by Yael Lubetzky. Original music and sound by David Van Tieghem. Choreography by Sharon Jenkins. Flying by Foy. With Jones & Boyce (Brian Jones and Susan Boyce), Anne Scurria, Dan Welch, Ari Graynor, Ronobir Lahiri, and Mauro Hantman. At Trinity Repertory Company, through June 25.

Ari Graynor and Gopal in 'Fall'

Paula Vogel swims deep in the water of Fall, an intermittently undersea idyll by her former student, Bridget Carpenter. The mostly delightful new work, seen here in its world premiere, is a kind of surf-and-turf affair, involving not only scenes of snorkeling and scuba but also the cult of swing dancing, of which Carpenter is an avid devotee. Much as Vogel uses driving instructions both drolly and pointedly in the Pulitzer-winning How I Learned To Drive, Carpenter uses musings on scuba diving and instructions in swing to comment on the coming-of-age and troubled-marriage stories at the heart of her play. And though the piece is written (like so many new American plays) in what are almost blackout sketches, it flows like a dance, kept in continual motion by the moves and the music of swing.

A recent winner of the Susan Smith Blackburn Award, which is given annually to a female playwright for an outstanding contribution to the English-speaking theater, Fall centers on 14-year-old scuba enthusiast Lydia. Although she'd prefer to be under water, cushioned and invisible, Lydia is dragged off to swing-dancing camp by her parents, Jill and Dog, who hope to twirl and dip a little oomph back into their amiable but ebbing relationship. Among her various insecurities is the recurrent suspicion that her parents are breaking up; she envisions liaisons for both of them everywhere, these mind's-eye clinches, both hetero and homo, being enacted against the swelling theme from Gone with the Wind.

But for two-left-footed, would-be-worldly Lydia, potential parental divorce is nothing to the mortification of being forced to attend swing camp. "Why aren't you two into the Grateful Dead, like normal people your age?" the surly teen groans at Jill and Dog -- who, in Neal Baron's fluid production, tend to dance blithely through such family altercations, like a less perfect Fred and Ginger. Once the clan gets to its swing camp on the sea (Jill and Dog dragging Lydia like a piece of wheeled luggage), the cast of characters is rounded out by dance instructor Gopal and mom's "teacher pal" and fellow dance enthusiast, Mr. Gonzalez. Life then settles into a swirl of camp activities, from Lindy-hopping to lanyard-making, and, for Lydia, oft-hilarious disparagement of the above and contemplation of sex -- which eventually becomes an activity. The real romance in the play, however, is between Lydia and Jill, who have grown apart and must be pulled back together.

Fall, to my mind, becomes more of a soap opera than it needs to (I always get nervous when we arrive at a hospital). But even then, it is rescued by Carpenter's insouciant injections of fantasy and absurdity. Several sequences are amusingly but rather beautifully set under water, with Lydia, in full scuba gear and harnessed by Foy, at one point flying out over the audience like Peter Pan. And all of the play's worlds are linked by metaphors of weightlessness and falling, whether up, down, or in love. In the end, even Lydia's love affair sinks to the bottom of her being, like some troubling, buried treasure.

At Trinity Rep, the tricky little work is well handled in the intimate downstairs theater, on what looks like an unassuming set by now nationally renowned Eugene Lee that, transformed by sound and lighting, does a pretty convincing turn as an underwater grotto. Adding to the flow are the accomplished dance team of Jones & Boyce, who tap and swing their way through the proceedings like some mute, smooth-sailing variation on a Greek chorus. That it's a pleasure to watch them adds a dimension to the play. And the cast, under Baron's clever direction (he has been shepherding Fall almost since its inception), does its part by dancing the props on and off.

Trinity stalwarts Anne Scurria and Dan Welch aren't perfectly cast as the parents, though they prove likable in the roles. But high-school junior Ari Graynor (who has already racked up an impressive list of professional credits) is spot-on as Lydia, who must carry the piece, sometimes along with her scuba tank, on her back. Her sarcastic-teen inflections are perfect. She conveys all of Lydia's mixed-up feelings without spelling them out. She aces the physical challenges of a play that has her not only swimming in air but propped on a high wall and free-falling backward. She manages to be crabby and sulky, yet sympathetic. And she seems to blossom physically as well as emotionally.

Carpenter -- who is also the author of the Clauder-honored The Death of the Father of Psychoanalysis (& Anna) -- clearly owes a huge debt to Vogel. Fall, with its short monologues addressed to the audience, its inappropriate but understandable romance, and its cryptic use of dance instruction, is almost uncomfortably reminiscent of How I Learned To Drive. But the play also has wit, poignancy, and a wild hair of its own (Lydia's imagined scenarios of her parents' reaction to her affair, one ending in the spontaneous combustion that is among her odd fascinations, had me in stitches). Carpenter will fall into her own groove soon enough.