In the basement of the Flea on Thomas Street, just inside The Siggy Theater, two millennials Puff and Jame, are debating how they’ll celebrate Puff’s birthday. They’ve just finished their shift at Revolution Cuts, and the two person party will either happen in the alleyway behind the salon with beers and birthday treats, or at the Rainforest Cafe across the highway. Puff seems unsure, uneasy about making the leap toward the cafe, while Jame urges her to take the risk. Complicating their dynamic is the arrival of Georgia, an older woman who also works in the strip mall. Georgia is a ball of manic energy, complete with strange stories and anecdotes, and yet Puff and Jame cautiously invite her to stay and celebrate with them, setting off a chain of events that will irrevocably change all three of them by the end of the evening. This is the crux of Brett Neveu’s new play, Revolution. At times both alluring and unsettling, Revolution explores the secrets we hide from ourselves and others, the ‘Midnight Dark Kernels’ of thought we can find ourselves in, along with our deep rooted need to connect to others. Directed by Rebecca Harris, and starring Clarissa Thibeaux (Puff), Anna Basse (Jame), and Natalie West (Georgia) is , it’s co-produced by actor Michael Shannon, a member of Red Orchid Theatre company with Neveu. Below is a conversation between Brett Neveu, Michael Shannon, Rebecca Harris, and myself, Andrew Frye, in which we explore the intricacies of the play, along with the state of US theatre, ending on a note of curiosity and generosity.
Andrew Frye: Congratulations on Revolution! Brett, I’m interested to know the origins of the play and, by extension, what moved you to write it? I know that it originated in Chicago.
Brett Neveu: I wrote it a few years ago when my daughter was 16, and I wanted to write something for them. And just the feeling of the time and being around their friends and life in general that they were living and anxiety around, work and life and also how we navigate friendships post-COVID. Second, it was my own relationship with my best friend who lives just down the street from me now. We moved near him during COVID. We spent a lot of time texting even though he lived just down the street from me. So the language that’s in the play ended up being a lot like texting. That’s why some of it sounds kinda’ odd and very, like, inside baseball between Puff and Jame. Third, there’s a movie called Jasper Mall, which was a documentary about a dying mall. And there’s a scene between two people between two hairdressers and they’re in an alley. It’s a really brief scene. Not even two minutes long. But it’s just them hanging out at night after they’re done, just like the play. And they’re just talking about life and relationships. And, it was over so fast. I mean, I just want to stay there. Right. And I was watching with my daughter and I said, well, well, I can stay there. I can just write that. I’ll just write that play. And my daughter was like, whatever. And my fourth thing is, I wanted to write something for Natalie West, who’s an ensemble member at Orchid. I just wanted to spend more time with her. And, so it was a little like, what if those Jasper Mall characters were talking and Natalie West enters. And the fifth was… going to get my haircut at a stylists right after COVID. And it was nice to go to a place to get a haircut, and not having to do it myself, or have my wife do it. Everybody was talking, chatting. We had masks on and stuff, but it felt like I could breathe again and the woman who cuts my hair is the manager of the shop. I just kinda quizzed her on some things that were going on down there, and that helped me write the play too.
AF: Feels like a whole confluence of events that lead to Revolution.
BN: Yes, absolutely.
AF: It definitely has that post-COVID feeling, especially people coming together after experiencing something in the past, it may not be what they’re talking about, but it’s coloring a lot of their relationship.
BN: I was thinking a little bit about this play, and maybe this happens for you too, that as you move through your writing, that your own sort of tone changes, or your own perspective on stuff changes. And the things that you need from an art form, or want, it’s expressive, but it also speaks back to you. And I wanted to create something that was helping me have more joy, helping treasure my friendships more, helping me understand, and letting people into my life more. All of those things, that examination, every time I see it, I like learning more about that relationship as it reflects back on me and on my friends and on others and people like you.
AF: I keep coming back to the image of you getting your haircut and that coming out of the pandemic period because I remember my first haircut, too, and I let my hair come down to my shoulders. So it was like a whole year and a half. I remember the mall being very quiet and it was just employees and the odd person going in and out of a store. We were all masked but there was a semblance of coming together and people were very excited to talk to each other.
BN: I know. It was really cool, like, everyone was polite.
AF: Has the play evolved at all since its original run in Chicago?
BN: Not necessarily the script, but certainly its interpretation has changed.
AF: Michael, you and Brett are frequent collaborators. What moved you towards this specific play that Brett had written, and to co-produce it at The Flea?
Michael Shannon: Well, I had seen Revolution in Chicago, when we did it at Red Orchid Theatre, and I was very moved by it. I was moved by the relationships, in the play, specifically, the way that these two young women reach out to this older woman who’s struggling. And I felt like it told a story that just doesn’t get considered or thought about. These are not people that see the light of day very often or are represented on stage. They’re just regular folks working at a strip mall trying to figure out what the heck they’re here for.
And they’re women. I just love producing stories about women. Brett — even though he’s a fella — has an uncanny ability to write amazing female roles. I’ve driven by countless strip malls, and I always look and I wonder, what is it like to come work in one of these places every day? And, like, what motivates you? How do you stay interested in, you know, in life, in your community, and other people? I’m from Lexington, Kentucky and every time I go back, there’s just more malls. And I find them kind of upsetting. I’ll never forget the time I went to visit my mom, and there used to be this beautiful farm behind my mom’s house, and it was gone. It was a mall. And it was a mall that was like a city that you could live in. So it had condos. And if you, like, worked in the mall, it’s possible that you could never set foot outside the mall and that would just be your whole life. And I thought, wow. That would be really disturbing. So I guess, that struggle to hold on to your humanity and a sense of community in the face of this.
AF: Absolutely. I’m originally from Mississauga, Ontario, just outside of Toronto, and it’s also populated by malls, and I worked in a few of them. I’m interested in what you’re saying about the communities that are formed there and the lives and bodies that populate those places that do go unnoticed, and are figuring out what they’re here for.
MS: Right. Which is very clear, I think, in the play.
AF: Rebecca, your director’s note starts with “this is a play about generosity and curiosity.” We seem to be living in a time right now where those two nouns are lacking. What were the conversations like in the room and in the development of the play about how we relate to each other, especially between one generation to the next?
Rebecca Harris: Yeah. I mean, when we started out, there’s a lot of information. It’s kind of lurking just under the surface in the script. Brett has a capacity to give everybody these really unique voices, but then they strike us in this very universal way. But the big thing we talked about was honesty– truth in all the language. What you said and the way that you received it all had to be honest.
At one point, Anna, who plays Jame, was like, “I don’t know. The character of Georgia — it’s hard to see what she’s presenting,” and I thought, ah, that’s great. Just take that on. So when you — the character — have trouble processing it, we as the audience need to see you have that challenge and then acceptance. That was a great moment. All the actors were able to do that.
BN: I think it’s a play that asks us all to take that step forward. Again, it goes back to the writing of it. It begins with me asking myself to do the same thing, and then the actors asking them to do the same thing. And not like that, that there’s a process to this. It’s like, well, here’s some steps in order to do this.
And I do really love that Puff makes the decision to do it. And it is a dangerous decision, and we find out why it’s a dangerous decision. You know, theatrically speaking, it’s a metaphor for the dangerous aspect of letting somebody into your life. Also letting somebody in who you’re perceiving is a little bit…there’s something there. But that’s also a draw. Right? Like, what is that? What is going on there? It’s, again, giving ourselves permission to have those relationships.
MS: Yeah. Yeah. It’s true. I find a lot of times in Brett’s writing, people will think, “oh, this is so eccentric, how this person’s talking or what they’re saying.”
And yet if you just go out and, like, walk down the street or go sit in a coffee shop or something and eavesdrop on other people’s conversations, they are just as eccentric and strange as anything Brett’s ever written. You know? I think sometimes, playwrights, they think it’s their job to strip that away and just write things that are just—
RH: Common or universal.
MS: Yeah, yeah. And Brett focuses on what makes people unique, which is, one of the things that has always drawn me to his writing.
RH: It allows an actor to take that and make it their own. I mean, that was the other thing we talked about a lot in rehearsal. You could do this play with three different actors and it would be a very different play. I mean, obviously, Natalie [West] brings a lot of herself, but so do Clarissa and [Thibeaux] and Anna [Basse], which is amazing and brave..
BN: And that’s what you want for a play. I leave a lot of space in my plays for actors to find stuff. There’s, hardly any punctuation in the script.
AF: That’s really clear in watching it and I would assume on the page, too. The eccentric way we speak to each other, and how much goes unsaid, and everything underneath what’s not being said. Brett does a fantastic job at highlighting relationships and the secrets that we keep and want to share and we don’t and what we keep buried, the lies we tell.
RH: I have in my script, like, ‘first lie’, ‘second lie’, ‘third lie’, ‘second first lie covering second lie.’ It had these layers of truth telling, but they all do it to a certain degree. Georgia’s, [played by West] lies are more overt, but Jame [played by Basse] says, at one point, “It’s okay. My butt doesn’t hurt,” and it’s a lie. Her butt does hurt. She wants to go, she wants to move on. We all have these layers. I think it’s great that the characters all have these kinds of false leads, and then they are pushed to tell the truth, and they’re accepted for it.
AF: The play feels rooted, structurally, in naturalism but there’s also elements of surreality and abstraction. Does that feel right to you, Brett?
BN: It’s absolutely intentional. I don’t know how to write any other way. Theatrical naturalism is a big important part of how I see scripted work. And surrealism is a big part of how I also see scripted work. And it’s just a viewpoint. It’s more fun too. The abstraction creates a question and a conversation amongst the naturalism. There are many ways you can interpret what’s happening.
AF: Going back to the moments of truth, or revelations at the end, I love that it really brings them together. I think there could be a version of this play where it drives them apart, but I was moved by seeing how those lies and truths link them, which felt, actually radical right now.
MS: Yeah. It is. Isn’t it?
AF: You see so many plays or films or television that really work towards some sort of bleakness. And this felt really lovely to see that not happen.
MS: Yeah. Going back to your first question, that was one of the reasons I wanted to produce it. I think it’s very hard to write something that’s compelling that doesn’t have some degree of, you know, angst or destruction. I guess that’s the nature of conflict, you know, somebody’s gotta get in a fight or something. But, it’s kinda beautiful how this play maintains its compelling quality without devolving into something else. It skirts the border of it, but it’s fascinating to watch these people being kind to each other. Which is a good example, I think, to put in the world.
BN: Well, they have to end up at the Rainforest Cafe, don’t they?
AF: Of course!
BN: It’s also Macbeth. I forgot. The sixth inspiration for Revolution was Macbeth and the three witches. They can’t be the three witches if they don’t come together. I was interested in, “how did those three become friends?” You can hear it all over the play. But yeah, they have to be friends. They have to be friends. I mean, they’re friends now, and they need each other. Their need for companionship, and friendship, wins in the end because their internal desire, their subconscious desire to be together is so much stronger than their external want to be separate.
AF: The play straddles a wonderfully strange tone throughout that does sort of keep you uneasy about what’s happening at times, but it never, to your point, Michael, devolves into something that doesn’t feel organic to these characters and where they are on the stage.
MS: Right. Right.
AF: Natalie West’s casting is fascinating to me. As someone who grew up watching her on Roseanne, there’s an almost immediate and recognizable quality to her, along with an inherent element of comfort and nostalgia. She’s grounded and trustworthy in that way.
BN: I love that so very much, thank you for saying that. I feel the same way, it’s really beautiful.
AF: She’s the absolute best. And so it’s interesting because the character of Georgia, played by West, is someone that you’re a little suspicious of at first. You’re not sure how to feel, now that she’s infiltrating the friend group between Puff and Jame. So, there’s an element of subversion happening with that specific casting. Was this something in the back of your mind while writing?
BN: It’s Midnight Dark Kernel, isn’t it? I think that’s Natalie at the core. The great thing about her is all of the stuff you just described, and I know that about her. She’s a comic genius. Her comic timing is, like, at the top, top, of people I’ve worked with and in general. But I also know that she’s an incredible dramatic actor and can rip your heart out. It’s an amazing gift that she has to be able to do that, because she does have this warmth about her. But there’s also this mischievous sort of like, should you trust me to her, and and some and there’s power in that and a little darkness.
AF: It was magic to watch her interact on stage.
RH: She’s capable of that vulnerability that we see throughout and then also of that thing where she throws the other characters and the audience off center. She’s also just so funny, and that comes from such a sincere place.
AF: Michael, you’ve been a part of projects and played characters that exist on the margins and straddle different tones and modes of being. From a producing standpoint on this, what is the draw to characters or stories that are not always heard/exist on the margins?
MS: I don’t think this play would have happened in New York if I hadn’t said “I want this to happen.” I think it’s kind of criminal how little Brett’s writing has had representation in New York City and I’m just really interested in his work being more well known beyond Chicago. We’ve done a lot of his plays at Red Orchid, and it’s not like his plays aren’t produced at all outside of the Midwest, but it’s considerably less than some other playwrights. It was an amazing opportunity for actors like Anna and Clarissa who are younger actors who don’t always have a gateway to this kind of opportunity, really. It’s so hard in New York City to put on a smaller scale production like this. Even a production of this size takes a lot of logistical know-how, and a lot of financial support. I see a generation of actors and actresses right now that are really struggling to get these kinds of opportunities.
When I was in Chicago in the nineties, doing theater, there were theaters all over the place, storefront theaters in every neighborhood. You could have hardly any money at all and just go do a play in a basement of a cafe or something. And it doesn’t seem like it works that way anymore. It makes me sad, because if I hadn’t had those opportunities, I don’t know if I’d be where I am right now. This younger generation, they’re hungry to do theater. They really wanna do it. I was talking to Anna after I saw the play and she was like “I just wanna do theater all the time”. It’s just a combination of, I don’t know, maybe a lack of demand for it or something. I don’t really understand it. I mean, have you noticed this, what I’m talking about?
AF: Yeah. I think that, right now, I’m studying dramaturgy at Columbia University and we are having conversations almost every single day about the state of theatre, “ Where is the demand? “Why aren’t people going?” I think we exist in these cycles where it suddenly feels like it’s dying, then it’s back, then it’s dying, it’s back. I think COVID really changed a lot. But I also felt personally that COVID created a lot of opportunities for connection, whether it be Zoom theatre, or other ways to see art. But we’re stagnating right now and struggling to form something new. I think we exist in a weird space. Do you think there’s a difference between New York theater or Chicago theater or other places in the United States?
MS: You know, it’s hard for me to say. When I started doing theater, those times had a very golden haze to them. You know? ‘m very nostalgic for it. It’s my past. It’s how I started. It’s how I learned my craft and whatnot. It’s not even the same in Chicago as it was back then. Sometimes I get a little down about that. But the thing I love about what we’re doing here is when I walk into Siggy [at the Flea] and I sit down there and I watch Revolution, I feel like I’m in Chicago again. The space is just so perfect for the play. The perfect size, the perfect configuration, the energy is there. That’s the kind of theater I love. Intimate. Really, it kinda feels like it’d be happening whether you were watching it or not. You know?
It’s really hard to get the word out about a play this size in New York. And it was always hard. It was hard in Chicago too. They’ve had some performances [of Revolution] where there haven’t been that many people out there, and I feel for them. But I remember that happened to me too. You just have to stay focused on the work. There’s always more to find. I remember some of my former cast mates would be like, “ Why are we even doing this tonight? Let’s just cancel.” And I would always say, “ Nope. No. No. No. No.” I don’t care if there’s three people out there. We need to do this for ourselves. Some of the greatest performances I ever gave in my life were for, like, five people. It boils down to an ethic more than an aesthetic. Beyond fame or fortune or anything else. This just needs to happen. It just needs to exist. It’s a devotion.
RH: One of the things that I admire about Chicago theater and New York theater is this idea of collaboration. Like, the model of Red Orchid is amazing. You’re writing, you’re directing, you’re acting, you’re taking the tickets. It’s what has allowed this production to happen here. They love and respect each other. I think some of the best small theater in New York happens in those situations. You gotta stay loyal to each other. I have to say, I’m so impressed with Brett and Michael and the way they’ve looked out for Natalie. It’s very moving. I’m very honored to be a part of that team.
MS: I wish it just occurred more. It’s hard to lasso people in.
AF: Yeah. To wrap up, under the guise of generosity and curiosity and a place of hope.. How do you think — whether it’s theatre, whichever medium that we find ourselves in — we can build connections with others and between generations? How can we get the word out there, to get people at the theater to see these stories, to keep telling these stories?
MS: Wow. That’s a huge question.
AF: I know. I’m sorry.
MS: I mean, I have to say, I do have hope, because I’ve seen people be so touched and moved and excited by this production. And all the artists that worked on it have been incredibly inspired in their work. And, and it’s it’s you know, you just keep doing it. You just keep doing it in terms of, like, making people realize that it’s special or that they need to pay attention to it. It’s just word-of-mouth. That’s why you do that show even if there’s only five people sitting there. One of those people could have their mind blown and run out of the theater and go tell everybody they know. Never say never. Never cancel a show. You have to inspire your audience. You have to inspire the community. You can’t take it for granted.
RH: Yeah. I think it’s important, while audience building, in encouraging people to take a risk.
I mean, we intentionally price these tickets pretty low to encourage people to see it. Worst case, it’s not your cup of tea, but it’s the price of, you know, a dinner at not even a terribly fancy restaurant. We need to encourage people. It’s the message of the play, you know, to take the risk, to interact, and see what you find.
BN: And also… it really is about leaning into our subconscious desire to be to have love, to have friendship, to have conversations, to have coffee, to go have a drink in an alley, to eat Mike and Ikes, you know, do all that stuff. It’s about making that conscious choice to do that, and then the yeah. It can change everything.
AF: Thank you all.
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