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July 3- 9, 2003

theater

Weight Till You See Him

Sit up or shut up: (l-r) Kirsten Quinn, Davey White and 

Michele Guidry in <i>Hands Across Veronica</i>.
Sit up or shut up: (l-r) Kirsten Quinn, Davey White and Michele Guidry in Hands Across Veronica.

"Someday my Prince will come. Someday I’ll find my love, And away to his castle we’ll go To be happy forever, I know."

Yeah, right. Don’t believe the Disney soprano who optimistically trills these words in the darkness just before Hands Across Veronica begins. The protagonists in Gin Hobbs’ fast-paced and often very funny play stand about as much chance of finding their perfect princes as the rest of America’s umpteen-million, 20-to-30-something single women.

Who has it worse, I wonder -- Veronica or her gal pal, Aubrey? At least Aubrey's got a regular boyfriend (Tony), regular both in the "sticks around" sense, and in the eats-all-the-food-in-her-fridge, sponges-off-her-hospitality-and-treats-their-dog-better-than-he-treats-her, regular-guy sense. (Not that Aubrey is such a prize: She's pretty, but bitchy and body-obsessed.) Even with all Tony's faults, Aubrey is desperate to marry him. "Stop being a bad boyfriend and start being a mediocre husband," she pleads, underscoring that standards are much lower for the latter than the former.

Plain, placid Veronica, on the other hand, has a stream of male suitors. We never meet any of them, but from her descriptions we're not missing much. There's the one who doesn't sleep with her. There's the one with the prosthetic leg. Oh, then there's the African-American guy who gets off on being verbally demeaned well, you get the idea.

Is this what contemporary women have to look forward to, romantically speaking? Are there no possibilities for genuine (if sensibly tempered) happiness?

Veronica approaches the problem with a typical modern American woman solution: She should go on a diet. And so she does, as a three-person Greek chorus of large-and-lovely women ("The Phat Ladies") look on and make sardonic comments.

The results of Veronica's weight-loss regime are not what we expect, though. That's part of the charm of Hobbs' script; even when the audience thinks they know where it's going, it pleasurably takes them by surprise.

Some of the early publicity about Veronica emphasized that Hobbs is an openly lesbian playwright, but I wouldn't call the show a "lesbian" comedy. "Feminist" comedy would be closer. Better yet, let's abandon the politics entirely. Veronica is simply a comedy, and an inventive and very funny one.

The show has a complicated format for a short (90-minute) play: The parallel stories of Aubrey and Veronica alternate with "choral odes," some of which take the form of song-and-dance numbers. Hobbs' script keeps all the various balls in the air, and along the way offers a liberal sprinkling of some terrific one-liners. But character and storytelling come first (just as they should), and are never sacrificed merely for the sake of a joke. Not all the insights in Veronica are original, but Hobbs' language gives the entire thing a fresh feel. I suspect women will feel a particular kinship to the story, but on opening night the male contingent seemed to be enjoying itself every bit as much.

Equal credit goes to director Deborah Seif, who handles the action with unfailing style, keeps the show galloping along and has gotten terrific performances out of her ensemble of six actors (five women and one man). Michele Guidry is all loveable bemusement as Veronica; Davey White (Tony) is today's quintessential everyman. The three Phat Ladies (Donna McFadden, Natalie Randazzo and Mary Pat Walsh) are individually and collectively delightful. Best of all is Kirsten Quinn (Aubrey), at once sexy, funny and utterly annoying. (When will some clever casting director snap up Quinn for a Natalie Wood biopic? The resemblance is simply uncanny!)

Hands Across Veronica

Through July 20, Eternal Spiral Project, 2nd Stage at the Adrienne, 2030 Sansom St., 215-563-4330.

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