How I Learned to Drive
A family-unfriendly affair — or should that be unfriendly family? I do not wish to make any assumptions about playwright Paula Vogel — never mind her claim in the program notes that she only writes about things “that directly impact my life” — but her Pulitzer-winning play about motor cars and molestation plays like theatrical trauma therapy. Write it out. The notes also note that she begins with emotional circumstances and character and then moves to narrative structure. That tracks, because the narrative structure here is chopped up and scrambled (via frequent references to reverse gear) in a way that feels designed to make its central character engaging — as opposed to conveying a story. That character is not Megan Carmitchel’s cute ‘n curvaceous kiddo Li’l Bit (like many members of her family, she’s named with reference to her genitalia). She’s plenty engaging on her own — who doesn’t sympathize with a girl discovering that she is not so much a person as an object of desire, and then trying to navigate the wanting world? Rather, it’s Peck, the older, married man with whom she is sitting in a parked car in rural Maryland at the play’s outset. The older, married man who has taught her to drive said car, and who now convinces her to sit astride him so that he may lift her shirt and fondle her breasts before bestowing “just one kiss” upon them. (For all the sexy talk and sexy action, Backyard Renaissance’s presentation here is relatively demure; they’re out to make you blush because of what’s happening, not because of what’s shown.) Francis Gercke’s Peck is a finely crafted monstrosity, putting on an extended masterclass in gentle grooming, patiently setting his hook and constantly assuring his subject of both his empathetic affection and her transcendent worth. And he means every honeyed word. His feelings may be unacceptable, but they’re 100% real. He is, in fact, the realest thing in the play, though his wife gets a strong, embittered moment in the spotlight, and Li’l Bit’s wan wriggling in his clutches mostly makes sense. The least real? Mom, who is mostly absent and then alarmingly absurd, followed by Grandma, a pious child bride who seems to have had her feelings… well, taken out of her.
When
Ongoing until Saturday, March 16, 2024
Hours
| Sundays, 3pm-5pm |
| Mondays, 7pm-9pm |
| Thursdays, 7:30pm-9:30pm |
| Fridays, 7:30pm-9:30pm |
| Saturdays, 7:30pm-9:30pm |