Planet Theatre,
through November 1
Running time: 1 hr, 50 min
The cage is roughly seven feet in height, perhaps five or six feet wide along each side. Its bars are textured metal rods, running vertically, with horizontal bars staggered about to provide purchase for climbing the cage’s sides. Its floor is hard. The cage belongs to Michael. The cage is for Michael’s lover.
In Migdalia Cruz’s Fur, love is a hunt, a sport in which the object of one’s affections is carefully watched for, stalked, lured into one’s lap, captured. It has nothing to do with mutual attraction and affection but everything to do with pursuit and possession. We see it in Michael, who finds his dream mate in Citrona — a feral female whose head, face, and back are thick with masses of midnight black hair — and confines her in a cage, where he’s confident he can make her love him. But we see it also in Citrona, who’s infatuated with Nena, the robust blonde hired by Michael to bring her food, and in Nena, who has eyes only for Michael. Both women are certain they can conquer the heart of the one they prize and so give chase, using any weapon at their disposal — a compliment, a poem, a foot wash, a pile of bones — to cripple their quarry and make it theirs.
Cruz is doing a twisted riff on Beauty and the Beast, one to show us that often beneath the skin of the beauty there lies a beast. Her take on love and our motives in seeking it are as black as charred meat and her imagery not a little disturbing, but Cruz leavens her spin with a wicked wit that keeps us engaged, as when Michael tries to woo the carnivorous Citrona with a gift of barbecued chicken and Citrona serenades Nena with her growling renditions of Beatles songs. The play’s spirit echoes that of the sideshow: exhibiting what is unnatural, unsettling, even gruesome, with perverse glee.
In staging the Texas premiere of Cruz’s play, VORTEX Repertory Theatre nails that spirit. This characteristically bold company rises to the challenge of Cruz’s script, seizing its many sensationalistic bits — nudity, autoeroticism, gnawing raw meat, sick jokes — and thrusting them in our faces, unflinchingly and with relish. It could come across as just a series of gratuitous shocks, but director Barry Pineo keeps a tight grip on the action, orchestrating the impact of each jolt and jab so that they always serve the story and our eyes remain locked on the scene, unable to look away from this thing that is both horrific and hilarious. His actors do much to sustain our fascination with these self-absorbed suitors. Martin Burke’s Michael is a GQ Jack Frost, his snowy linen suit, composure, and control projecting a cool charisma; you could watch him all day. Elaine Williams’ Nena is a wide-eyed na�f who knows little of books but enough of the hunt to be able to use her ripe feminine form to captivate her prey; her slow voluptuous washing of Burke’s feet puts a tingle in your toes. And as Citrona, Stephanie Swenson dances merrily on the line between beast and human. Her eyes gleam as she speaks of eating animal entrails, pausing to tear into the bloody little body in her hands. But then her voice cracks with a touching eagerness as she entreats Nena to return her love. Swenson’s work here is big, gutsy, original, sharp, full; it’s impressive.
The same may be said of the show overall. Like the cage Jason Amato constructed for it, it is large and sturdy and detailed — and it will hold us until someone chooses to set us free. — Robert Faires
This article appears in October 17 • 1997 and October 17 • 1997 (Cover).