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I went to see G-d’s Honest Truth, a play by Renee Calarco, at Dobama’s space last night. The play was staged by Interplay Jewish Theatre in partnership with Dobama and made possible by the strong work that Faye Sholiton always puts into her projects.

G-d’s Honest Truth is a good, solid play that, I’m sure, started its life when Ms. Calarco heard the tale of Rabbi Menachem Youlus, who trolled the Eastern seaboard of the United States from 2004-2010 selling Torahs with fake histories.

As a playwright—-hell, as a person, like many other people—-I’ve heard my share of strange stories or stories that are pretty incredible. But as a playwright in particular I’ve thought to myself: “Myself, how do I dramatize this.” With the peculiar case of Rabbi Youlus in mind, I think Calarco has really done something impressive: not only has she managed to contextualize the events, but also she has managed to frame them in the history of a family and a community—not just in the sense of how the events impacted a family and community adversely (and the implications of it), but also how the events, in an odd way, lifted a family and community and enlivened it. These are contrary impulses, but life is filled with contradiction and Calarco does a great job of balancing them.

Youlus, in Calarco’s play, is named “Dov,” and was read by Stuart Hoffman: who seems to be everywhere these days—which is good because Hoffman is quite talented and always fun to see. Dov first appears with a married couple (Laura Perrotta and Scott Plate) whose son (Greg Violand) is about to be married. Larry (Plate) is carefully and meticulously inscribing the ketubah while Roberta (Perrotta) is having her dress made and ranting about how Larry has waited until the last minute to create ketubah when he had the whole of a two-year engagement to get it done. Dov casually drops the story of the “Holocaust Torah” and how a Polish priest unearthed it at Auschwitz, miraculously. The torah was wrapped in the torn clothing of the prisoners and even had bloodstains on it. Dov comments that a nearby synagogue is considering purchasing it, a fact that stings the impulse of Roberta and Larry. The two convince the board of their own synagogue to purchase the Holocaust Torah, which it does for half-a-million dollars. This story of the play winds on until we learn that another synagogue has a Holocaust Torah with the identical story, and, perhaps more egregious still, Dov locates a long lost copy of Anne Frank’s Diary that Anne was translating into English for practice. She had only completed two or so pages.

The absurdity of the background of these ‘holy relics’ and the bidding wars that they inspire in a community of people is another piece of the backdrop for this play, as is the microcosm of the family and individuals who have to consider their own faith and reliance on stories.

Ultimately, Calarco makes effective use of the Youlus story turning it into a launching point for her play, creating a deeper and more important meditation on what faith is, what family is, what history means, and how each of us fits into it.

Valerie Kilmer, a member of the chorus, played Violand’s fiancée; as well, both Tim Keo and Khaki Hermann filled out the chorus of the very entertaining play which was read before a full Dobama house.

Saw this on the last night it was up at Dobama.  It was alright.  The cast and direction was very good, but the play itself was a little up and down. 

For me, the opening scene of the second act saved the play.  I was nearly ready to leave after the first act and several people that I know who were in attendance did leave.  I also saw two people sleeping (of course, this could have as much to do with the aging of the audience as the play itself).  The first act was almost entirely exposition.  That is really what dragged the thing down.  The second act saved the play because it took advantage of the painstakingly laid ground work of the first.

There were some intriguing interludes, where Felix Humble (Andrew Cruse) has a sort of twilight cranial experience that conjures his dead father.  But these were few.  The whole play reminded me of a collision between Proof, by David Auburn, and Hay Fever, by Noel Coward.  That is, it has the whole self-righteous young, brilliant, diffident intellectual child who can’t get out of the shadow of a dead father (and in Felix Humble’s world a strong willed, overbearing, selfish mother)–whose ghost appears in the play; as well as the flighty, ferociously French-scened encounters with screwball family members, neighbors, friends, etc.  The play is periodically funny and periodically witty.  I don’t think it accomplishes what it wants.  I, for one, wasn’t affected by it–in the sense of having any profound revelation or connecting to the characters in any deeply, meaningful way.  After the first act I wanted to swat Felix every time he stuttered.

The characters were well-drawn and believable: smart, unbelievably stupid and frustrating, funny, vulnerable, assertive, crazy–in short, like real people.  Greg Violand, as George Pye, was terrific and without a doubt a scene stealer.  His rough, vulgar, enthusiastically funny Pye was like many men I know from Mount Vernon/Fredericktown where I grew up: unassuming, direct, rustic–the kind of guy who’ll drink a beer, tell a dirty joke, cut a fart, and then comment on the ass of the woman who just passed by.  Nevertheless, he was earnest and tried his best to win the heart of Flora Humble (Maryann Nagel), who did  a splendid job of portraying and imperious and unforgivingly bitter cougar.  I enjoyed seeing Laurel Johnson, as I always do (Rosie Pye); and Laura Starnik (Mercy Lott) did a wonderful job as Flora’s greatly abused friend–one diatribe in particular that was delivered through a five-minute meandering dinner grace was especially funny and earned great enthusiasm and applause.

There is much that writer Charlotte Jones put into the naming of characters and the themes/events of the play: Flora, Felix, Humble Pye, George (Georgie pordgie pudding and ), Rosie, Mercy lott, bumble bees, gardens, gardners, etc.: a virtual explosion of nursery rhymes and archetypal events–the lost father, oedipal difficulties of the son (Hamlet), unknown daughter, ghosts, etc.  I’m not really certain what it all added up to, though and unfortunately I’m not sure if Johnson does either.  The problem for me is that I don’t know if is supposed to be mysterious, or if she just wasn’t sure herself.

The set was great. It was the first time I had been in the newly constructed Dobama space on Lee Road.  I thought Joel Hammer did a great job of exploding the farcical points and ratcheting together a clearly talented cast.