TIO DENVER: “GOD OF CARNAGE” AT CURIOUS THEATRE

03 May TIO DENVER: “GOD OF CARNAGE” AT CURIOUS THEATRE

By the time Veronica Novak holds up a piece of paper and asks if the three other adults are comfortable with “the statement,” we know where this is headed. This moment happens just a few seconds after the lights have come up.

The play starts mid-scene with negotiations between two upscale New York couples. For about a moment, there’s a chance that reason—civilization, order, dialogue—will win the day. And then there’s the proposal to change one word in the “statement” and the slow, agonizing descent into chaos begins.

The statement involves a fight between two boys, the offspring of each couple. Little Billy Novak has lost two teeth to a stick swung by Henry Raleigh, son of Alan and Annette Raleigh.

The adults are discussing how best to deal with the fallout from the fight and, well, restore order.

But the blow that left Billy with a bruised mouth and missing incisors has also caused nerve damage. And, essentially, “God of Carnage,” treats us to 90 minutes of the myelin sheath being pulled back and nerves dangling out in the open—raw, alive and electric.

Yes, I said “treats.”

There are parts of “God of Carnage” that are cover-your-eyes hard to watch. But those moments are smack up against some moments that are uproariously wicked and funny, when all pretense and decency and order has been shredded to bits. The woman next to me in the balcony at The Curious Theater snorted—snorted hard—three times.

This adult foursome on stage is supposed to know how to get along. As married couples, they are supposed to know how to protect—and support—each other. As well-off urbanites—well-off urbanites with a glass coffee table covered in expensive art books, including one on Kokoschka—they are supposed to know how to navigate this hiccup between their two male offspring.

These are four people, after all, who know the finer details of how bake a clafoutis. Alan Raleigh is a lawyer who works on international war crimes cases in The Hague. Michael Novak may have a less glamorous job, but knows his aged rum. Veronica Novak is a writer working on a book about Darfur. Annette Raleigh is a “wealth manager.”

These are educated, worldly individuals who should know how to navigate inter-personal mine fields of sensitivity.

Tensions, it turns out, abound. The muck of these souls will soon be oozing all over the stage. The foursome takes turns skewering and jabbing each other, in every combination imaginable and the eruptions are separated here and there for a few moments of bonding before it’s Mt. St. Helens all over again and they turn on each other, fangs flared.

Even as we squirm in our seats, The Curious Theater production of “God of Carnage” is riveting. The performances are razor sharp. The script requires considerable physical interaction and the timing among this foursome, and directed by Chip Walton, is flawless.

Dee Covington (as Veronica Novak) has the farthest to fall and she pours it all out on stage, including a few moments of physical work that are positively brilliant. Karen Slack, as Annette Raleigh, does something on stage that I’ve never seen before (you’ll get no spoilers out of me) and her performance makes us feel as ill—and torn—as she looks. (Yes, that’s a compliment.)

Timothy McCracken and Eric Sandvold (as Alan Raleigh and Michael Novak, respectively) are every bit the match for the women, showing tremendous range. Nobody is one-note; everyone gets their chance to lose it.  French playwright Yasmina Reza takes an equal-opportunity approach in exposing fraud, demons, secrets, and duplicity. I really can’t imagine how these actors screw up the energy—night after night—that must be needed for the second half of this show.

There is nothing delicate or subtle about “God of Carnage.” This isn’t a slow-burn, it’s a rapid-fire descent toward mayhem and you will feel, sitting in your seat, part voyeur and part rubbernecker. The wreckage on stage is complete as behavior, manners, conduct, and morals all implode.

I left feeling like I needed a shower—and happy for the small, acid-free decencies of everyday life.

Note: “God of Carnage” runs about 90 minutes. No intermission. Performances through June 8. Buy tickets here.