Some snobs have dismissed Gina Gionfriddo’s “After Ashley” for not telling us anything about our celebrity-obsessed pop culture we don’t already know. That’s like saying Shakespeare, P.J. O’Rourke and Dave Barry didn’t tell their contemporaries anything they didn’t already know about murderous rage, spin-doctoring and family vacations gone wild. For many, the world we live in is the one we understand least.
Gionfriddo is a savage satirist who astutely skewers our vapid proclivity for elevating just about anyone to star status – most appallingly, reality-TV contestants and true-crime victims. If “After Ashley” seems obvious to some, perhaps that’s because it feels like it was written five minutes ago. That gives it an uncommon immediacy for the stage, which because of logistics is typically a few years behind TV and print.
“After Ashley” isn’t a breath but a tornado of fresh air blowing through the Denver Center Theatre Company’s Ricketson Theatre. And any play that weaves in interpretations of Joe Jackson and Eminem songs is one after my own heart.
It opens with one of the best scenes in memory – a mono-stricken 14-year-old and his trippy 35-year-old mom are watching an unlicensed relationship expert named Dr. Bob spew advice to daytime TV audiences. The mom, a pot-smoking, sexually bored housewife, tells Justin he was an accident, his parents are incompatible in bed and encourages him to sleep with lots of girls before settling down – but “safely and respectfully,” she says to laughs.
Ashley’s life is a train wreck, but she’s a good mom. Especially compared with husband Alden, a misguided do-gooder whose heart is everywhere but in his own home.
If you know the title, you know what happens next. Drawing unashamedly from the Elizabeth Smart case, Alden hires a homeless schizophrenic to do his yard work. Justin discovers his mom’s raped and beaten body in the basement, and People magazine dubs him “The 911 Kid” after his emergency call is sampled into a hit rap song.
What follows is a tidal wave of exploitation. The media exploit the crime, and the father in turn exploits his ensuing media opportunities. Crime shows re-enact the killing as entertainment, and politicians and pundits use the crime to further their agendas on issues such as homelessness and welfare.
The phony dad writes a book he dedicates to the killer’s mom and lands a TV program by creating a false, saintly portrait of Ashley. Alden’s producer, David, was an absentee dad who turned his own murdered child into his big break. And a Goth girl named Julie exploits Justin for sex because, gosh, he’s The 911 Kid. The fascinating reversal is watching Justin go from the exploited to the exploiter.
Sadly, this is where the play loses focus. For the first two-thirds, this is the best and funniest new American play in years. But it gets lost in its dash to an effective finish and collapses in contradiction and sentimentality. When Gionfriddo introduces a late, bad caricature from a 1970s porn film in an extended knock-off of the 17-year-old movie, “sex, lies and videotape,” it stops feeling as fresh as the morning coffee. The story becomes even more foolish than the world it mocks.
At the climax, when Justin is understandably desperate to make his dad remember his real, flawed mom, how he goes about it makes him no better than anyone else, and Gionfriddo never calls him on it.
The best moment in the play comes earlier. When Justin proclaims, “Shame is an idea whose time has come back,” I wanted to stand and cheer. Gionfriddo is clearly an important new voice, but I wonder if even she realizes the contradiction.
The words she puts into Justin’s mouth make him far too erudite for a teenage druggie, but Tobias Segal is completely winning in portraying him, at both ages 14 and 17 (for the record this star-bound actor is 24). As Ashley, Angela Reed sets the whole table in one scene. Ruth Eglsaer is remarkable again, this time as the Goth girl who grows from victim groupie to genuine love interest. Sam Gregory and John G. Preston are top actors, but as Alden and David, Gionfriddo has stacked the deck against them.
Lost in all this pop-culture talk is that “After Ashley” is a refreshing look at an American family in our time – a time when technological advances like the Internet have actually eroded human connection.
Anyone who still thinks we have not grown numb to real crime surely missed the rancid April 7 episode of “Numbers,” a CBS drama that all but reenacted the Columbine massacre to a gnarly-cool death-metal soundtrack. It was a moment of unreal bad taste – one that makes “After Ashley” seem fresh and completely real.
Theater critic John Moore can be reached at 303-820-1056 or jmoore@denverpost.com.
*** | “After Ashley”
SATIRE|Directed by Anthony Powell|Starring Tobias Segal, Angela Reed, Sam Gregory, Ruth Eglsaer and John G. Preston|Ricketson Theatre at the Denver Performing Arts Complex, 14th and Curtis streets|THROUGH JUNE 3|6:30 p.m. Mondays- Wednesdays, 8 p.m. Thursday-Fridays, 1:30 and 8 p.m. Saturdays|2 hours, 35 minutes| $35-$45|303-893-4100; 800-641-1222 or denvercenter.org
