Blame It on Beckett is a hilariously irreverent look at what happens behind the scenes in the worst-case scenario of a literary office of a theater company supposedly seeking to promote and produce new plays. New budding playwrights, beware — this scenario is not for the faint of heart. Like making sausage, it’s not pretty. At least with sausage, you get a semi-edible meal. This one might give you heartburn but also a fun ride along the way.
In this John Morogiello original, John takes on the role of Jim Foley, the acerbic, distempered, foul-mouthed, near-misanthrope play developer of the theater world. It’s like Morogiello did a brain dump of all the wretched scenes he’s read or experienced or witnessed, or maybe even written himself, and filled Jim to the brim with them. Jim deplores mediocrity, and that’s all he sees in scripts piled high everywhere. His glasses are not rose-tinted but crap detectors, and everything goes into the dumpster, even sight-unseen or unread. He can just feel “unproducible,” like it oozes from pages he hasn’t even looked at. When a perky new face from the box office, theater grad Heidi Bishop, delightfully played by Rose Hahn, comes in yearning for a chance in the dramaturgy field, she wheedles her way to being his intern, relishes reviewing the scripts that he so sardonically discards, and finds some hopeful possibilities.
But to no avail. Jim loathes new young playwrights who think writing plays is easy. He’s been in the dramaturg trenches long enough to know the ebb and flow of what gets butts in seats, whether it’s Black History plays in February or the incessantly reliable Christmas Carol in December. Despite promoting his office as seeking fresh new voices, Jim sticks with the tried-and-true successful workhorses. His pride and joy is Tina Fike, played with aplomb by Liz Weber. Tina rocks the playwriting world, and Weber steals the show with bravado so thick she can’t even bother to respond to Heidi, a gushing fan singing her praises. Weber plays Tina with a tough, flint-like exterior; she has weathered some battles, but underneath there’s a heart somewhere. Her new play is the talk of the town as she works through final edits with Jim before opening. And also interestingly, with Heidi, who has cleaned up the office, read bunches of scripts, and is ready to put her theater degree to work. What happens to the script is the cliffhanger ending of Act One, which follows the formula rules that Jim (John) has spouted for decent playwriting — give the audience something they feel compelled to come back for. And it works.
Morogiello is a master at sensing the miracle moments in scenes. Jim’s monolog about the beauty and magic of cherished classic moments in plays is exquisite and moving. Jim knows good work when he sees it. That’s why he was so adamant in finally convincing Tina to cut her favorite but long monolog that he said was hampering the pace. Little did he know that in a girl-power move, Heidi had slipped a copy to Tina, who thinks otherwise. Heidi insists that the monolog is crucial for the female character’s voice, arguing that it establishes women’s overall standing, credibility, and resolution of the play. That we care so much about a monolog that isn’t even recited in a play named Requiem for a Hairdresser (really?) is a testament to Morogiello’s skill in keeping the stakes high. He even adds a disrupter boss, Mike, a suave Matthew Marcus, who maneuvers some shady trickery to get what he wants for good measure.
The time period is set as 2000 before cellphones; there’s not one in sight, allowing the show to focus on the characters. The only phone is tethered with a corded handset — remember those? The best thing about them was being able to slam the handle down on the receiver, which Jim performs with relish, hanging up on eager playwrights yearning to get reactions, anything, positive or negative, about their scripts.
Set design by the multitalented Morogiello is a bleak white back wall with well-positioned doors to enter the cramped office and another out to a back room for storage and a cot for quick naps to handle the frenetic work frenzy. Costume designer Elizabeth Kemmerer worked her magic going from Heidi’s early designer shoes to get the job, office casual for daily grunt work, then stunning opening night glam. Voice-over passages added additional funny quips about theater, which generally were helpful when the audio was clear and not muffled.
Jim blames the constant wave of upcoming playwrights trying to write the next new modern hit on literati extolling the wonders of writers like Beckett and Albee. Whether or not we agree to Blame It on Beckett, we can blame it on Best Medicine to deliver another fun winner.
Running Time: Approximately two hours with one 15-minute intermission.
Blame It on Beckett plays through March 30, 2025 (performances on Friday and Saturday at 7:30 PM; matinees on Saturday and Sunday at 2:30 PM), presented by Best Medicine Rep Theater Company, performing at The Writer’s Center, 4508 Walsh St, Bethesda, MD. Purchase tickets ($30 general, $20 senior/student) online, at the door, or by contacting the Box Office at BestMedicineRep@gmail.com.
Contains mature language and themes.
COVID Safety: Masks optional.
Blame It on Beckett
CAST
Rose Hahn, Matthew Marcus, John Morogiello, Liz Weber
Voice-over Actors: Kathleen Barth, J. McAndrew Breen, Rebecca A. Herron, John Morogiello
PRODUCTION DESIGN
Writer and Artistic Director: John Morogiello
Director: Kathleen Barth
Lighting Design: Heather Rody
Sound Design: Delaney Bray
Costume Design by Elizabeth Kemmerer
Set Design: John Morogiello
Intimacy Choreographer: Emily Sucher
Stage Manager: Jerry Callistein
Stage Crew: Evan Morogiello
