Nowadays, people take their phones with them everywhere. Cell phones interrupt an alarming number of events in a variety of different places, including movie theaters, plays and even church. The thought of a missed phone call or text worries many Americans so much that they now answer their cell phones even while urinating.
"Dead Man's Cell Phone," Sarah Ruhl's latest play, addresses this mobile phone epidemic. Ruhl is an up-and-coming playwright who takes the absurd seriously. Her trademark is creating a character with a personality typically suited for a protagonist's sidekick and putting that character in the spotlight. It's like writing a play about Robin sans Batman.
Jean (Liz Hayes), the main character of "Dead Man's Cell Phone," is timid from the very first scene. She is sitting in a café when a Gordon Gottlieb's (Neil McGarry) cell phone rings several times. He won't pick up. She inches toward his table, wringing her hands, unsure if she is allowed to answer the phone and end the annoyance. Finally, Jean can't stand it. She picks up the phone, only to realize that its owner has suddenly died. Jean takes the cell phone, believing that she may be able to keep Gordon's memory alive by taking his phone calls.
Via the phone, Jean meets Gordon's mistress, his mother, brother and wife. She slowly uncovers a poorly kept secret: Gordon's profession. He was an organ dealer. Jean is then thrown into danger, confronting confusion and love in her search for normalcy.
The scenery is simple and the cast small, but director Carmel O'Reilly gets creative with what's available. The play remains visually appealing by utilizing unique lighting. A few times throughout the performance, actors appear on tall, dark platforms on either side of the stage. Towards the end of the play, Gordon appears on one of these platforms and informs the audience what happened on the day of his death in a comical monologue.
One of Ruhl's trademarks is mixing humor with serious situations. "I'm of Irish ancestry, so I grew up in that culture, where you have to have a sense of humor about terrible things. It's a survival mechanism. I think we can only process so much grief, and then the mind needs to retreat from it, and we need to laugh," Ruhl told the Boston Globe.
The play is both humorous and thought-provoking. The plot moves quickly through most scenes, though the second act is both wittier and more action-packed than the first, which suffers from a couple of corny love scenes.
The audience is left wondering whether being available to answer the cell phone at all times confirms a person's existence, or inhibits him from existing in the moment.
Another dilemma and source of contemplation comes from Jean's dishonesty throughout the play. She tells Gordon's mistress that in his dying moments he confessed his love for his mistress. She promises his mother that he had tried to call her the day he died. None of these things are true. Some may see the lies as tall tales with good intentions; Ruhl likes to see them simply as stories.
Classifying fibs as tales rather than ethical trespasses prompts the audience to question if there even is such a thing as a lie. The play takes an interesting perspective on reality, on life and death, blurring what are conventionally seen as strict delineations. In addition, Jean's lies, or stories, lighten the mood of the play, which would otherwise have an entirely grave tone.
"Dead Man's Cell Phone" is playing until Nov. 14 at the Lyric Stage on Clarendon Street (Copley Station on the MBTA Green Line is close to the theater). Tickets cost between $25 and $50, but only $10 if purchased via Student Rush. Tickets are available online at lyricstage.com, over the phone at 617 585 5678 or at the box office.
