Two Point Oh
The success of a technology-themed play like Two Point Oh hinges on a lot of components working just right. The audio and video feeds need to precisely integrate with the action in real time. The blocking requires actors to respond to each other despite not being in the same room. And a primary character must be believable as an anthropomorphic manifestation of computer software. In this world premiere at the Detroit Repertory Theatre, there's not a whine, not a flicker, giving full attention to playwright Jeffrey Jackson's dexterous exploration of the relationship between human innovation and humanity. All this technology might sound like theater à la conference call, but the story that unfolds in this too-familiar reality, as directed by Harry Wetzel, delivers much more.
Not long after the play begins, billionaire software mogul Elliot Leeds (Monrico Ward) is dead. Much to the surprise of his wife and his business partner, Elliot has no intention to remain dead, thanks to a revolutionary computer program he developed in secret. The interactive and artificially intelligent software replicates his face, mannerisms, memories, and personality: meet Elliot, version 2.0. Ward's entire performance is logged via video feed to a giant flat-screen TV upstage, where he manages to be disarmingly human, yet unsettling — sometimes compiling exactly the right thing to say, but also nailing gorgeous glitches like buffering time as he computes and slightly inappropriate canned responses when the system misreads the situation. This stellar interpretation of what could have been just a talking head is instead the axis around which the play's many stories revolve, for as we are continually reminded, Elliot isn't real any more; the real intrigue is in the people affected by his electronic longevity.
For Elliot's wife, Melanie (Satori Shakoor), her disconnected-in-life husband becomes a fixture after his death, presiding over their smart house in Silicon Valley with nothing but time to learn everything on Wikipedia, recite e-books and poems, and otherwise be attentive. (Smart move by the playwright to have alive-Elliot's one scene be via video chat; the transition from man to machine is almost unnoticeable and a surprisingly easy sell to an audience used to increasingly realistic animation and video game characters.) The problems inherent in Melanie's situation become apparent to us and to her — she's withdrawn, she's not grieving, she's delusional...and he's everywhere. Shakoor does fine work thinking through her dilemma even as she basks in the extra time with her husband software. As Ben Robbins, Elliot's business partner and co-founder of Paradigm Software, Mark Barrera struggles with the unreality of version 2.0 while being incessantly confronted with, by all appearances, his longtime friend. The character has an aloofness behind his stress, manifest in Barrera's killer deadpan, as well as a satisfying plot of his own.
The smallest, and the weakest, story arc is that of Catherine Powell (Maggie Patton), presiding CEO and chief denier that (a) Elliot has started appearing on laptop screens all over Paradigm and (b) the company is attempting to snuff out the program by tracking down Elliot's far-flung servers. Catherine is eventually given a fairly interesting peripheral story, and Patton has fun in one scene of drunken misery, but it doesn't quite elevate her above the character's early use as a stock corporate castrating bitch. This is the one small drawback to the show: Jackson wants to develop his concept from so many angles that he seems to be juggling three protagonists, resulting in a running time that feels excessive at two point five. Moreover, the production seems to wage war against this bloat by keeping up a rapid-fire pace that steamrolled more than a few moments I wanted to see develop.
Wetzel's Stonehenge-inspired set and massive rotating circular desk provides an airy, cold atmosphere that's fitting for the play's many backdrops: the Leeds's computer-efficient home, the C-suite of Paradigm, and the set of a cable news show hosted by go-to exposition guy and superior blowhard Jerry Gold (Mark Halpin). Lighting design by Thomas Schraeder is a play on opposites — blue on orange, orange on blue — heightening the adaptable, artificial feel. Sound by Burr Huntington ranges from theme music to voice-over announcements of incoming phone calls, and it's more than reliable in a production that depends on its cues. The actors are commendably effective in Wetzel's challenging staging that has them facing the audience, while viewers simultaneously see their faces and the projected Elliot behind them. It's difficult to do, but the success of this device is evident; the show's promotional photos don't do it justice.
In all, Two Point Oh cashes in on an insightful script, rock-solid support from the technical designers and crew, and thoughtful, grounded performances. With humor and a taste of foreboding, it provides several clever twists on the hypothetical, "Would you like to live forever?" That's all well and good, but more importantly, what if someone you love actually does it?
April 7, 2010