Jennifer Haley's "Neighborhood 3'

People who don't play video games— especially story-driven first-person shooters like "Grand Theft Auto," "Call of Duty" or "Doom"—generally hold one of two opinions about those who do. Either they agree with lawyer Jack Thompson's depiction of games as "murder simulators" that provoke kids to violence, or they see gaming as little more than alienating, escapist fantasy for socially maladroit teens and kidults.

In her Neighborhood 3: Requisition of Doom, playwright Jennifer Haley blends these two perspectives in an attempt at social commentary that fires at more targets than an Arnold Schwarzenegger film. Her disaffected suburban teens— jocks, goths, nerds and loners alike— have become addicted to an online killing game that pits kids against their undead parents.

The game blends reality with cyberspace by using GPS technology to map out the cookie-cutter housing of the gated community these kids inhabit. So when they're walking around the "in-game" neighborhood looking for more zombies or parents to kill, their avatars (that is, their online personas) stumble over the real hedges in their own real backyards, or wander into the kids' downstairs living room while the kids themselves play the game upstairs.

In a twist worthy of "The Twilight-Zone," the game itself begins to permeate the kids' real lives and behaviors. A neighborhood cat that died in the game suddenly dies in real life. The common tools of suburbia, from weed whackers to hedge clippers, turn into murder weapons.

Trouble in paradise

Haley's scattershot critique attacks not just video games and their alleged social disconnecting consequences on teens, but also parents' inability to relate to their kids, how gated-community life only amplifies alienation from the larger world and the insulating effects of socio-economic gentrification. She even tosses a few clichéd potshots at America's founding atop "one giant Indian burial ground." Her frazzled parents alternate between trying to bond with their kids and expressing dismay that suburbia failed to protect them from society's problems and influence.

Had she stayed focused, and more importantly, had she not blunted the knife of her commentary with the sci-fi elements and final twist, some of her points would have resonated, and even felt fresh. Had she done her research, however, she could have avoided the stereotyped views of gaming and reflected genuine concerns about teens, parents, and cyberspace.

"'Wish you were my dad'

The real world of gaming that Haley ignores consists of a tight-knit community whose members connect not to act out their homicide fantasies but to bond over a shared interest. Today's profusion of online video-game forums and websites more often than not feature tips on careers, how to avoid bullying, and how to succeed in life. Teens who visit these sites often post replies that range from the wistful "I wish you were my dad," to "I'm glad you fail at suicide" (after a video in which one adult talked candidly about his high school attempt to take his own life).

If there's a disconnect between today's parents and their video-obsessed kids, as Haley believes, it's not the fault of the video games. Instead she should blame uninterested parents who neglect to bond with their kids through these games. Haley overlooks the real problem with video games: the barrage of racist, sexist and homophobic comments traded across the anonymity of the Internet. She also could have focused—as Theatre Exile's 2008 production of Carlos Murillo's Dark Play attempted—on the real problem of cyberspace bullying, which has caused teen suicides.

Like a monotone airline stewardess

After watching Azuka's uneven though occasionally clever staging, I'm not sure who knows less about gaming and gamers— Haley or the creative team behind this production. Director Kevin Glaccum knows enough to mimic the bouncing, hyper-real presence in Nick Troy's "gaming avatar," yet he asks Zura Johnson to monotonically read the in-game voice-overs like a monotone airline stewardess pointing out the emergency exits. For more than a decade now, software firms have hired Hollywood celebrities to act out this kind of dialogue.

Glaccum's direction does effectively capture the danger and suspense built into Haley's script. And thanks to some strong acting, and Natalia De La Torre's sharply delineated wigs and costumes, the cast capably populates a gated-community and fluidly transitions from one set of anxious parents and disgruntled teens to the next. But only Thom Weaver's ominous lighting lends credence to this online universe.