Kim Davies's ‘Smoke’ at Theatre Exile (first review)

"I have to be careful with you," says the older John, played by Matteo Scammell, "you're so new and shiny." Privileged Julie, played by Merci Lyons-Cox, puts on a brave front: "I would want to fuck me if I were you."

New levels of provocation

These two hole up in their host's kitchen, created by set designer Colin McIlvaine as more spacious than a Manhattan apartment might be, but still small enough in Studio X to feel claustrophobic, especially when John's knives come out. "I want to see how far I can push you," he tells Julie, who wants to be pushed.

Hints of violence become vividly real, and it's a disquieting experience in live theater, especially in a tight space. We're accustomed to sexual encounters in film and television that are artfully lit and shot, usually with musical accompaniment, so that we get the gist with a lot of obscuration. While Smoke and director Deborah Block avoid "explicit nudity," the real-time intimacy — on kitchen table, chairs, and floor, without strategically draped sheets or comfy pillows — has a whole different effect.

A couple in front of me, for instance, whispered to each other through much of the 90-minute play as the action escalated. When the woman left the theater, the man kept talking to himself.

Drew Billiau's lighting uses the kitchen's practical instruments and colorful light from the street through the window to good effect, but there's no quick cut-away to moments after. That alone is unusual and exciting.

Dangerous choices

Smoke concerns more than sex, of course. Like Strindberg's Miss Julie, which seems to have provided Davies more than just the character names, the physical encounter is about class power. Julie's never had a job, while John's "been a barista in four states." His frantic middle-of-the-night texts from Julie's father are more than a mood-killer; they change dynamics and force decisions.

"You know you get to choose what happens to you, right?" John asks. But do we? How much are we shaped and controlled by economic necessity? That's the real issue beneath the explicit sexual activity. It's like going to the theater: we've made the choice before we enter, and for most people, that means we're hooked until the end, no matter what.

Will audiences appreciate this, or will the discomfort of Smoke's physical encounters, fueled by both characters' desires to be hurt and to hurt others, overwhelm Davies's larger themes? It depends on the person. Smoke isn't about titillation or cheap thrills and the actors, to their credit, play this challenging material earnestly and bravely. It's all up to us: what do we choose to see?

For Naomi Orwin's review, click here.
For a comment by SaraKay Smullens, click here.