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Jag
Through Feb. 12 at New Jersey Rep
179 Broadway, Long Branch.
Thurs & Fri at 8PM;Sat at 3 & 8; Sun at 2PM.
Tickets ($46): 732-229-3166 or at www.njrep.org
Reviewed by Philip Dorian January 2017
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| Estelle Bajou and Dan Grimaldi in the dance-lesson
scene (the '67 Jag in background) |
Two of the three human characters in Gino Diiorio’s
“Jag,” world-premiering at New Jersey Repertory Company,
are (in just-coined Latin) personi extremis. One, Leo “Chick”
Chicarella, is a bigoted, foul-mouthed, ill-mannered lout. He’s
also near-blind – or, as played by Dan Grimaldi, depending on
the scene, sometimes near-blind. The other, Carla Carr, is a 78-RPM,
ditzy cupie doll with a savant’s knowledge of vintage Jaguar
motor cars. Estelle Bajou plays her as a blend of Rain Man and early-career
Kristen Chenoweth. She’s rather endearing, although her spacey
act wears thin. That they are both one-dimensional has more to do
with the writing than the playing. The third character is Chick’s
son, Donald “Bone” Chicarella, who acts as a relatively
calming buffer between Chick and Carla; Christopher Daftsios plays
him that way until Donald’s patience runs out. A pivotal father-son
scene is gripping, even if overwrought.
The fourth presence in the play is its eponymous 1967 Jaguar around
which the story revolves. An actual ’67 Jag was taken apart
and re-assembled on designer Jessica Parks and prop woman Marisa Procopio’s
authentic service station/body shop set. Co-owned by Chick and his
son, the Jag is in need of refurbishment and engine repair, a job
for which Carla is hired after she passes Chick’s auto-knowledge
exam. (Cousin Vinny, anyone?) The younger man wants to accept a $20,000
offer for the car; his father wavers on that issue.
Late-in-play revelations preclude giving away too many plot details,
but issues that are raised include why the son wants to sell, family-history
denial, sibling- rivalry, disputed sexuality and a dance lesson in
the garage. (That last is the play’s one charming interlude.)
Scatological terms, homophobia and f-bombs proliferate throughout,
which, in the close audience-to-stage quarters, are an assault on
more than the ears. (One early-spoken unsavory phrase does re-appear
in the play’s funniest line toward the end.)
At an intermissionless ninety minutes, “Jag” wraps up
without too much dilly-dallying. The R-rated soap opera content may
appeal to some theatergoers, but I, for one, was glad when it was
over and I didn’t have to spend any more time with Leo “Chick”
Chicarella.
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