Howard's Bitter End

Underscored by Alex Lopez's lurid, technicolor lighting design -- which under any other circumstances would bring Charlie and the Chocolate Factory or a ride at Disneyland to mind, but is more suggestive, in this case, of a particularly severe migraine -- the characters freely express their warped impulses. Director John Wilkins has the actors chasing each other about on the carpeted floor of Judy's empty apartment like animals, revealing their basest instincts. Each actor demonstrates the despicable in his or her character's nature: Embodying the archetypal "woman scorned," Wolff rages like a fury. Leshinskie is calmly diabolical as the abusive Jack. And Miranda Calderon as the play's "ingénue," Sally, sucks the other two dry.

But what Wilkins and his cast brilliantly understand is that for all the brutality of its language, Sore Throats has an ardently redemptive core. The characters might behave in the most childish of ways (indeed, all three of them seem to be going through a latent anal phase with their frequent references to each other's sexual organs), but the actors manage to convey a subtle beauty in Judy, Jack, and Sally that on occasion transcends the mess of these characters' lives. There's Sally's impulsive defense of Judy; Jack's tender speech about helping the pregnant Celia give birth following a car accident in the Canadian wilderness; and Judy's final triumphant proclamation: "I am going to be fucked, happy, and free." Last Planet's production lucidly conveys the tension between the things in life that drag people down (money, marriage, sex) and the things that keep them from going under (the human will, the drive for freedom).

Ultimately, Sore Throats espouses the sentiment that life, though a messy business, must be lived. As the old saying goes, "You can't make an omelet without breaking some eggs." And Brenton, standing over his frittata on a Saturday morning, understands this more than most.