Patient Deadheads by Ali Viterbi, Dr. 2's Diagnosis

Patient: Deadheads

Parent: Ali Viterbi

Insurance: BookMarx Medical

Symptoms: damn hippies, damn doobies, damn boats, damn hippies with doobies on boats

Diagnosis: One More Hit

Bio:

The patient, Deadheads, received its first live production at The Owl and Cat Theatre, Melbourne, Australia, in 2016. It has had staged readings at The Barrow Group, the Last Frontier Theatre Conference, the Paul Enger Memorial Play Reading Series, with a workshop at the Lyra Theater Company.

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Patient Description:

“TIME & PLACE Various crappy motel rooms across America.”

Good. It’s in the budget.

I came up with a new ring of Purgatory for damned hippies: Highmen’s Height. The concerts are average. The weed is average. The sex is average. “It’s Okay.”

I was cautious when the patient took me to Highmen’s Height. The weed-kissed bagpipes of “Amazing Grace,” of course, were part of the aesthetic, but the largest suspicion I had was simplicity. “It’s Okay,” though.

Sadie and Ethan are livin’ some-sort-of American Dream in some-sort-of motel room with some sort-of-concert stuff and some-sort-of atom bomb stuff going on. It’s a walk-on love story within the interims of their quest to see as many bands as their young hearts please. This nothing-new spine of the patient was at medical risk of being dangerously basic, but they silently unnerved my caution with a steady stream of authenticity. This second hand smoke blew me away.

I can’t help it: The character couple are the Darlings of Grass Town. “Not I, said the fly.” “Yes me, said the bee.”

Hey now.

Ethan is handsome and righteous, but still completely pathetic with his daddy-o contempt against his beggarly, hippie finances. His father was a Jewish Holocaust survivor, but his son is kinda-sorta a piece of doobie. Sadie is the feminine but competent mommy-o babysitter that light’s her man’s cigarettes while delivering a firm spanking and boring poem on occasion. Despite both of their thoroughly groovy lifestyles, the main aggregators of the adventure are the random fever dreams for a white picket fence and domestic stability, with Sadie being greater afflicted by the rhythm of the daddy-o.

Viterbi, herself, must necessarily be a part time Deadhead to give birth to the patient. The things Ethan says and the things Ethan does can only come from a live encounter with the verbatim nonsense/curiousity of a psychedelic stream of consciousness. I.e., “That’s soooo high, lol.” This realistic vein the story drew from detracted the patient from a simplistic diagnosis.

The Grateful Dead band is the hippies’s religious point of reference for the Universe’s plans. When it came time for Viterbi to express The Grateful Dead’s spirit within the play, with a lack of tact, they tell: e.g., “I think I’ve figured something out, homes. [The Plot. It’s guiding us.]” Uh. While the organic characters smoothed it over, it was brusque. Sadie may babysit her hubby, but she doesn’t need to babysit the audience.

We see these characters grow into daddy-os by the motel. The patient pleased with their broad transitions without causing a polite train wreck of unbelievability, “Honey, I’m home! I was at A; now, I’m here at B!”

After some trippy stage directions, "Ethan realizes the soup is a portal for the green people,” the patient dives into very intense territory. Against the average optimism of Highmen’s Height, a sweaty, modern sickliness appears, the likes of which I haven’t seen since the 25/25 Anniversary Show at the delightfully grotesque Trap Door Theatre.

What does the Universe have in store for Her Mr. and Mrs. Homey? The Grateful Life, with a sploof to take care of Her every spliff.

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New Patients

This play review of Ali Viterbi’s Deadheads is by Mr. Bohemian.