What appears at first as two latecomers arriving, taking seats at the front row as the house lights dim is the first of many sly twists in this gently metaphysical comedy from writer/director Maggie Marie Casto. Oddly, the young couple (Bailey & Clay) appear from the side of the stage not accessible by the public, she is carrying a carton of popcorn, both are sporting 3D glasses. They quickly agree to start the show, moving their chairs to face the audience, sharing an uncomfortable proximity to one another as they wait for a film to start. They commence a ferociously awkward conversation, struggling to speak around their mutual nervousness and anxiety. It is the classic material of an excruciating first date, yet even within the realm of such experience, there are deeper abnormalities. Clay seems incapable of grasping even the most minor of social cues, speaking of a sheltered childhood residing in a basement. It is clear Bailey is more than commonly intrigued by the darker and more mysterious aspects of her new friend (she does, after all, have an inordinate attachment to the Twilight series of books with all their shadowy romance). Casto offers an auspicious opening scene, teasing the curiosity, and seductively withholding information.

Scene 2 abruptly shifts to the interior of a cafe where a manic young man dressed in corporate gear frantically searches for an absent barista, pressed for time to fulfil an order for an insistent client. He is at a moment of pique when he encounters fellow patron Lorelai, the pair caustically engaging in the otherwise empty premises. It takes a moment to realise that it is indeed Clay again, in quite a reversal to how the audience first encountered him. The gawky but sweet energy has been replaced by an almost hostile, tense unpleasantness. Lorelai settles him, but there swirls around them, nevertheless, a restless verve. Trains rumble from above, the cafe is located beneath a metro stop. There is the whiff of the transitory about the place, a temporal nexus (there is a good reason that Dali’s melting clock is prominently displayed onstage, one of many items on the cafe’s shelves, objects from across all eras). Continually, the characters refer to this surrounding as the titular ‘Weird Place’. A strange sort of waiting room or way station.
It is near the end of this sequence that the material takes a great conceptual leap. For the purposes of this review, a few details need to be revealed, which some may find divulge too much, so spoiler alerts! Clay is more than a mere corporate lackey, he is in fact a functionary for the Grim Reaper itself. He is engaged in end-of-life contracts & final proceedings, his call the scream of sirens and last breaths. There is a reason Lorelai and Bailey have come into his orbit. Both, for varying reasons, are death-adjacent. In Bailey’s case, personal circumstances have propelled her into unhealthily (and prematurely) courting death, Clay the perfect representative. Clay has violated all professional principles in becoming involved with Bailey, contradicting his purpose. His desire to bend towards life & vitality, to lean towards felicitous companionship, is a defiance. There is a real poignant kick in watching him blunder through his attempts at simple pleasures such as miniature golf and karaoke, desiring so desperately to fit in with the ordinary. Quite beyond the particularities of this specific circumstance, Bailey & Clay could be any two typical people trying to negotiate the complications of a relationship, battles of personalities and behaviour, and a system of disappointments and delights.
As Clay, Lawrence Harp spasms winningly between ecstasy and misery, extracting tremendous comic brio out of his predicament (and more than a little melancholy that he will perpetually fail in his ability to be a reliable partner). Maddy Biggs as Bailey brings a honeyed and tremulous spirit, slightly lost, punishing herself for perceived misdeeds, perhaps willingly damning herself. Isabelle Woolley’s Lorelai harbours no illusions, the bluntest-speaking person on stage, revealing indelicate truths to her fellow stage mates in a bid to redress the balance.
Structurally, the interval is problematic. This is a piece that barrels along on a series of sharp, quickly-paced sequences, full of allusive dialogue and alluring slow-drip revelation that a break adversely interrupts. When the proceedings resume, there is a tendency in the short second act to over-explain and draw out scenes, to reiterate points already so finely delineated in performance. As the concept gradually takes over the material, the actors sometimes flounder to keep the more human-scale dimensions of their characters grounded, but for a preponderance of the running time, the sure-footed cast and the quirky, amiable script provide many a diverting, thoughtful moment.
{🎟 AD – PR invite – Tickets were gifted in exchange for an honest review}
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