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"Job" brings therapy to Broadway

By David Solloway




There is a certain genre of theater that is "therapy," either literally or figuratively. “Job” is half therapy session and half evaluation by the therapist to see whether the patient is ready to return to work, doing a horrific job. And good theater can have an element of therapy. After all, what's more intimate? We see or hear about the intimate aspects of a person’s life in the spotlight of the stage. The drawback of therapy, however, can be that it becomes a static, clinical recital or replaying of events, between strangers, rather than an event itself in real time, with one participant as an observer, instead of events involving and evolving around both. "Job" by Max Wolf Friedlich presents two very intense, intimate performances in a claustrophobic space, making us feel like prisoners in a small cell even in a Broadway theater. Still, we spend an awful lot of time hearing about things rather than seeing them happen. And that is the downfall, as well as the drama, of much of "Job."


"Job” (pun probably intended regarding the Biblical character and the term for work) shows us generation gap and generation grapple, as an older man and younger women struggle to occupy space in the same world. And the play, really, is about these two generations and genders. The show, however, suffers from a structure in which we essentially witness a monologue enacted in two powerful performances. We see/hear a show where the therapist (Peter Friedman) is largely a listener, albeit an intense and intent one, his face presenting lines as dramatic as any said in Shakespeare. Still, much like the audience, he is only occasionally a participant with an occasional insight. We get essentially an adeptly acted monologue by Sydney Lemmon, tormented and torn, although filled with narration rather than drama amid a generation and communication gap.


Peter Friedman and Sydney Lemon give us chemistry, a kind of father-daughter relationship, and a generational clash. Still, there is a feel of craft more than character here. He sits, while she stalks. Who is hunting who? In theory, he has the power, yet he seems static and stuck. There is a sense of being trapped, but there is an issue here. It seems like the tech worker's job is so terrible, why would she want it back? If she doesn't want it back, what is the point of the session? Is she trying to appear crazy, so she doesn't get the job? What does she want? What does he want? Instead, we see two strangers in a room stuck in a screed. That may be the reason the play opens with and ends with a gun. The drama isn’t in the dialogue, which is largely narrative, so the play seeks it in a pistol. Much of the dialogue, also, seems ripped from headlines rather than reality, moving from cell phones to atrocities on the Internet, all united or divided by a generation gap between a therapist and tech worker in San Francisco.


If you want to see good acting, then “Job” is your play. The two actors from “Succession” give strong performances in a kind of boxing match. Sydney Lemmon is very realistic and likeable as a victim of tech society and the dark, intimate side of the Internet. And Friedman is powerful as the patient (adjective, that is), unflappable paternal therapist who, when we see Lemmon’s character turn on him, stands aghast, as if apprehended. Lemmon talks about how therapists like to keep the patient on the couch. Friedman stands near the barricade of his desk. What “Job” is and what it’s supposed to be aren’t the same. It’s supposed to be a “psychological thriller” about a disaffected tech worker, brutalized by the Internet. The ending and beginning are disconnected from the whole play, not so much a betrayal as a playwright seeking to create a true tech victim and parable about someone charged with dredging the depths of the Internet’s depravity. In fact, the dialogue amounts to a rambling therapy session with a lot of talk about issues. The gun, like in a bad TV show, wakes us, except it makes about as much sense as many things the therapist does. She says this isn't who she is, and she's right. Once that gun is taken out, it's put back in a bag. But you can't or shouldn't put it away. When you pull a gun in a bank robbery, you can't undo that. Either the gun is there or it's not. And the gun appears, is deftly discarded until it is needed at the end to provide not just danger, but drama.


Peter Friedman as Loyd the therapist who is “the best” at what he does (who isn’t?) is terrified when Jane (Sydney Lemmon) pulls a gun at him at the start. It’s a powerful image and moment, but one that undermines everything that follows and in itself is hardly believable. Would she use it? Why pull it right away, other than to excite the audience? Does she want her job back? Is she doing this, as Friedman's character says, so she won't have to return to work? Theater is about power, but the power of feelings not firearms. What does the therapist/evaluator do? He proceeds with the session – and pretends the gun wasn’t drawn. After Jane puts the gun away (can you really do that?), Lloyd not only counsels her, but cancels his next patient - on his cell phone. He doesn’t seem to do it out of terror, either. While he says it’s a hostage situation, it doesn’t look like that. This is not "Dog Day Afternoon" where a clock ticks. The gun is put away for most of the play, while the therapy session continues as a narrative of news-like details with more discussion than drama, punctuated by bursts of light and sound.


Some people will enjoy “Job” because they like seeing the young woman talk about her life amid a meltdown while the older man occasionally provides insight. And the acting is top-notch. If you want to see good performances, “Job” has them.  The reality is that little to nothing happens for most of the show, despite the presence of a gun meant to be the substitute for true drama. Sound and visual effects also seek to interject drama where the dialogue does not. This is a rambling play that doesn’t exist in time where conversation, like puzzle pieces, could be moved around at will. It doesn’t build and the sudden finale comes largely out of nowhere.


“Job” is an example of what you get when two actors do their job. It begins with a gun, even a bang, which gets attention, but in the end is a distraction. There’s a saying in theater that when you show a gun, you better use it. The bigger question may be, do you need a gun? And if you do, why? The problem with this play is we see the gun, but the play becomes about the gun, not the people. You can't, but do, forget the gun. The “emotional” gunpower isn’t there, even if the emotions are. “Job” presents two very powerful performances and that, often, is more than enough. If you want to see great acting, this play truly does the job. It’s just that it also gives you more discussion than drama and the intimacy, in the end, seems taken from the news rather than the intimate details of an individual’s life.



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