H.M. Koutoukas’ “Medea of the Laundromat”

Is it by pure chance that I pen this review on Ondine’s birthday or was it decreed by demented Gods? I had occasion to mention playwright H.M. Koutoukas in this morning’s post about Ondine, so it indeed feels ordained. It has been my intention to do a post on Koutoukas for some time now. I knew chiefly of his legend from writing promotional and fundraising copy for Theater for the New City, for they proudly tout his legend. I have not yet dived into a post about him to date because, unlike other New York playwrights of his vintage (Kenneth Brown, Sam Shepard, Megan Terry, Jean-Claude Van Itallie, Leonard Melfi,Amiri Baraka, Ronald Tavel, John Vaccaro, Charles Ludlam, Jackie Curtis, et al) I had neither read nor seen any of his plays, nor met the man himself. He seems to have written some 200 plays, so its a daunting prospect, getting acquainted with him. But luckily I was able to take the first step on my journey by catching an inspired revival of his 1965 play Medea of the Laundromat at La Mama yesterday.

John-Andrew Morrison

Medea of the Laundromat premiered at La Mama 60 years ago, and enjoyed such success that it moved to Caffe Cino (also mentioned in our previous post) and Theatre Genesis. It was revived in 2014 by our late friend George Ferencz for his From the Vaults playreading series at La Mama. The three cast members in the current production (John-Andrew Morrison, Jenne Vath, and Jason Howard) are all veterans of Ferencz’ performance group The Experimentals. Director Arthur Adair has also been associated with La Mama for nearly 30 years. The call is coming from inside the house!

Jenne Vath

Any good production of a Greek tragedy acknowledges the horror as well as the sorrow; and Absurdism likewise walks a line between the nightmarish and the comic. Koutoukas, as you may judge from his name, was Greek right down to his bones, and by all accounts it manifested in the knowledge and practice of his art. It certainly does in Medea of the Laundromat, many aspects of which I hesitate to describe in detail for fear in spoiling several heavily wrought effects. I will say that the play (and the production) both have the delicious audacity to fulfill the brief laid out by its title 100%. In the hands of some, the concept would have been a comedy sketch, or as my wife often says in shorthand “a fringe show”, i.e. a gimmicky premise designed to to sell tickets to the curious — with little else but cheek and enthusiasm to back it up. But I remind you this was written in 1965. On some level if feels like pop art, like Warhol’s Campbell’s Soup cans or a populist print of “The Last Supper”. That’s the daring part of it. But this early in indie theatre history, it was still considered necessary for someone who called himself a playwright to have superlative chops. This is a real adaptation of Medea, full of sparkling, incredible poetry, and honest rage and pain. The production is enacted in the Ridiculous style, frequently exaggerated for comic effect, but honoring the spine of the characters’ journeys note for note, beat for beat, glossing over nothing. In this particular case, the mood of the audience, conducted to regard a tragic spectacle from a place of laughter, is engaged but aloof. As the very Gods must feel when they look down on our puny, foolish human problems.

Morrison,

I was in seventh heaven at this impeccably acted and directed acid flashback. And if you’ve an ounce of culture in you, you will be too. It’s playing through June 22. Tickets and more information here.