Fish at The Magnetic Theatre
In Cindy Williams’ Fish, on stage at the Magnetic Theatre through April 29, we first meet our main characters in a bar, which would not seem remarkable except that it quickly becomes obvious that Laura (Paula O’Brien) does not belong there. Charlie (Jason A. Phillips), on the other hand, is a classic barfly who is right at home — as much as the bartender would like him to go elsewhere.
The chance intersection of these two strangers — a teetotaler on a darkly ambiguous mission and a slouching, drunken petty criminal for hire — sets off a deep and slow burn that drives Fish forward as their tenuous relationship advances toward impending disaster. Directed by Ashleigh Goff, Fish is a frightening, sad, eerie, mysterious — at times humorous — production that both captivates and reveals how we are shaped or even misshaped by trauma and catastrophe.
The action takes place entirely over the course of one late night, when deserted bars and halogen-lit streets of the graveyard shift are secretive, dreamlike places, time disappears, and empty space feels somehow emptier. Depending on your state of mind, the dream can be exhilarating and intoxicating, or desolate and desperate.
As for Laura and Charlie, their secrets are very much in the room with them — in the appearances of young Missi (Lilly Mills), another collisive encounter from Laura’s past that led her on her path to seek out Charlie, and True (Morgan Miller), the specter of Charlie’s emotionally abusive mother who likely helped lead him to that barstool. While Laura and Charlie stray from bar to car to bar again, Charlie becomes more and more aware of Laura’s strange requests from him, as she edges closer and closer to her self-destructive desire.
Throughout their macabre bar crawl, their traumas and guilts hover nearby, and so do the bartenders (all played by Evan Eckstrom), who are the only ones in the room who truly seem to see the “WTF?” in the scenarios playing out.
Having introduced us to its cast of characters at the front, Fish takes its time to reveal how each one fits into the progression of the story. That creeping creepiness, and the stark contrasts of red splashes against darkness (from Abby Aumen’s effective light design) gives the production an ominous atmosphere — dim but not drab, with a tone that summons David Lynch. This sense is especially true at times when Missi speaks directly to the audience, and her monologues, full of hubris and thrill-seeking anticipation, only add weight to the foreboding.
In asides, we find that, for Laura, life is a series of routines and steps toward achieving and preserving “balance” — yoga, good sleep, drinking plenty of water. That well-curated routine is placed against Missi’s free-spirited Dionysian pursuits. “It’s all about balance,” Laura tells the audience from her yoga mat. “It’s all about fate,” Missi replies, her head full of mushroom hallucinations.
Laura and Missi have their one and only interaction in a random tragic second, with Laura behind the wheel and Missi dead on the road. Soon, Laura’s cherished routine starts to unravel, beginning when she forgets to feed her cat. The downward spiral only intensifies along with her guilt, and eventually sends her to that midnight bar seeking out someone unhinged just enough — someone like Charlie — to help her on the road toward erasure.
Charlie has little sympathy, but is game to play along, even while challenging or dismissing Laura’s grief. “Everyone’s haunted,” he says. To which Laura unconvincingly replies, “I don’t think that’s true.” Like the dark spaces on stage, there are sometimes pauses in the dialog, and the characters steep in them. If there are hints of Lynch here, so too are there notes of Beckett. The silences mean something, and it can be as dreadful waiting to hear what’s said next as it is wondering what will emerge from the dark.
The action, be it from the flesh and blood characters or from the ghosts of guilt and harm that haunt them, is often unsettling — and not in the casual sense of the word. It may make you squirm in your seat, or even — in one particularly shocking scene — want to look away. But Fish lures you in, making it impossible to abandon the things it has revealed without seeing how it resolves.
The play is served well by the Magnetic Theatre cast. Phillips portrays Charlie with a veneer of hesitancy only slightly concealing how tormented he is. Mills as Missi delivers the careless confidence of youth that strikes hardest when she imagines all of the ways her life could have improved the world had she been allowed to live it. Miller is genuinely terrifying in her subtle escalation of just how warped and destructive True is. Eckhart, playing three bartenders and two store clerks, rations out some welcome comic relief, no easy feat in such a heavy work.
It is O’Brien’s turn as Laura, though, that displays just how emotive an actor she is — her facial expressions belying the conflicting, colliding feelings she’s struggling to either conceal or strike some kind of balance with. And none more so than her expression in the play’s final seconds, which gave me a genuine “How did she do that?” moment.
The Magnetic Theatre is well-suited for a play like Fish, where the action happens in secluded corners and dark spaces. The set design by Jess and Tyler Johnson effectively creates both the anonymity and the timelessness of late-night barroom darkness, while music filters in from above the bar (courtesy of sound designer Skyler Goff), blessedly unaware of the desperation in the room. The show’s digital playbill even offers a companion Spotify playlist, which I have not yet perused. I ‘m still working through the play itself, and Fish gives you plenty to ponder over.
Fish runs through Saturday, April 29, at the Magnetic Theatre. For details and tickets, visit themagnetictheatre.org.
(Photo by Jennifer Bennett)
