It's the error message that makes you tear your hair out, the one that presages the blue screen of death, inviting you to drop kick your computer out the window.

Fatal Error.

Of course, sometimes the fatal error can be fixed, the computer rebooted, and life resume its peaceful, happy course—at least until the next error message demands its screen time.

Kevin Knights and Jeff Croff's play, Fatal Error, takes a similar journey with about as much chronological progression as a virus worming its way through a network. This is not a play with traditional linear narrative and cozy exposition kicking off each scene.

Rather, it is a highly surreal script that starts in an office cubicle and quickly spirals out into a neverland of disconnection where modem lines hang up every time anyone is about to really reach each other.

In the midst of this chaos is Kent (Kevin Burnham), a seemingly "normal" everyman hounded by insistent customers with bizarre demands and an IT department that can't fix his computer until sometime next week. Into this relatively tepid brew are thrown a fixation with air miles, creative abuse and torture of hamsters (no live ones were harmed during this production), and the appearance of Nazi interrogators that totally unfix Kent from reality and leave him without any clue as to what is going on.

Nor are the audience given many clues either. Instead, they must simply buckle their seatbelts and sit back to enjoy the ride. Within minutes of the start, there is nothing left except the surreal and audience members who try to figure out exactly what is going on are likely to be hounded by the same insanity that is claiming Kent.

Far better to simply have faith that things will eventually be explained and that until then, one should simply experience and save the interpretation for after the lights come back on.

It helps that in Icarus Falling's world premiere of the work by two of their founding company members, strong, committed acting pushes the action through all its odd twists and turns. Splashes of techno-colors on otherwise black costumes create eye-catching visuals serving as reminders that we're not in a British cozy. Burnham plays the inoffensive straight man who simply wants the world to leave him alone so he can go about his business as oblivious as possible to the presence of others. The rest of the characters—some real and some purely figments of fantasy—aren't about to let him escape back into comfortable ignorance and denial.

The women in their neon wigs were especially entertaining. They committed totally to the surreal nature of their roles, never trying to create something "real" where nothing real was meant to be. Christine Fisk, Emily Stevens, and Rebecca Tremble energized the stage every time they entered with movements suggestive of anime. It was Tremble's strongest role of the season, especially when interacting with the other women.

The play's men also created intensity and then yanked it back with great skill. Jack Dowd was the only character other than Burnham's Kent who retained an earthy quality that defied the otherwise fantastical flavor.

When producing a world premiere, the dramaturge at Boston Court in Los Angeles said that her philosophy was to "commit to everything, marry nothing." The Icarus Falling company certainly committed to everything in this bizarre, thought-provoking script, willingly taking even the most outlandish turns. There were a few elements, though, that probably weren't worthy of bringing to the altar.

One such element was the abrupt ending. The quick wrap-up and explanation shattered the established mood and stole from the power of the final line. The climax lacked sufficient threading early enough in the play for the final pattern to truly be effective.

Personally, I also felt discomfited with the use of Nazis as interrogators. I don’t think Nazis are off-limits to the theatrical world, but I do think the use of them requires greater justification than most things. In this play, there didn't seem a sufficiently compelling reason to include them over other icons potentially as powerful.

There were also a few technical difficulties in the execution of the play, though those were minor enough that they could have been cleaned up if the show had had a longer run.

What made this play well worth the time spent in the Creole Gallery were the themes that it explored. Knights and Croff enticed with their unusual approach to such themes as connecting with our fellow human beings and taking responsibility for actions even when we cannot see their consequences. Without ever lapsing into lecture or emotional screed, they wove in questions about drunken driving, sperm donations, coming out of the closet, and parenting. Most importantly, they showed what happens when a person disconnects from others by refusing to make a choice.

In subtle ways, they also asked how much suffering is necessary to get someone’s attention so that their lives can get a reboot and successfully remove a fatal error.

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Icarus Falling's production of Fatal Error closed after one weekend. The owner of the gallery where they perform, Robert Busby, was brutally beaten to death in the basement below the stage. His killer, a man for whom Robert had provided both work and a place to live, shot himself hours later. Our community mourned the loss of a man who truly defined the term "arts patron." He was a man whose promotion of the arts brought jazz, theater, and visual arts to Lansing. There was no one in the arts community who hadn’t had their life brightened by him in some way. The play was canceled as the entire community mourned for this man and all that he did for his community. Robert Busby was the antithesis of Fatal Error's Kent. Busby was a man who taught others who to reconnect to each other.



Recommended: Yes