Blue/Orange is the sort of play it’s hard for me to be neutral about. It’s set in a hospital, and some readers may know that for many years I worked as an RN. Nearly all that time was spent in acute-care settings rather than outpatient ones. I’m the sort of person it’s easy to imagine snarling at a television show, “Put the side rails up on that _____ bed!” or “His IV is hooked up to his catheter bag, for heaven’s sake!” As Gary Trudeau wrote in Doonesbury, “GUILTY, GUILTY, GUILTY!”
Granted, Blue/Orange set in London, so it deals with the National Health scheme, socialized medicine. And it’s twenty years old, but that really isn’t a factor in the story or its details. It’s a story of a patient and his physicians. Christopher (William Humphrey) is about to be discharged tomorrow. After a mandated 28 day stay, he’s wildly ready to hit the bricks. “Wildly” is not too strong a word. If this is how his behavior is after four weeks of medication and talk therapy, one can only imagine what he was like on admission. He’s very manicky. In the interview with his psychiatrist, who seems in American medical parlance to be the equivalent of a senior resident or perhaps a fellow, he can barely be talked into sitting down. The doctor, Bruce Flaherty (Jason Meyers), is clearly hesitant about sending him home, feeling he’s not ready, but is equally uncomfortable telling him, probably because Christopher’s temper can erupt on a dime. Or a farthing.
Oh, my, look who’s dropping by mid-session. It’s Dr. Robert Smith (Ben Ritchie), the attending psychiatrist and Bruce’s boss. At first the relationship isn’t quite clear – they’ve obviously socialized together, Smith dining with Bruce and his wife, and the men have gone to a rugby game together with a pint or three at a local afterward. Now they’re about to butt heads, because Dr. Smith wants Christopher (who appears to have no surname) out so they can use the bed for someone else. Bruce is trying to politely make the case that the patient is nowhere near ready to unleash on the unsuspecting public of Shepherd’s Bush, the rather rough area of London where he came to the attention of authorities.
Christopher is Black. He has complained to Bruce in the past of feeling that he was being observed and judged because of that, and the language he has used to describe himself in such situations is derogatory. Smith is of the opinion that – to condense it considerably – standards of behavior are different for other ethnic groups and that should be kept in mind, so Christopher is fine to go. Nope, says Bruce, and asks Christopher to pick up an orange from a fruit bowl nearby and describe it. The orange, says Christopher – who clearly is bored by going through this yet another time – is blue. Blue inside, too. Disagreement breaks out. Christopher is asked to step out for more disagreement to take place.
Dr. Smith interviews Christopher alone. It goes well for a while; then that disintegrates to some degree, too, after he explains that he’s the son of Idi Amin. (Interestingly, Joe Penhall, the playwright spent six years working on the film The Last King of Scotland, about Amin, after he wrote this play.)
The next morning, Bruce has just left a disciplinary hearing because of what Christopher has said about him to Smith. Smith arrives, followed by Christopher, dressed to go home.
I’ll leave it at that.
Christopher, as brought to us by William Humphrey, is very real. It’s splendid work, showing someone internally tortured by some process whose clinical name is being argued over by the other two men. It’s the behavior of the aforesaid pair that is, while essential to the play, totally utterly unreal. Much of the disagreement over his diagnosis, his facts, his future would never be done in front of a patient – or a “client”, to use the currently fashionable if rather inaccurate term. There’s a great deal of racism on display, which certainly is part of the point of the play, and some quite tasteless sexism about Bruce’s wife early on, although nothing compared to the racism. Ritchie and Meyers carry on with their arguments with considerable elan, but must of necessity take a back seat to Humphrey’s activities, both verbal and physical.
It’s a harrowing evening. Justin Been, Stray Dog’s assistant artistic director, directed the play and did the set and the music. (Stray Dog always has really excellent music for their non-musicals; pay attention when you go.) He’s orchestrated things beautifully. Just be prepared to be slapped around a little by the ugliness of two educated, professional, white males.
Blue/Orange
through October 23
Stray Dog Theatre
Tower Grove Abbey
2336 Tennessee Ave.
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