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Usher Nonsense, Vol. 2, No 30
THOM PAIN (BASED ON NOTHING)', By Will Eno; directed by Hal Brooks
WITH: James Urbaniak
lighting by Mark Barton; sets by David Korins;
at DR2 Theater, 103 East 15th Street, Manhattan. Running time 1 hour 10 minutes. Through
Labor Day.
Work with me on this one, people.
OK, now. I saw this show on April Fool’s Day (which also happens to have been my father’s
birthday). About 3 PM on that afternoon my boss at my day job called me into his office and told me
that my work had slipped and that he could no longer justify keeping my on at my salary and I should
think about this because he really wanted me to be happy and I wasn’t living up to my potential was I?
Oh dear. All true. Shit.
After work I went to the post office and picked up a registered letter from my landlord. It was my new
lease with a 20% rent increase. Something about the legal rent now being enforced instead of a
preferred rent that was previously in effect. Sure, sure you say – he can’t do this. But it’s Friday night
and I have no one to call and what if he CAN do this? Shit.
I walk home. These are challenges, I say to myself. These are challenges to overcome. Get yourself
up and leap over them. Welcome to spring. These are opportunities for expansion.
I know this is true.
My acid reflux kicks in.
An hour later I’m in the lobby at the theatre and spend the better part of 30 minutes discussing my rent
situation with two men I have never met before. I love New York. I get tons of advice about who to
call and what to ask.
I go into the theatre. I am charming with the audience, handing out programs, laughing and joking. I am
feeling good. Job. Rent. Job. Rent. Spring challenges. Bridges to something better. They are wakeup
calls sent from the cosmic arena. Right. Right. Okie Dokie then.
The lights go down. I take my seat. We wait some time. A match is lit on the stage. Urbaniak sits in
the dark, lights another match for a cigarette, is unsuccessful, lights another, starts talking to us, finally
asking – “Do you need light to hear me?” Good line, I think. Of course I can find another job. My
landlord is out of his mind.
Lights come up on this skinny white guy in a dark jacket, white shirt and retro black tie, with glasses
that look like he borrowed them from Cherry Jones in Doubt. He begins by telling us a sad story about a
little boy who watches his dog die. Urbaniak asks us when did our childhoods end? What pain was that,
and isn’t it wonderful that we suite the pain to meet our need.
And then: ''Isn't it wonderful how we never recover?''
Oops.
Well, Bob, I would have to say no. No, it’s not good. Life has just given me a one-two punch and it
will not be a good thing if I don’t recover. I could end up on the street and what would happen to my
two cats, anyway?
Urbaniak starts a new story about a lover and how she broke his heart. I don’t care. Back to the boy
and his dead dog. I feel bad for the dog. I feel bad for the boy. An audience member walks out (a
plant?) Urbaniak calls him a cunt and says he is like that guy. He used to be thought of as a guy who
had just left. He waits for the laugh. I don’t laugh.
My boss asked where my mother lives. In Connecticut I sayid. Well you might want to thing about
doing theatre in Connecticut, he said. I tried not to, but I did. It’s the blue elephant in the room. Jeese
Louise.
Urbaniak talks to the audience and approaches the front row where his glasses kick in and make him
look like a scientist eying a particularly interesting beetle impaled on a pin. His eyes glaze over and he
smiles for no reason. Time slows down.
He asks if he is making them uncomfortable. They don’t answer because they are uncomfortable.
Back to the stage he jaunts. You are being very patient with me he says. There is going to be a raffle!
Life is a raffle. What will my ticket give me? Higher rent? Eviction? How will I get a new place with
no job? What kind of a job can I get? Another office job? Office jobs should be removed from the
planet. Office jobs are bad for your teeth. It’s like being in school. May I go to the bathroom? May I
have a day off? May I do? May I come, may I go, sit stay? All of the above? Shoot me.
Urbaniak tells us to look at the back of our tickets for our numbers while he peeks through the backstage
curtains for a minute. He looks back at us. Never mind. No raffle. I realize this show is only supposed
to be 70 minutes. Bullshit. I’ve been in this seat waaaay longer than that. If I have to fight my landlord,
maybe I can slow time down like this guy is doing.
Urbaniak is making a point about something. Both index fingers are pointing straight up is how you can
tell.
I haven’t even done my taxes yet.
I need more reflexology clients.
Urbaniak talks to the audience again. Sarah is that you? My boss’s daughter is named Sarah. It’s not
her. I would have seen her about four hours ago when everyone was entering the theatre and I was
perky.
I need to keep this job at least for six more months.
I need to perform more weddings. Where are those brides?
Urbaniak asks for a volunteer from the audience. A man comes up on the stage and Urbaniak inspects
him, yells BOO at him, and tells him to close his eyes, which the man does. I think of a show on black
and white television where a man hypnotized a woman. What is Urbaniak going to do to this guy?
Turns out – nothing. Urbaniak starts talking to us and ignores the guy standing upstage with his eyes
closed. He talks and talks. He walks upstage, drinks some water, looks over at the man and says “I
thought you would have left by now.”
And go where? Queens - where I’m going to live?
Finally Urbaniak asks us a favor. When we leave the theatre, please don’t tell people that the show is just
some guy being clever.
Not much chance of that happening.
Then he says: I know this wasn't much, but let it be enough. He says the show is over. People clap
politely. He smiles at us. He smiles at the man still on stage and motions for him to go back to his seat.
He exits.
The audience leaves the theatre. They talk about how early it is and now they can go to dinner. I follow
them, picking up their discarded programs as I go.
Out in the lobby I read the New York Times review, by Charles Isherwood, who has a job and an
apartment. This review anointed Tom Pain with Eau de Hit, which is why tickets are selling into
September. In the review, Isherwood explains the thread of the performance, calls it a surreal mediation
and compares Will Eno with Becket.
Yeah, well from my very loaded vantage point there was no thread; no meditational qualities, and if this
piece reminds you of Becket, it does so in the same way Bud Light reminds you of beer.
Post Script - I exited the theatre. Be grateful I said. You have to stay open and strong and you have to
succeed. You have to rise above these obstacles. That will take strength and the seed of strength is
gratitude. Be grateful for anything you can be. It will keep you open. Choose gratitude.
So, I was grateful that there was no bus because it was a beautiful night to walk. I was grateful for the
Elm trees in Tompkins Square Park. I was grateful for the dogs in the run and their stupid owners.
When I got home I was grateful for my cats rubbing their blonde hair over my black pants legs. Then I
was grateful for my large glass of wine. And when I turned on the news and discovered that the Pope’s
rapidly declining health had trumped Terri Schiavo in the news line up - well Bob, I can tell you right
now that I was darn grateful for that. Darn, darn grateful.. Oh, you can bet.
Stay tuned.