Throughout Lydia R. Diamond's "Stick Fly," Taylor (Nikkole Salter), an intelligent but grating entomologist, speaks eagerly and frequently of her passion for insects, despite the marked lack of enthusiasm with which her diatribes are met. To her future father−in−law, she details the methods that scientists use to study flies: An insect is stuck to a Popsicle stick with glue, and its image is then digitally magnified for the sake of observation.
The Huntington Theater Company's production of "Stick Fly" is essentially a theatrical variation of that procedure — a dysfunctional African−American family is placed on the glossy planks of a stage, where its complexities are smartly dramatized for a discerning audience. Unlike Taylor's unfortunate victims, theatergoers will receive the haunting and clever play with anything but disgust or disinterest.
"Stick Fly" is set in the LeVay family's swank house on Martha's Vineyard. When the two grown LeVay brothers, Kent (Jason Dirden) and Flip (Billy Eugene Jones), invite their significant others for a weekend at the Vineyard with their parents, they involve the two women in a complicated and unanticipated wealth of family issues.
Kent's fiancée, Taylor, is stunned by the LeVays' opulent lifestyle and obsequiously attempts to ingratiate herself with her future father−in−law, Dr. Joseph LeVay (Wendell W. Wright). Between insulting Cheryl (Amber Iman), the temporary maid, and initiating racially−charged catfights with Kimber (Rosie Benton), Flip's self−proclaimed WASP of a girlfriend, Taylor seems to be falling deeper and deeper into disfavor. As the weekend progresses, a sticky series of family secrets begins to unfurl, and suddenly Taylor's bitterness and unstoppable foot−in−mouth syndrome take the backseat to much weightier concerns.
The play's main strength is its pithy and provocative script. Diamond splices the soap−opera drama with witticisms that range from sharp and sophisticated to laugh−out−loud hilarious.
One of Taylor and Kimber's many drunken arguments showcases the extraordinary pliability of the script. When Taylor denounces Kimber for leading a charmed life, Kimber starts to speak of her beautiful, spoiled sister Becky. Taylor interrupts her tale, asking, "So now she's married to a movie mogul and addicted to Xanax?" She is stunned into silence when Kimber replies, "She hung herself. At Prada."
When Flip tentatively asks Kimber why she'd never mentioned Becky's tragic suicide before, she wryly responds, "Who's Becky?" and, having won the argument, launches into a victory dance that sweeps the audience into a minute−long bout of side−splitting laughter.
The premise of the story is fresh and frequently surprising. That Kimber, a white, Ivy League−educated child of privilege, fits seamlessly into the LeVays' world is striking enough; it is downright jarring that Taylor, an attractive and accomplished black woman, is responsible for stirring the seemingly tranquil domestic pot. The play's refusal to pin the focus on the expected outcast slickly subverts audience expectations and elevates the play from a cut−and−dry anecdote of two clashing racial cultures to an evocative window into the lives of a multilayered set of characters.
The outstanding script certainly makes the actors' jobs much easier, but their performances are also praiseworthy. The men are undeniably talented, with Wright's greasily pompous portrayal of Dr. LeVay leading the pack, but the women truly carry the play. Benton's Kimber is wonderfully droll, calling to mind Drew Barrymore's role as a frank and erudite teacher in "Donnie Darko" (2001). Her quick thinking is met and her placidity contrasted in Cheryl, whom Iman plays with delightful vivacity and sincerity. Iman's versatile acting pushes the play from novel to realistic, as she emanates a sense of self and an inviolable sassiness even in the throes of emotional turmoil.
Also laudable is the play's elaborate set. Gleaming leather and mahogany abound in the LeVays' posh getaway; bookshelves flank the walls, and plush carpets line the floor of the stage. An upstage door opens to the gloomy and pale blue New England "outdoors." Indoor plumbing has even been installed to better adhere to the realistic vision of a home on the vineyard.
The characters, already reduced by their pettiness, are sometimes overwhelmed by the palpable beauty of the set. As each character's frailties and failings emerge further throughout the play, the heavy backdrop seems the only constant in this play of variables.
For all of the play's commendable aspects, the characters spend a lot of time talking, leaving the viewer exhaustedly anticipating what is ultimately an unsatisfying resolution. Yet the pros far outweigh the cons in this poignant and sparkling production, making "Stick Fly" a must−see in spite of its few shortcomings.
"Stick Fly" is playing until March 28 at the Wimberly Theatre at the Calderwood Pavillion at the Boston Center for the Arts at 527 Tremont Street. Tickets range from $20−$60, with $15 student rush seats available two hours before curtain time with a valid I.D.
