Bright Those Claws That Mar The Flesh

6 June 2016 | 4:21 pm | Sean Maroney

"When they fall, though... Well, God, it's a mess."

Bright Those Claws That Mar The Flesh is a singular experience. It is a rollicking rampage of personalities, theatrical references, meta-theatrical departures and whimsy. It is big, bold, and funny. Michael McStay has taken his writerly tools, created a bunch of characters and ideas and thrown them all up in the air to see what happens. For the first 35 or 40 minutes, more and more stuff is thrown into the air, and the stage's preposterous energy keeps them there, juggling them, prohibiting them from touching the ground.

When they fall, though… Well, God, it's a mess.

Loose ends flail, plot (cackling maniacally) makes itself a downstage exit, absurdity and farce give way to misplaced profundity. The profundities were deliberately misplaced, too — which was all the more confusing as it seemed a way to ask forgiveness for one not-quite-profound thought, and in doing so introduced another.

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The basic elements of the show are sound. It is set in a community hall in the woods in a storm on a midsummer night. A sobriety support group is meeting. It will be secret to keep reputable the reputations of those to come. Methylated spirits, wine, and cocaine (yes, in that order) lubricate the ludicrous environment.

Was this a 'good' play? Was it 'valuable'?

It was strange. It was fast and hot and heavy. It was a laugh. If you're at the Old Fitz and have seen the early show, or are simply having a drink, it's worth your 55 minutes. Lubricate yourself with some methylated spirits or a beer and you'll have a good time. But I doubt we'll be seeing Michael McStay's new play in the canon anytime soon.