“The Unknown” at Studio Seaview (Photo: Emilio Madrid)
An ominous black and white image of an overcoat-clad Sean Hayes looms over Studio Seaview where, inside, Hayes delivers David Cale’s new thriller monologue The Unknown. It’s a darker version of TV’s favorite homosexual than we’ve seen before, and the photography (by Emilio Madrid) seems to say: subvert your expectations – of Hayes, and of what this play will be.
It’s an apt warning, because Cale’s play isn’t quite the Hitchcockian noir its marketing would have you believe. There are moments that induced gasps around me and Leigh Silverman’s shivery production definitely leans into the chiaroscuro, but the mystery at the heart of Cale’s plot isn’t actually what the play is about.
Elliott, a modestly successful playwright, composer, and screenwriter, leaves the bustling city to stay in his friends’ off-the-grid cottage upstate. He’s having trouble writing and thinks the isolation will be good for him. Quickly, though, he hears a spectral voice singing one of his songs, but cannot locate its source. He flees back to the city where he meets a guy at Julius’ and after some drinks and, perhaps, a date rape drug, he begins to realize that this man may be connected to the voice he heard before.
That’s already at the borderline of revealing too much. It’s not that the beat-for-beat moments are that surprising. But the way that Cale presents them and the way Cha See’s lighting shifts around Hayes’ face and Isobel Waller-Bridge’s music creeps in all contribute to the effective moodiness of the production.
It’s obfuscation, though. The play isn’t about if Elliott is actually being stalked or not. As the events escalate and, especially, when they conclude, it becomes clear that this is a play about that sturdy old chestnut of authorial fascination: writer’s block. And not just Elliott’s – David Cale’s, too. The play spends a lot of time ramming into dead ends, dropping cough-and-you’ll-miss-it pieces of information, and veering down “yeah, but what if–” tangents.
Those aren’t entirely negative qualities. Elliott, clearly a stand-in for Cale, is almost always making the wrong decision. His friends urge him to call the police – to take any action against this person – yet he is steadfast in his refusal. Elliott knows that’s bad for the story. That’s not how drama works. He tells us that. This is Cale making bad choices for his fictional character when he probably can’t, and shouldn’t, do so in real life. A cocaine-fueled threesome with British strangers amidst the harrowing experience of being stalked? Sure!
Hayes feels, at times, like he is ultra-focused on the text to the detriment of living in the moment. It’s a huge undertaking, I get it, but his delivery is curiously level for much of the show. It’s a narrative performance more than a dynamic one, aside from a few blips where his heart rate spikes. Silverman has him standing center stage without furniture or props for most of the seventy minutes and he looks like he doesn’t know what to do. A gifted physical actor, he’s hamstrung by the staging, and often resorts to literal handwringing.
The play circles back on itself at its conclusion. Having meandered all around the issue, it has nowhere else to go but back to its start. As it ended, I felt Cale’s own writer’s block jump out. It avoids any resolution and none of the play’s questions are addressed. But it also doesn’t achieve a satisfying ambiguity. We’re left with a writer’s exercise put up on its feet.