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Opinionist: <em>The Interminable Suicide of Gregory Church</em>
By
John Del Signore
Published Jan 23, 2011
Modified Jan 24, 2011
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By
John Del Signore
Published Jan 23, 2011
Modified Jan 24, 2011
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Who's up for trudging through the frozen tundra out to a DUMBO warehouse to watch a one man show called The Interminable Suicide of Gregory Church? Lots of people, as it turns out (Lou Reed!), and with good reason: though the title may imply a long, dreary black turtleneck slog through cliche solo Off Broadway theaterland, those familiar with the play's writer and performer, Daniel Kitson, know better. This was my first encounter with Kitson, and I can guarantee you that whenever this brilliant British comedian and raconteur rolls through in NYC again, I'll be there. But considering he hasn't brought a theater piece here in five years, you'd be making a big mistake by sitting out his current creation, which runs through January 30th at St. Ann's Warehouse. Tickets are sold out, but where there's a will, there's a way. (For one thing, the theater enlists volunteer ushers for every performance, and they get to see the show for free.)
With no lighting changes or set, Kitson, performing in the round, mesmerizes the audience with his seemingly true story about the titular Church, a suicidal nobody whom he gets to know only through a massive cache of correspondence randomly discovered in an attic while house-hunting. Kitson persuades the realtor to let him take the letters—all 30,000 of them—off his hands, and then becomes consumed by them. His fascination with this quarter century of correspondence becomes ours, and as he recounts his two years spent getting to know Church through his mail—18,675 sent by Church, (preserved by carbon copies), 11,984 received—we're hooked by his dry, bitterly funny attempt to understand his subject. Elaborate, dazzlingly intelligent sentences race from his bearded face as if he's squeezing a three hour story into 90 minutes. From where I was sitting, those 90 minutes felt more like 30.
The premise, in short, is that the cantankerous Church intended to commit suicide after completing 57 farewell letters, mostly to strangers who'd irritated him, such as the bank teller who wronged him, or the local newspaper editor. But before that 57th letter is finished, Church improbably hears back from some of the recipients, and his exchanges with them continue providing him with important business necessitating the postponement of his suicide. Kitson, in the play's first moments, announces, almost as an aside, that he made the whole thing up. But Kitson's fulsome fascination with this man he never knew is recreated so convincingly that by the end, you suspect Kitson must be lying about the story's fictional nature. It all seems as real as Kitson's hirsute, bespectacled presence in the center of the room. That he's able to make such an eccentric story seem so plausible is a testament to his unique talent as a writer and performer. He prowls the room with an electrifying brilliance, making eye contact with everyone and trashing all theatrical pretense to create an experience that turns out to be astonishingly theatrical.
Kitson's contempt for any sort of "fourth wall" was deliciously apparent on the night I attended, when he repeatedly stopped his light-speed monologue on a dime to interact with audience members who'd somehow distracted him. The first victim was a woman of a certain age in the front row who made the mistake of reading something (no programs are distributed). I hadn't noticed her until Kitson jarringly interrupted himself to inquire what she was reading. "Oh, it's nothing," the shocked lady replied, putting it away. "I'm not cross with you," Kitson went on. "I'm just much too nosy to let it go. I kept looking over, thinking surely you'd be done, but every time I came around again I realized, 'Nope, still reading!' " The audience roared, and Kitson went further, "Bringing in reading material, amazing! No faith in the power of live performance!" Ironically, The Interminable Suicide of Gregory Church is nothing if not an affirmation of that very power.
The Interminable Suicide of Gregory Church premiered in NYC as part of the Under the Radar Festival.
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The Interminable Suicide of Gregory Church
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John Del Signore
Originally from the Albany area, John Del Signore has called NYC home since 1995. In addition to his thousands of meticulously-crafted bespoke blog posts for Gothamist, his writing has also been published in The Awl, Deadspin, The Nervous Breakdown, and performed at The Brick Theater in Brooklyn.
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