You can’t accuse Lisa Kron’s new play at the Public Theater, “In the Wake,” of lacking ambition. Set mostly during George W. Bush’s first term, it touches on conservative and liberal politics, love and desire, self-discovery, art, ambition and success, gay issues, racism, the US tax code and its influence on strip malls.
Also, the very nature of America.
After her intimate shows “Well” and “2.5 Minute Ride,” Kron has put on the turbo. The result feels like someone standing up too fast and getting dizzy.
The good news is that the lead character, Ellen, is played by the wonderful Marin Ireland. This veteran of daunting plays (“reasons to be pretty,” “Blasted”) turns out to be naturally funny, firing off Kron’s one-liners with ease. She gives Ellen a charmingly frantic humanity but doesn’t shy from her failings: self-absorption, lack of focus and endless prattling.
The bad news is that “In the Wake” shares Ellen’s good and not-so-good traits, including the rambling — the show lasts nearly three hours. Director Leigh Silverman and the primo cast (especially Deirdre O’Connell as a wry misanthropic aid worker) help make the evening a pain-free one, but Kron just tries to cover too many bases.
Ellen is a lefty firebrand who juggles a New York boyfriend, Danny (Michael Chernus), and a Boston lover, Amy (Jenny Bacon). They endure the situation in order to keep access to the woman they both love. For Ellen, attached to her comforting, post-collegiate existence in the East Village, the situation is peachy.
She doesn’t realize her predicament is caused by what she condemns in the Bush administration: Ellen wants it all, damn people and consequences. As people around her bravely make difficult decisions, she buries her head in the sand until it’s too late.
There’s a lovely small play screaming to get out here, one about loving two people at once, about becoming an adult in a society that encourages arrested development, about accepting your responsibilities as a person and as an American.
But it gets lost in drawn-out scenes and obvious reflections stretched thin. Sometimes, too much can be too little.
elisabeth.vincentelli
@nypost.com