The Whale, by Authenticy Theater, performed at 7 Stages, Atlanta

Performance on Friday, January 19, 2024

You’re welcomed into the space by a pile of trash. Not nice looking trash that could be accepted as necessary set pieces, but rather unnecessary product placement disguised as lazy set design. If you’re going to put trash on the stage, don’t. If you’re going to make your audience stare at trash for two hours, maybe, don’t. 

Charlie is a morbidly obese man who lives in what is apparently the most run down apartment that someone is still willing to rent, evident by the overall unimpressive set design. Charlie is struggling with his weight and nearing the end of his life. He’s suffering from heart complications caused by his heart being at its limit. I guess one thing to appreciate about the stage literally being littered in fast food corporation logos was the reminder of the addictive nature of those brands' products. 

The play begins with heavy wheezing, an effective transition noise to reveal Charlie’s health nightmare and to bridge time between scenes. 

Sean Paul Bryan’s frame is obstructed by, all things considered, a successful fat suit. Standing up, he looks terrifying. Sitting down, he looks trapped. Moving his walker around makes him look non-human. Bryan’s familiarity with the suit shows how far into the “acceptance” stage his character is. 

This story would have gone a lot differently if the entrance of the next character, Mormon on a mission Elder Thomas, had dialogue worthy of Ibrahim Sedabeh’s large talent. The Mormon should have burst in and began singing so Sedebeh’s body could open up and fully command the stage. His tight church clothes held him back. 

The staging of the door and Charlie’s couch created an awkward first encounter. Elder Thomas caught Charlie watching porn. The funky music cut the tension between a wheezing fat man and an iron-crisp church boy. It was actually gay porn playing on Charlie’s laptop, we’ll soon find out that that’s a key plot point.

Elder Thomas is here to save the day, however, so fear not for Charlie’s soul. He apparently stops Charlie’s impending heart attack by reading out loud from the words on an old piece of paper. An essay, like the ones Charlie teaches in his camera-off online class. 

Liz, the only person concerned with Charlie’s health, enters with groceries. Infuriatingly, Liz always entered with groceries. There is a pizza box under the couch, Liz, and you’re bringing him more and more groceries. Not once did a character gag on entrance at the stench of the place. 

Nurse Liz confirms that Charlie is dying. Charlie decides to call his estranged daughter. 

Look, stage eating is hard. Food on stage is complicated. But consider the work being produced and determine what are the most important props. Morbid obese man with an obvious food addiction - the food needs to be believable. At one point, Liz hands him a sub sandwich wrapped like a present for someone you hate. No one on set has wrapped a sandwich in their life? For a four night run - the extra time could have been taken to make the props look as perfect as possible for each performance. 

Liz is enabling Charlie’s addiction, effectively speed-running his death. She zones out, watching a television cleverly placed to shine light on the couch’s occupants, a sad spotlight on their lives. 

Carson Hebbelwaite plays Charlie’s punk-ass daughter, Ellie. Ellie is disgusted by Charlie, though she seems to be disgusted by most things in life. Hebbelwaite’s stern face and unamused body language screamed angsty teenager. Her acting is mature for playing young so effectively. 

Charlie and Ellie strike a deal to reconnect over Ellie’s schoolwork. He’ll do her work, and she’ll bring it to school. Their chemistry is great onstage, totally not estranged at all. 

This script is reliant on the actors’ depth of understanding for the traumas their characters are carrying, trauma the audience can’t see yet. The obesity is visible, but no one gets that large for no reason, something Ellie presses Charlie to talk about. As the story progresses, revealed are the tragic memories between the father and daughter, Charlie and his friend, the Mormon and the nurse who’s been traumatized by Mormonism, the daughter and Mormon who hate their parents. 

The turmoil grows as things continue to go wrong. Charlie’s worsening health elicits reconnections to the past the characters are unprepared to face. Charlie continues to be struggling to do the most basic things, like chewing food properly. Understanding of the budget constraints caused by grocery prices, disbelief was suspended as Charlie bites into a meatless, cheeseless, uncut submarine sandwich and chokes on it. 

The budget of this show could be called into questions at various points. The majority must have been spent on the “fat guy wheelchair” that Liz brings, granting Bryan the mobility to move to both ends of the stage. This is why throwing trash on the stage - that no one cleans up the entire show - feels lazy. Small budgets should inspire creativity, not rubbish. Charlie is a college professor with a Master’s in English - there was one book on stage. It’s a small miracle there wasn’t a real pungent smell emitting from the incubation tank of a stage, lit too hot by too-pink lights. The blue lights did little to cool it down, reflecting off the actors shoulders like laser beams. 

Authenticity Theater’s mission to tell poignant stories would stand to benefit from less distracting set choices. The stories would stand to benefit from better pacing, less flustering and proper rhythm to let the dialogue flow. 

The comedic bits landed successfully, namely by Sedebeh and Hebbelwaite. Hopefully, they will appear soon on a larger stage. 

The stage’s tightness also called into question the necessity of the stage mics the actors wore. Black box theater is meant to bring the audience in, microphones shouldn’t be necessary. These experienced actors could fill the room with their projections, though Bryan would be pushed to the limits if his lungs had to do too much work under the fat suit. 

Sarah Sutherland, Authenticity Theater Artistic Director, has an exciting lineup prepared for the season. This show’s casting was promising, and overall the technical choices made for a high-quality show. I only hope the next time Authenticity wants to tell its audience an important message, the stage is tidied up.