A number of playwrights have written about the troubles of adult children faced with elderly parents crippled by Alzheimer's disease and dementia, but how often do we see a play allowing us to witness the neurodegenerative process from the perspective of the afflicted? We begin in a Paris apartment decorated in Mid-Century Modern, where a cantankerous old man complains of losing his wrist watch while his grown daughter apprises him of her plan to join her boyfriend in London. Over the course of the subsequent ninety minutes, scenes repeat themselves, people with the same names appear with different faces, furniture disappears and time grows increasingly out of joint. Is the old man's memory undergoing seizures of amnesiac fugue? Are his relatives gaslighting him in order to persuade him of his infirmity? Are we watching Ionesco absurdism, a Pinter thriller, or an Alan Ayckbourn farce? The degree to which you, yourself, fear aging will likely determine your view of the characters' progress in this nebulous universe. The actors of the Remy Bumppo ensemble mute all clues with the potential to steer us toward convenient labels, locating the slightest actions firmly in the realm of plausibility to challenge at every moment our choice of whom we extend our sympathies. Company member David Darlow delivers the bravest performance of his career as the title patriarch doomed to end up whimpering like a baby in the arms of a nurse whose identity fluctuates along with everything else.
