Between October 2002 and June 2003, a group of rather cynical journalists are trained and put to duty in "Gomorrah" (code for Iraq), embedded with troops. Their progress evolves with that of several typical troopers from the time they patriotically leave spouses or parents. Embedded traces changes of experience and attitudes of all involved just before and during the war.
Manipulating everyone from Washington D.C., a power elite of "Special Planners" in judicial garb schemes. Would-be philosopher kings, with neoconservative Leo Strauss as their referent, they connive to involve the U.S. in war for political and economic gain. Though they claim "moral virtue," they have to admit not having themselves served "in war or any other time"-- but would have "if possible."
Their masks (awesomely designed by Richard Henzel) caricature Rumsfeld, Cheney, Rove, Rice, Perle, Wolfowitz: Agit-prop at its crudest but best.
Contrasting with the war's realities are accounts fed to the public. Journalists are allowed to present victories, not defeats; welcomes of American troops, not insurgencies against them; survivals, not deaths of both soldiers and civilians. Projected slides (as of American soldiers' coffins being unceremoniously shipped home) here tell untold stories.
To counteract reports of innocent civilians dying, the info manipulators decide to make a "Private Ryan" of a soldier they hear is in a Gamorrah hospital. Based on Jessica Lynch, Jenny (depicted by Betty-Jane Parks with consistent wonder and fairness) finally can't even convince her parents that a native doctor (effective Curtis Beltz) saved her and the hospital treated her well. That's how good the propagandists were at creating heroine and villains.
Among the soldiers, Kyle Porter vividly portrays Monk, who only wants to serve peace but becomes scared to (and of) death. Christopher Rutherford is a convincing Sarge, as is Alvin Jenkins in several "commoner" roles, including a bewildered father.
Stomping, shouting Josh Goff stands out with his disdainful, bombastic attitude toward the journalists he must supervise. Yet he gets hearty laughs illustrating memories of forays into musical-theater roles. Steve Garland, Meg Heimstead, Roz Potenza, Amy E. Gray, and -- playing a particularly obnoxious, self-referencing conformist -- Chris Holcom make each journalist distinctive.
Co-directors David M. Jenkins and Shawn Paonessa get the most out of their cast and the black box that is Shimberg Playhouse. Their small square of a stage is surrounded on sides and back by dressing-and-make-up room for the actors, most of whom double. Scenes of home, hospital, and individual soldiers' reactions, done far front on each side bring them close to the audience.
Harsh music ("Masters of War" and "Fortunate Son" by John Fogarty, with Stephen Sills's "For What It's Worth") comes often and engulfs. Also, with good reason, the show is dedicated to Clash co-founder Joe Strummer.
