Long before her bra cup size reaches full flower, the well-endowed Li'l Bit is persistently pursued by her Uncle Peck, and moderately -- but not brutally -- violated. Peck pounces during the climactic driving lesson while Li'l Bit's hands are holding on tight to the steering wheel of a moving car. It's a strange, eerie little scene, queasily staged by director Steve Umberger. The lasting effect of this backroad groping is memorably articulated by Li'l Bit in her narration: "That was the last day I lived in my own body." But Vogel short circuits a fierce visceral response.
As our victim stands personably before us, telling her story, each vignette bears a slick title that slyly connects driver's ed with an adolescent's sexual awakening. Family and friends are portrayed by a "Greek Chorus," three actors who float among multiple roles, never rendering any in a medium deeper than cardboard. Above all, what mitigates our outrage is Vogel's balanced, sympathetic portrait of Uncle Peck. What Willy Loman did for adultery, Uncle Peck nearly does for child molestation. Until her freshman year in college, Li'l Bit does not decisively reject his attentions. What is most likely to shock an audience is the complicity Li'l Bit is shown to have in her own fate. David Sitler captures Peck's fascinating contradictions, chilling us one moment and melting us the next.
Engaging as she often is, Carol Schneider often seems lost in the complexity and ambivalence of Li'l Bit. Hopscotching her life story, she always acts her current age. Moods and attitudes are similarly flattened. The chorus of Rebecca Koon, Alan Poindexter, and Lane Morris Coates are a marvelously tasty diversion. But there is too much drive-thru, have-it-your-way entertainment for Vogel to take us anywhere close to true revelation. You'll find it fairly easy to hitchhike back to your personal comfort zone. That's precisely what great drama never allows us to do.
