REVIEW: Theatre Tuscaloosa's 'Launch Day' world premiere sets a steady course

For the objective of discovering whether future humankind remains human at heart, despite AI, genetic engineering, increasing degradation of Earth and the accompanying angst, ennui and despair that such things continue to grow out of hand,"Launch Day (Love Stories from the Year 2108)" can claim mission accomplished.

A lifelike prosthetic arm, robotic and in a sci-fi comedy, must of course develop a will of its own, and begin wagging the dog. It points to deeper desires, as does a Breathalyzer-type gadget that reveals emotions layered under outer protective skins, fabricated in a lab or not. Even as the arm turns Westworldian masochistic, it has an end game. That's handy, as many of the characters in Michael Higgins' comedy, making its world-premiere run at Theatre Tuscaloosa, are, as that ancient rock band sang, "practiced at the art of deception."

Given its futurist setting, 86 years from now, the temptation must have been strong to lay on bells and whistles, but Theatre Tuscaloosa's team, including director Tina Turley, scenic designers Jameson Sanford, lighting designer Lyndell McDonald and sound and props designer Charles Prosser, took a different turn. Props and furnishings are see-through, so transparent only refraction gives away purposes.

More:Theatre Tuscaloosa blasts off world premiere of future-set play 'Launch Day'

As a metaphor, that's not a strain. First, forward-looking movies from at at least "Minority Report" on have utilized the idea of transparent display screens, largely for cool factor, but also for the practical dramatic effect of letting an actor show through, in what's typically not an action scene: operating a computer, something most of us do quietly, without dramatic arm slash-wipes, every day.

Second, Higgins' play spotlights the people operating the arms and gadgets, the worker bees laboring under an A.I. boss, tempted to pry out a $400 million brain, and the hopeful explorative thinking behind wacky evolutionary manipulations: cheetah-nocerous, koala-bunny, hammerhead tiger, and banana-cumber. Flashy tech might both literally and figuratively obscure the point.

But it might benefit from old-fashioned stage magic: smoke and mirrors, platforms or even turntables could smooth out a few not-so-sleek transitions, which now simply fade in and out. Maybe for a future show, rear projections could blast sci-fi eye candy. For now, audiences will need to pack imaginations.

That's kind of the point of new plays, though: Audiences must open to ideas not already locked in their pleasure centers, and take a uncharted journey.

This isn't the kind of jargon-heavy, background-reading-required sci-fi. "Launch Day" starts on a classic friction: Girl meets boy, boy feels inadequate and runs off to war; girl decides to leave the planet, guy gets a robotic arm and .... OK, not textbook, but the dilemmas remain recognizable. Working people envy the rich and powerful, many of whom may soon escape a planet they wrecked through unchecked greed. People still don't grok math, and so make weak decisions based on inadequate information, in both love and lotteries.

The jokes are warm, largely, based on human foibles. When a tad more oblique, they're not exactly obscure, as in a "Star Trek"-ish gag about destroying a sentient machine by presenting it with logical illogic, aka the Kirk-Vger Manuever. At times, the play edges to Philip K. Dick-ish ponderings on consciousness and reality, and how do we account for what existed pre-Big Bang − where, and when, exactly, did the potentiality rest, before space and time? − but it's always translated by and through people.

Turley has assembled a team of game actors, from experienced to less-so, decked out by costumer Jeanette Waterman in razzle-dazzle the transparent set eschewed. Margaret Carr's platinum bob sets off a miniskirt set over an orange jumpsuit whose lumpy textures suggest it was peeled from actual oranges. Practical kilts and coveralls are lined with safety glow tape, an officer of the law stands sleek in stormtrooper-meets-Tron black, and an iridescent mini-kimono over leopard-skin tights somehow rocks. Elsewhere rest textures so glossy they seem to possess depths, and everywhere chunky, funky fat-soled shoes and boots seem drawn directly from a Frank Miller graphic novel.

Carr, as Jada, and Gabriel Carden, as newly-armed ex Zegg, anchor with an interstitial story of longing, and they're an apt, able couple keeping the show centered. In scene seven, "Potentialities," Kazarious "Biscuit" Brown (Brylo) and Mileidy Crespo-Jones (Taz) crackle in what's probably the second-most-realized episode, showing comedic snap and energy that lifted from a more melancholic middle, segueing the show nicely into its penultimate hybrid-animal-matter scene, in which Steven Yates' stage command, as scientist Grevin, bounces nicely off Hallie Grace Hamner's charmingly squirrely Brittley.

Each of the cast pairs off − Amaria Jackson with Ebony Wesley, Jessica Briana Kelly with DeAnthony Mays, Sam Hodo with Brandy Johnson − well in scenarios that range from almost eerily calm to wackily comedic.

Despite its brevity, "Launch Day" could use a tad more chaos, and despite the low-fi aesthetic, either tech or training boosters: Some actors didn't project. At times, they were at conversation volume, a tack you might get by with in an intimate audience, but that won't work at a proscenium where seats roll back 17 rows, over a 430-capacity venue.

Higgins' comedy works almost as an amalgamation of Ray Bradbury's fears and wonders: The master, especially in tales gathered as "The Martian Chronicles" felt trepidation about the future, while, as in "Dandelion Wine," he rhapsodized about the past's quiet, the richness of a summer night when the only things buzzing were cicadas and set-loose children.

But he also wrote "The Toynbee Convector," about a man who purports to have invented time travel, coming back from 100 years away to tell about the utopia we'd all built. So folks actually get to work creating this golden future. The old man lied, but the mission succeeded: It brought back hope.

'Launch Day' dates and tickets

Performances continue at the Bean-Brown Theatre, Shelton State Community College, with 2 p.m. matinees Wednesday, Saturday and Sunday, and 7:30 p.m. evening performances Thursday, Friday and Saturday. Tickets are $19 general; $17 for seniors, military and Shelton State employees; $14 for students. www.theatretusc.com/launch-day.

Because of adult subject matter and content, the show is recommended for ages 13 and older. Each performance will run about 90 minutes, with no intermission.

This article originally appeared on The Tuscaloosa News: REVIEW: 'Launch Day' world premiere sets a steady course