Hats have a long history in professional theater. In Stephen Sondheim’s “Sunday in the Park with George,” the artist Georges Seurat sings an entire three-minute ode to “Finishing the Hat.” “Look, I made a hat,” he says, “where there never was a hat.” And, in SF Playhouse’s newest production, a single hat takes center stage. It’s not a painting of a hat or a fictional hat. It’s a real, concrete fedora that is the catalyst for a play about love, jealousy, addiction and loyalty. The title? “The Motherfucker with the Hat.”
It’s a bold title with an even bolder execution. Playwright Stephen Adly Guirgis’ opus begins with a cocaine-fueled Veronica (Isabelle Ortega) spitting advice on the phone to her mother who is also an addict. Then, in walks Jackie (Gabriel Marin), her boyfriend — a built, greasy-haired somewhat loaf of a man who has recently returned from prison after getting caught selling drugs out of the couple’s shared New York apartment. He’s come to see her in celebration. He got a job! He got movie tickets! He got her a lotto ticket! And then, he sees the hat. It’s not his. They fight, shit gets violent, insults like “I’ll strap a dildo on and fuck you and your mother” are speared back and forth. Thus commences this two-hour yelling match.
Calling “The Motherfucker with the Hat” a yelling match is possibly an insult akin to the ones thrown around in the show. But, dialogue — rough, hilarious, passionate dialogue — is the star of the show. It’s not surprising that the piece was nominated for Best Play at the 2011 Tony Awards. The actors spew f-bombs left, right and center. “We’re fucking assholes,” says Carl Lumbly who plays Jackie’s AA sponsor Ralph D (a role previously populated by Chris Rock on Broadway) with equal amounts of sagacity and severity. “Being in love with Veronica is like feeding your balls to Godzilla every morning,” says Marin as he delivers an honest performance of Jackie as a listless, but lovable loser. This play is not short on bombast (as the title indicates), but does it radiate emotional depth behind these fiery blows?
Director Bill English aids in mediating this surface tension with a gentle pacing during some of the quieter conversations. The characters are allowed to sit, contemplate and pontificate about the meaning of relationships in the midst of addiction. We are able to see Margo Hall (as Ralph D’s wife Victoria) nervously shake as she laments her crumbling marriage and Marin cry as Jackie realizes his love for Veronica. The intimate set design (also credited to English) of two interior apartments offset by their exteriors in the back underscores what becomes clear as the main theme: a battle between the interior and exterior of a person.
However, those moments of emotional pause are few and far between. For the majority of the performance, the actors gesticulate madly, glower loudly and fumble physically with their feelings. This is only the third show to premiere in SF Playhouse’s elegant new location on Post Street. The wide stage and towering ceiling are well-suited to the kind of verbal olympics that ricochet from one actor’s foaming mouth to the audience and back. And while these verbal olympics are mightily impressive — a testament to the range and lung power of the actors — they also overshadow the deeper, more poignant sides of these motherfuckers. Save for the last scene where Jackie sits, silently listening to “Still” by the Commodores, “The Motherfucker with the Hat” is a lot like its titular accessory — pretty and polished on the outside, but empty on the inside.
Contact Jessica at [email protected].