PHOTOS
Alicia Grega-Pikul
Paula Vogel's How I Learned To Drive is one of those rare plays diminished more than illuminated by a brief summary. Winner of the 1998 Pulitzer Prize for Drama, it is astonishing not only for its artful structure and complex characterizations, but also its daring use of comedy and detonation of everything we prefer to think about pedophilia.
It is a play that despite its expedient cast size and minimal technical requirements isn't produced often the 570. The Phoenix Performing Arts Centre's impressive new production of the work has given regional audiences an opportunity they shouldn't pass up. Performances continue only this Friday and Saturday at 8 p.m.
Under the direction of John Schugard, the production's five characters conjure the stunning details of a rural 1960s Southern landscape with no more than Vogel's words, five chairs and their skill.
Dawn Winarski and Greg Korin portray the central roles of Li'l Bit and Uncle Peck. I've seen both on stage dozens of times, and while not unimpressed with their past performances, was honestly astonished Sunday afternoon at how well both manage the intricate subtleties of their roles. Vogel has applied the sad truths that are all too common and made them very real for these very specific characters. Everyone in Bit's family boasts a genitalia-inspired nickname. They talk about her developing teenage body over bowls of gumbo. Her dad's long gone. Her grandmother married at age 14. Her grandfather doesn't see the point of college since a woman's place is on her back. And her Aunt Mary knows there's "something going on" between her husband and her niece, but waits for Bit to go off to college so she can have Peck back.
No one is excused entirely from responsibility in Vogel's play, not even Bit. The girl is clearly starved for positive male attention and seems to tempt her uncle (by marriage, thank God) in spite of herself. Neither does the playwright make excuses for Peck, though she does refer repeatedly to his own broken family and the psychic war wounds he bears as a veteran. Vogel has drawn a man not a monster and Korin paints him in all the shades of gray. Peck is kind, caring and generous. Even as he manipulates Bit, he is genuinely interested in her wants and welfare.
Completing the cast are Marissa Vergnetti, Bill Amos and Christine Skiro as the chorus members. Vergnetti represents both Bit's mother and aunt, and shines brightest during the monologue on a southern woman's guide to social drinking delivered as Bit gets her first taste of alcohol (and drunkenness). Amos switches back and forth with ease from Bit's ball-busting grandfather to the sound bites from a smarmy vintage driver's education soundtrack that punctuate the narration. Skiro is a hoot as Bit's blissfully ignorant yet paranoid grandma.
The play runs a well-paced 90 minutes with no intermission. Bit survives her unfortunate upbringing with eventual success and the play is plush with comedy, in spite of its delicate subject matter. Still, your heart is likely to feel a little stretched and raw with compassion at its conclusion.