Twins, Beatrice and Jack (Louise Collins and Steven Meo), are ten going on thirty…as conceived by Charles Addams or Roman Polanski (repressed, dark, possessed?) influenced by Lewis Caroll (Tweedle Dum & Tweedle Dee—finishing each other’s sentences in language often understood only by themselves, acting in stiff synchronistic unison). They’re “in the mourning” for parents just killed in a car crash. Expressionless activities simulate the structure of their former lives. Jack, in particular, is adamant about protocol and familiarity.

“We have got to make the days now,” says Jack. “Like Lego,” nods Bea.

Sophie (Jennifer Kidd) their up-to-now distant Godmother, has dutifully arrived to take care of them. Shaken, single and at a loss both with children per se and with the bizarre behavior of the twins in particular, she’s drawn into a fantasy of their creation…as Bea and Jack begin to mimic their parents. Are they playing an increasingly macabre game? Are they possessed? By the time Sophie’s secret is fully revealed the outcome has been so strongly telegraphed, it doesn’t really matter.

This is a highly stylized and rather tedious piece which, at ninety minutes of short vignettes, is perhaps forty-five minutes too long. There’s a lot of unnecessary screeching—compelling the audience to stay awake during what I have little doubt might’ve otherwise put half of them to sleep. Pieces (of their lives, I assume) might’ve made a good Twilight Zone episode. In fact, it probably did.

Jennifer Kidd’s Sophie seems so lost and helpless from the beginning, she has nowhere to go. Everything is conveyed through a repeating set of strained facial expressions behind which her mind appears empty. There’s no weight to this performance, no sense of a woman being driven mad. No resistance. No-presence.

Louise Collin’s Beatrice is schizophrenic. In turn, she’s under her brother’s spell, a co-conspirator and for arbitrary minutes, a whimpering child. Instead of being interesting, the transition is jerky and unbelievable. While a manic (panicked?) personality might’ve played well beside her brother’s complete and total self control, the pendulum swings prove only irritating.

Steven Meo as Jack provides the only ballast among choppy waves. His focus pulls it off. Though Jack’s a bit sinister when we meet, the lengths to which he goes to unnerve Sophie and helm his life and Bea’s are shown by Meo in quiet, progressive vehemence. He metaphorically grows into his father’s suit portraying the kind of credibly creepy character one enjoys paying to watch.

As Kate Wasserberg (Director) helped realize the Machiavellian Jack, I can only ask what happened with Beatrice and Sophie?

Mark Bailey’s Costumes are perfectly suited to their curious roles. I especially appreciate Bea’s mother’s gown held up by safety pins and the garments in which Sophie is forced to celebrate her charge’s birthdays. The set is well chosen, giving an immediate sense of the deceased. A wall of photos, segments of the parent’s lives, works as a kind of (silent) Wailing Wall.

Andrea J. Cox (Sound Designer) does a fine job with somber, evocative music and gothic echoing whispers. Classic but not cliché.

Hywel John’s script and especially this production unfortunately leave much to be desired.

Photos by Nobby Clark

Pieces by Hywel John
Directed by Kate Wasserberg
Presented by Wale’s Clwyd Theater Cymru
And 59E59 Theaters
59 East 59th Street
212 279 4200 or www.59e59.org
Through November 21