Promoted as a witty and thought-provoking comedy, “Arguendo” depicts the 1991 Supreme Court proceedings of the Barnes v. Glen Theatre case, in which a group of exotic dancers challenge a law banning public nudity. Using the First Amendment to build their case, the dancers succeed in proving that as a “form of expression,” their dancing, even if in the nude, should not be limited by the law. Director John Collins displays these events using dialogue from legal transcripts and vigorous, if not a little chaotic and bombastic, stage direction.
Despite the obvious effort put into the show’s visuals, the production shamefully fails to capture and intrigue the eyes. The scenery, though designed to be minimalistic and functional, actually looks sloppily put together, its only truly noteworthy addition being a digital screen that gaudily flashes a cartoonish depiction of the United States Supreme Court Building or legal transcripts in a miniature, illegible print. The focal point of the scene, a bulky and seemingly unsteady platform that stretches across the entire set, is meant to serve as the justices’ seating area and a symbol for their power; yet the justices spend less than an eighth of the show time on it. Instead they remain indistinguishable, at the same level as the court’s plaintiff and defendant. Thus, something which takes up such a vast majority of the stage instead deems itself as a useless presence and a waste of space. Most frustrating of all was the lack of what seems like an obvious prop, a desk, leaving the “court intern” to sloppily, awkwardly, and unrealistically scatter legal documents at the court justices’ feet.
Altogether, the lack of scenery and props left the actors with very little to interact with. The practically nonexistent stage direction is a tragic attempt at bringing movement and liveliness to a show based on a typically sedated environment. In fact, because the show is based on such an unexciting and colorless setting, the actors’ movements seem rather forced, unnatural, even peculiar at times. The stage directions could basically be summarized in justices sliding down a ramp and across the stage in their chairs, and the plaintiff or defendant dramatically tango dancing with the podium, only to deliver a feeble punch line. The poorly planned stage direction proves to be repetitive and useless to the greater meaning of the production.
However, three quarters into the show, the stage directions do become somewhat attention grabbing, but only in a grating and distracting way, due to an obnoxiously chaotic scene and a cheap resort to male, full frontal nudity. Unfortunately this addition to the show took the audience’s attention away from the key dialogue and back into the meaningless stage movements: court documents flying through the air, a journalist aimlessly kicking her feet at the ceiling, more justices sliding around in their chairs without any appropriate purpose. As if the legal jargon was not already difficult enough to understand, the mindless motions and stage directions made it especially more difficult to concentrate on the slightest word spoken by the actors.
In fact, there was very little opportunity to grasp the meaning behind the dialogue in general. The script was comprised entirely of legal jargon spoken in such a swift and emotionless way that even a law student wouldn’t be able to comprehend its full meaning. The gaudy, digital screen, meant to supplement the viewer’s hearing with a visual aid also flashed legal texts too quickly for any digestion of the information to occur. Surely the director could have slowed down the pace for a show that lasted only an hour and twenty minutes, without even stopping for an intermission. This is particularly true for a show that relies so heavily on the legal facts behind a trial as the sole basis of its plot.
The minuscule cast of five actors splitting twelve roles, with an average of about ten characters on stage at a single moment, also did not help make the comedy more reasonable. Instead, it added to the muddled and poorly planned structure of Collin’s production as a whole. While the three actors represented all nine judges at once, each was physically a caricature of one specific judge, making it difficult to accept him or her as the representation of three other. Thus, this seems like a failure in character development as opposed to an artistic liberty.
Although the play poked fun at all of the judges, the only tidbit that was actually humorous occurred in the very last scene, during which Sandra Day O’Connor steps out and discusses the reasons behind the collars she wears with her gowns. Unrelated to the rest of the comedy and its plot, it is clear that this scene is a last attempt at humor and a final gift of comedic relief to an audience that just endured through a painful and meaningless history lesson.
While John Collin’s “Arguendo” is playing at the Public Theatre until October 13, 2013, one cannot make the argument to go see this show for its steep seventy-five dollar price. Watching “Arguendo” is like listening to pair of toddlers bicker over something as trivial as an action figure—practically incomprehensible and irritating—and in causing such a reaction to a show based on something as vital as the American court system attests to the greater failure of the Collin’s production.
