Theater review: 'Sylvia'

A.R. Gurney’s “Sylvia,” the Manatee Players’ latest production, is the story of a boy and his dog. More accurately, the story of a middle-aged man and his dog. To be even more precise, a middle-aged man and his anthropomorphic, talking dog whom his wife regards as a canine mistress — in the purely metaphorical sense, of course.

This shaggy dog story unfolds somewhere in New York City in 1995. Greg (Mark Woodland) hates his job. He’s a currency trader — a well-paid drone, shuffling abstractions and never touching anything real. But his wife, Kate (Tami Vaughan), loves her job. Her career is on the way up. As an educator, she makes a real difference touching young hearts and minds. Greg and Kate’s combined income pays for their kids’ college tuition and their expensive, empty-nest apartment. Their orderly life ticks along like a Swiss watch. It ain’t broke, so why fix it?

But Sylvia (Brittney Klepper) shatters the status quo. The play’s titular stray mutt, that is. Greg finds her in Central Park and takes her home. Kate wants Sylvia out. Greg pleads for a trial period and gets it. He starts taking Sylvia on daily and nightly walks; goes to places he’s never seen before; meets characters he’d usually ignore. His dog park buddy says Greg is biophilic; nature (in the form of Sylvia) recharges the batteries of Greg’s psyche. But Greg’s wife wants him to unplug. Why? Because Greg’s pouring all his attention on a cute dog (played by a cute young woman) and neglecting his job and his wife! You know where the play’s going. An ultimatum, of course. “Either the dog goes or I go.” Or words to that effect. In the end, Kate shoots the dog. No, sorry. I was thinking of Edward Albee’s “The Goat,” or “Who is Sylvia?” where the wife shoots the goat. A different situation entirely.

Hey, if you’re expecting a depressing, realistic ending here, you probably think the Giant killed Jack, the Big Bad Wolf ate the Three Little Pigs and Dorothy never woke up from her coma. Gurney’s script is clever/cute, though he throws in Shakespeare references to prove his literary street cred. To be fair, he’s a good writer. His scene construction is tight. There’s a lot of snappy dialog, but he wraps it around the physical bits of business of a young woman pretending to be a dog and bouncing around an upscale NYC apartment.

It’s all about the dog, folks. The uptight rules of civilization in this corner. The cute dog in the opposing corner.

Unless you’d normally root for the Giant, the Big Bad Wolf and the Wicked Witch of the West, you’re probably rooting for the dog.

Preston Boyd directs like a boxing manager. No joke. There’s a fight between dog and dogma in every scene. Sylvia stands for the call of the wild; the anarchic freedom of the life force. Kate and her cronies stand for civilization’s leash. The bell goes ding. Boyd lets the characters fight—after finding excellent actors to play them. Let’s start with Klepper.

As noted, it’s all about the dog. The play stands or falls on her performance. Thanks to Klepper, it stands. She’s sweet and winsome as Sylvia. She wears furry leggings, but no dog suit. Klepper sells her canine character with physicalization (jumping on the couch, thrusting her nose into a guest’s crotch, etc.) and a giddy portrayal of a dog’s worshipful viewpoint. (At one point, she looks into Greg’s eyes and says, “I love you. I think you’re God.”) Woodland is an affable everyman. At the midpoint of his life, Dante got lost in the woods and wound up in hell. Greg loses himself and finds a dog. (Much better deal.) Woodland exudes the joy Sylvia gives Greg—and the added bonus of self-discovery. Although Vaughan gets the Cruella de Vil role, her Kate isn’t the villain of the piece. Her character’s stuck with the thankless task of defending the reality principle; Vaughan plays it straight. Jalex Scott is hilarious in triple roles as a male dog-lover, a female dog-hater, and a non-specifically gendered marriage counselor who seems to hate everybody.

It’s a very funny play. Beyond the laughs, is there anything to it?

Depends on how you look at it.

From one perspective, “Sylvia” is really about the impact of a mistress on a marriage. The canine is code for the choice of (A) let the guy have his fun (B) fight for your home. Substituting a pooch for a paramour defangs the dilemma. Wives don’t get their hackles raised. (OK, OK. Bad critic. I’ll stop.)

From another perspective, Greg’s a man in midlife crisis neglecting his duty. His wife gets the anti-dog role—which is right up there with the Wicked Witch of the West and the Child Catcher when it comes to audience sympathy. Kate has to lose. The fight is rigged against her.

From a third viewpoint, Gurney isn’t bashing controlling wives. It’s an unhappy accident that his 1995 play has a dog-loving husband and a dog-hating wife. It’s really a fight between the rat race and walking the dog. It works just as well the other way around. (That’d be my vote.)

Sylvia stands for everything good about dogs: their loyalty, their 200-watt enthusiasm, and their sheer, lovable goofiness. That unalloyed, canine goodness tends to rub off. Having a good dog makes you a better human being. Not a controversial stance. But it makes for a blue ribbon comedy.

Be sure to walk your dog when you get home.

IF YOU GO

“Sylvia” runs through Oct. 2 at the Manatee Performing Arts Center, 502 3rd Ave. W., Bradenton. Call 748-5875 or visit www.manateeplayers.com for more information.