Defying cruel captivity with loving solidarity

Winter Miller’s “No One Is Forgotten” has captured the Urbanite Theatre stage. It’s a psychologically naked play about two prisoners in a pressure-cooker environment. You’re thrown into this crucible without explanation at the opening scene.

You see two female captives — nameless, at first. Barefoot and unclean. They’re in a nondescript prison cell. Who are they? You eventually find out that Beng (Casey Wortmann) is a seasoned reporter while Lali (Dekyi Rongé) is an idealistic aid worker. Where are they? Who’s holding them? The play never answers those questions. Their captors remain unseen, their location unknown.

Like “Catch-22” and “Reservoir Dogs,” Miller’s play revolves around a missing scene. (It’s not in the play. This is my inference, but I think it’s a good one.)

When the women were first imprisoned, they made a pact. It goes something like this: 

"We can’t think like victims. We won’t discuss our captors, geopolitics or the odds of rescue. We’ll keep our minds sharp with word games. We’ll keep our bodies strong with exercise. Whatever we do, we won’t complain. We’ll talk as if everything’s normal and we could go to Starbucks at any time. That’s how we’ll keep it together."

That’s what Lali and Beng do. The women play Hangman and I Spy. They stretch and do lunges. They talk as if nothing’s happened — dropping pop culture references like breadcrumbs on the road to normal. Mazda Miata … Stevie Wonder … gaucho pants. This survival strategy usually works. Lali and Beng keep it together — and they stay together. Usually.

Cruel captivity grinds them down. At times, they fight. At other times, they lose it. Beng has a panic attack at the very idea of time zones. But her true fear isn’t that abstract. She doesn’t know where she is — and she doesn’t know how long she's been there. 

In the latter half of the play, the faceless captors drag Lali away. She comes back shaken, not herself. Presumably, Lali’s been assaulted — or raped. But Beng brings her back to herself.

It's an ugly situation. There’s nothing funny about it. But Beng and Lali keep their defiant sense of humor. It’s one way they stay human.

Director Summer Dawn Wallace refuses to soften the play’s rough edges. Her production is raw, riveting and uncompromising. It’s not always easy to watch — but it’s unforgettable.

Wortmann and Rongé deliver gut-level performances of unflinching intensity. The actors hold nothing back. There’s no place to hide — and they don’t try. They strip themselves bare and show you the naked truth.

Tom Hansen’s set is as minimal as it gets — it’s close to no set at all. Just a raw concrete floor and a single barred door with a slot at the bottom for food and water. The only props? A plastic bucket for human waste, bowls for food and containers for liquids. 

The theater-in-the-round staging puts theatergoers on all sides, with constant interaction from the actors. It pulls you into the action — and creates a captive audience. 

Dee Johnson’s filthy, tattered shifts reflect the captor’s contemptuous indifference for the apparel of their prisoners. Ethan Vail’s lighting punctuates the action. There are only two settings: The harsh light of a third-degree interrogation and the dimness of oppression.

Miller’s play is a series of self-contained vignettes. The scene structure’s a lot like Beckett’s “Waiting for Godot” — except that Vladimir and Estragon are waiting of their own free will. 

Lali and Beng don’t have a choice. They suffer — there’s no denying it. But they also come together. This is a play about the forces of oppression, brutality, and hate. But it’s also about the counterforces of resilience, transcendence, and love.

In the end, there’s a ray of hope. Maybe. The prison door opens. Light shines in. What’s on the other side of that door? Freedom, perhaps. Or a bullet to the brain. The play doesn’t say.

Miller’s play is a cry from the heart. More and more journalists like Daniel Pearl, aid workers and political prisoners are abducted and even murdered every year. 

The world’s response? A collective shrug. They playwright and the Urbanite's talents refuse to look away. Their production is sharp, tightly crafted and fearlessly executed. It’s not a pretty picture. But it’s a true picture.

What would it be like to be stripped of everything, confined in a squalid cell and left with only one other human being to keep you sane? 

After seeing “No One is Forgotten,” you’ll know exactly what it would be like.

And you won’t forget it.