No one actually says the things Bradshaw’s characters say in real life and the leaps in logic are meant to be jarring (an awkward hug between Michael and his boss, leads the boss to say he hopes the Michael does not intend to “fuck in the ass”, for instance). No matter how much the preternaturally chill Sarah preaches that “prayer and meditation” will address any of his problems, Michael cannot manage to keep everything in balance.īradshaw creates dialogue and situations that are filled with intentional inauthenticity. Work, home, and his love life all start to spin. But it’s really a larger symptom of Michael losing control. A battle of wills ensues between Ted and Michael over the apartment noise which escalates to extreme proportions. But as he spends more time in his new fancy apartment, he discovers his upstairs neighbor Ted (Jeff Biehl) and Ted’s young daughter make a tremendous amount of noise-like a herd of elephants tap-dancing on a tin roof.Īnd so begins the comedy of tantrums, taunting, and intemperance. Michael throws himself into 12-step recovery with Sarah’s help. When Michael confronts his boss (Peter McCabe) about this this he’s informed it’s his alcoholism that’s the problem. She chalks up his lack of promotion to racism at their law firm. He hooks up with his co-worker Sarah (Susannah Flood) who has a penchant for spanking and a zen-like calm about just about everything. Michael (Gbenga Akinnagbe) is a lawyer working 80 hours a week who has yet to make partner. As they chase these false gods, Bradshaw leaves us to laugh at their foibles and wonder where happiness lies. Worshiping a chanting guru, indulging in bottles of gin, snorting cocaine, or engaging in adultery are all temporary remedies for what ails this moneyed class. But while the play has its moments of unexpected amusement and is much more successful on the whole than Bradshaw’s last endeavor, Intimacy, it doesn’t quite achieve the trenchant satirical commentary that you suspect it’s aiming for.īradshaw focuses his gaze on highly paid New Yorkers who live in million dollar apartments but can’t figure out why they are unhappy. Thomas Bradshaw’s uneven comedy Fulfillment loves its incendiary devices-full-frontal nudity, on stage masturbation, graphic sex that nearly spills into the front row of the audience, taboo words, and accusations of racism or pedophilia bandied about casually.
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