Review: DEAR ALIEN at Alley Theatre

Jean Paul Sartre famously asserted in NO EXIT that “Hell is other people.” Liz Duffy Adams probably doesn’t buy into that theory, even though her world premiere play, DEAR ALIEN, may be compared to the French nihilist for being just as existential. We have three actors trapped in a room, and examining the human condition, but this one ends on a more hopeful note. This is Sartre for the America of today, and The Alley Theatre kicks it off in grand style in its Neuhaus auditorium below their mainstage. It’s a perfect vehicle for the cast, and particularly well-suited for resident company member, Dylan Godwin. Director Shelley Butler gives us a ninety-minute glimpse into the state of mankind, and it is kinder than you imagine. 

The setup for the show is that we watch an advice columnist teetering on the edge of bankruptcy and despair, who is searching for one scrap of hope that he receives a letter that is not “easily answered.” He is the “ALIEN” of the title, because his column is based on the idea of looking down on humanity. He has become a shut-in and has lost all faith in almost everything, including himself. Two other actors come on and off, playing all the “desperate souls” seeking his advice, all the while not knowing they are begging for wisdom from someone who has abandoned hope. Dylan Godwin plays the advice columnist barefoot, in a rumpled suit, often covered over by a fancy silk bathrobe. He is Oscar Wilde gone to seed, a gay alcoholic who has committed himself to being a hermit. He has a sharp tongue, a quick wit, and calls everyone darling. Even readers are unsure whether he is a man or a woman, because he deliberately straddles an androgynous “alien” line in his responses to their queries. The actor often breaks the fourth wall, speaking directly to the audience as much as to the two actors who play all the men and women seeking his advice.  

Dylan Godwin is rakishly handsome in this disheveled state, and it’s a joy to see the actor chew on a script that fits his Stage Presence like a glove. He’s off-putting, but always charming, if that makes any sense whatsoever. He holds the audience's rapt attention in the space like a pro, and eases in and out of the performative parts, peppering them with honest emotion and sarcastic sincerity. It’s a really fun and fine performance. Fellow company member Melissa Molano and frequent Alley actor Brandon Hearnsberger get to play all of the advice-seekers, so they are on and off throughout the proceedings. They are both screamingly hysterical in every sense of the word. They have great comic timing, but also an incredible sense of when to shift more into the drama. All three thespians deliver great monologues that land every time. The acting here is on point all-around, and DEAR ALIEN has a strong trio for its cast.  

Technically, things are also in more than capable hands. Michael Locher’s scenic design is a huge, fussy, antique-cave-of-an-apartment with a scent of disco decay. The chandelier is fabulously off-kilter, much like its resident alien. Alan C. Edwards plays with the lighting, shifting between a warm bath for the audience and garish, spaced-out neon when he wants to make a startling point. Sara Ryung Clement’s costumes are in line with the dichotomy of expensive decay, with the wrinkled lead in fashion juxtaposed with the plain Jane pressed grey of the advice seekers. Director Shelley Butler has created a world that feels big yet intimate, familiar yet foreign, and it fits the tone for Liz Duffy Adams’ writing. 

The script really fascinates me. If you recognize the author’s name, it may be because she originated a show called BORN WITH TEETH that debuted here in Houston at the Alley, and then went on to a successful West End run. Actor Dylan Godwin was on board for that world premiere as well. DEAR ALIEN draws an interesting contrast between hope and despair, landing firmly on the former. She writes the characters with a gleefully wicked sense of humor, but we do see the humans in there. This is a fascinating take on existentialism, and I wonder whether she knows how she is turning it into her own thing. She writes “gay man” dialogue pretty well, and seems to understand her lead character and how he ticks. There is a refreshing lack of restraint when the play addresses icky topics, so Liz is no shrinking violet behind a pen. I love how she threads through the pieces to make this tapestry of what seems inconsequential become everything. Liz even draws upon the power of the King of Pop at one point, and that doesn’t feel like it betrays anything. Pop culture is our modern poetry, and maybe advice columns for a publication like THE HOUSTON PRESS, back in its printed glory days, are where we will find the wisdom. She had me loving the alien. This is what I adore about The Alley Theatre: beneath the sleek stage upstairs, they play with wonderfully experimental texts like this in their depths. And yet it’s still glossy even when it is grimy. As one of the great philosophical poets of the 80s said, "Lift your head up high and scream out to the world, I know I am someone,  and let the truth unfurl."

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