As someone who is often accused of being “devoid of emotion,” it’s alarming to see one person so vividly portray multiple characters going through multiple emotions in one 90-minute show. In The K of D, an urban legend, actor Renata Friedman cycles impressively through 16 characters from St. Mary’s, Ohio, in the process of spinning the urban legend of young Charlotte and her kiss of death.
After getting hit by a car in front of the local school, Charlotte’s twin brother gives her a kiss before dying. The local gang of kids suspects that Charlotte has been cursed ever since—anything she kisses ends up dead, too. The ragtag crew, Charlotte’s parents, and various townsfolk debate the possibilities. Then there’s Johnny Whistler, the tobacco-chewing, dog-beating, rusty-blue-Dodge-driving pedophile hick who ran over Charlotte’s brother in the first place. After Johnny’s parents pass, he inherits the house next door to Charlotte, transforming him from the forgotten villain into the central one—he starves a dog to spite Charlotte’s family and continues to make sexual advances toward her.
With so many colorful characters, why not cast individual actors for each part, as past productions (including one high school version in Chicago) have done? Using multiple actors, playwright Laura Schellhardt explains in the program, makes the story “much more about a community of kids. But when you see it done with one actor, it becomes a psychological journey through one person’s past. It’s more painful when one actress has to go through all of the hard parts herself, as well as confront her demons, literally by becoming them.” The trick works with the talented Friedman, who leaps dexterously between characters and all over the set (a broken-down dock over a lake codesigned by LB Morse and director Braden Abraham). Friedman is aided by Robert Aguilar’s evocatively eerie lighting and Matt Starritt’s creepy sound design (wind, far-off laughter), creating a genuinely spooky experience.
A side note from this theater novice about intermission: Theaters of Seattle, you need more than one bartender, or the intermission needs to be longer than 15 minutes, convention be damned. “You’d think they’d have two people making drinks,” said the charming woman in line. She was right. By the time we had secured our Kiss of Death concoctions (a delightful mix of gin and Chartreuse and some other such business—consuming one and a half of these in three minutes left me giddy for the second act), the get-back-to-your-seat alarm was already sounding. On a possibly related note, my date detected an elevated level of flatulence in the women’s bathroom. “It was not normal,” she said. 
I have nothing against Grant, but either train him up or don’t give him assignments he isn’t equipped for. Even he admits he’s a theatre novice. Critics are not only here to warn audiences about the bad. That’s a simpleton’s reduction of their value. (And not all audience’s are novices, so even by a simpleton’s standard the argument wouldn’t work.) The critic is also there to analyze, contextualize, assess, and–to satisfy the basic urge of readers–grade. A novice can’t do this. No offense, Grant, but a food reviewer, a movie reviewer, a music reviewer, theatre, whatever–should not be a novice. 25% of this review was just cribbed from the playwright’s notes in the program. Hell, another 25% is about the bartending at intermission. How insightful. Grant, stick to what you know and what you clearly want to critique: bars. For theatre, give me Brendan Kiley
Brendan was indisposed. I did the best I could. Also, the only thing I “cribbed” from the program was the quote, which has quotation marks around it.
This is your idea of a theatre review? Give us the entire plot then talk about farts? Classy, Mr. Brissey. At least Kiley usually gives an opinion of the show (albeit, often a poor one).
I agree about theater bartenders in general. If you’re going to encourage us to order drinks at intermission, give us speedy service or more time to enjoy our beverages. Frankly, I was surprised that K of D had an intermission…
Most 80 minute shows probably would run without an intermission, but since Renata Friedman’s jumping between 17 characters throughout the show, my guess is that they put one in to give her a breather.
Most theaters are also suffering under diminished budgets, the Rep included, and I would rather see them cut bartenders than actors or productions.
Note to Mr. Brissey: Order your intermission drink before the show starts. At intermission your beverage will be waiting for you at table adjacent to the bar which should allow you sufficient time to imbibe.
On a related note, Mr. Kiley seems to have been “indisposed” for several weeks and I miss his histrionic screeds. Is he too busy moonlighting as an investigative journalist to give his section his attention?
@ Dan: Thanks for the tip!
@ 6. Yes, a few factors have sucked my attention away from theater lately: the cocaine series, performing at the Under the Radar festival, a trip to the Dominican Republic, and some other things. But I’ll return to histrionic form starting next week.
It’s nice to be back.
This show was disappointing. The reference to the other high school production reinforced my feeling that this is really a play for kids. It would be great in schools. Why it is taking up mainstage space for adults I don’t know. Inserting an intermission underlines that Seattle Rep really doesn’t know what it is doing here. They’re asking us to pretend it’s a full night of satisfying theatre. It’s more like a skit. Seattle Rep should aim higher. This is the theatre equivalent of cartoons.
@ 8 Hooray!
Laura was my playwrighting teacher in college (out here on the East coast). She’s an awesome, creative teacher and a great writer. Fun to see her work reviewed on Slog (even by Brissey).