In Rachel Landon’s original play “Stoney Brook,” directed by Karen Ruch, Open Stage hits that sweet spot of childhood, then turns it salty. Based on the wholesome book series “The Baby-Sitters Club,” this fan fiction chamber play fast-forwards the seven mini-caregivers 30 years later, imagining them as edgier and decidedly more compelling than their saccharine-coated adolescent versions.
In the book series, the BSC ran their business out of Claud’s bedroom. The onstage setting, smacking of a blend of products from Claire’s Boutique and Spencer Gifts, Claud’s perfectly preserved bedroom invites the girls back as fully formed women. (Credit the overwhelming number of props to prop master, Landon; Becky Arney, props; and Kalina Barrett, set designer.) The strains of 1990s FEMpowerment songs play like an anthem. I wish I knew whom to credit for the playlist, because it perfectly sets the play’s mood back to a time when your entire world revolved around your friend group.
But then plot crosses unexpectedly with “The Big Chill.” Claud has committed suicide, and the reunion of childhood BFFs centers on her funeral.
We meet the first BSC alumnae during a graphically private moment, undressing during a gusher of a hot flash. It would have been funnier had we known the stripper was former tomboy Kris (Tara Herweg), because watching a tomboy do anything in a dress and pantyhose captures a certain irony. Although Kris has achieved fame and success as a young adult author, Herweg brings to this character a mix of awkwardness and aloofness, with just a dash of defensiveness for having lost touch.
Enter Mary (Alexis Campbell), once Kris’s best friend. Campbell at first plays the quiet Mary as sensible and gently judgey. As the evening wears on, she flies her freak flag without apology. Then, during one of the most emotional moments of the play, there is an incident that disrupts the calmness of her personality so hard that I wanted to sneak offstage and cry with her.
Thirty years can change people, and life clearly kicked these ladies around. Playwright Landon uses this time warp to make the once sweet Stace (Landon, understudy) into a sharply funny alcoholic. Stace’s earthy step-sister, Shae (Kelsey Markey), turns into an oversexed attention-seeker. Former dancer Jess (Danielle Woods) develops layers within her character, delivering an emotionally intelligent performance that seems to lead to self-acceptance. Of all the girls, the once junior Mall (J’aime Elizabeth) finds her voice the loudest and the angriest, personifying a peri-menopausal mood swing. When one of the actresses mentions Virginia Woolf, I think, “Yep, exactly.”
Landon’s script captures the complexities of female friendship dynamics. Like many in this same generation, we made our first friends with those geographically close to us. Then those friendships gradually fell away when our worlds became bigger. Female friendships tend to be complicated and messier than the emotionally uncluttered hangouts with male friends. But like any past situation you return to, the phrase, “You can’t go home again” rings harshly true.
This parody pushes boundaries, and some toe-taps across the line may make audience members uncomfortable. Recognizing a former version of myself tops my discomfort level. Otherwise, settle in for an unsupervised “slumber” party, complete with racy language, drug use, sex toys, over-the-top PDA (same-sex), political disagreements, and eating junk food found in a deceased woman’s bedroom regardless of its expiration date. If smoking in small spaces bothers you, sit near the door and excuse yourself when the ladies light up those funky brown cigarillos from the gas station.
For some additional conflict, playwright Landon could have chosen to write in a BSC rival from the book series, like Cokie Mason, but that would have felt too contrived and convenient for the plot premise. Instead, Landon smartly planted an intruder into an already tight group – a clearly mismatched love interest. Every time Shae’s partner, Freya (Nikki Heckermann) strode onstage, the group dynamic shifted south to a cringey place. I imagine her director’s notes probably read, “Make Freya as annoying as possible.” Well done, Heckermann. I loved to hate your character.
In the script, I had some trouble reconciling some of the past with the present. From the book series, I remember Claud mismatching with her family, and sometimes clashing with her sister. But some of the finer details surrounding Claud’s present-day downfall don’t align with a nuclear suburban family who would maintain a childhood bedroom as a shrine. It bothers me that Claud’s sister throws a rager downstairs during Claud’s funeral, and that her ashes aren’t treated reverently. Where are Claud’s parents and her daughter? Maybe if I had a better sense of what extreme trauma happened with Claud’s family over the past 30 years, I could more easily make peace with these details. From the sickly-sweet books to this post-apocalyptic present is too far a jump for me to make.
No matter how far away the BSC characters forayed away from idyllic Stoney Brook, their innocent versions exist only in the pristine pages in the middle-grade section of the library, next to the “Highlights” magazines. If you want the latest on these ladies, you’ll need to head over to Open Stage’s femi-drama adult stacks. But you don’t have to read the book series to appreciate this play. You might also want to grab a signature drink in Open Stage’s lounge. The ladies onstage are well ahead of you already, and you’ll need to get caught up. If you have kids under 18, be sure to leave them at home with their own baby-sitter.
P.S. You can reach out to the national Suicide & Crisis Lifeline by calling or texting 988.
Open Stage’s original “Stoney Brook” runs through March 7. For more information and ticket sales, visit their website at https://www.openstagehbg.com/shows/stoneybrook.
