Jason Gray Platt

After ten years of war, a large wooden horse has appeared on the beaches of Troy (or maybe right offstage). The city’s great prophet, Cassandra (or is it the actor playing her?), knows it’s a threat and will do everything in her power to save her civilization (or her audience), but nobody is willing to listen. Blending mythology, meta-theater, and modern crises, the play asks: why are some of us so eager to disregard the truth in the face of catastrophe; why have we learned so little in 3,000 years; and what exactly can a little art can do about it?

Every other Monday night, for eight sessions, a group of six parents meets in the basement of a Los Angeles church. This is Hope Group. During the previous year, each parent has had a child die of illness, and the local Children’s Hospital runs the group to aid in the parents’ grieving. Led by Laura, one of the hospital’s social workers who is herself in the early stages of pregnancy, the parents meet to share stories, to rage against fate, and to discover what their lives are now that they have lost a child. Some relationships fall apart, new ones begin, and unexpected possibilities for joy are discovered as this group of strangers asks: how can we continue to hope and move forward in the midst of great despair?

Rebecca, a recently disgraced journalist fired for racist comments, has partnered with tech entrepreneur James on an ambitious new project: a virtual reality system that can be used in sensitivity and inclusion training. James enlists Gabriel, the only Black high-level programmer at his firm, to lead the project. Initially Gabriel is hesitant, but he finds himself drawn by the potential to harness the forces of technology for the noble goal of anti-bias work. Once the project begins, however, the idea quickly gets out of hand, and it becomes clear that even the very best of intentions can be used to amplify the very worst instincts.

Anne is running for a seat on the board of her neighborhood Homeowner’s Association. One day Mary, who looks like Anne’s identical twin, appears at her door and announces that she is also running for the board seat. Anne is shocked. Where did this woman come from? Even more shocking is that nobody else thinks the two women look at all alike. When Mary wins the seat, the situation becomes more unsettling as the board begins to clamp down on violations of the Homeowner’s regulaions, and a Neighborhood Watch of armed teenagers is established to prevent intrusions from surrounding communities. When Anne is eventually targeted herself, she must decide just how far she is willing to go to defend her right to be a little different in an increasingly totalitarian environment.

Ella’s husband recently died a protracted and unexpected death. Shaken by the experience, and with her immediate family (sister, two daughters, and granddaughter) gathered for the holidays, she has decided to talk to them about putting together an end-of-life policy for herself, just to be safe.

But the emotionally strenuous conversation does not go as she had hoped. So the discussion happens again. And again. But each time another family member is missing, and the conversation goes slightly differently, until it becomes apparent that the end of Ella’s life isn’t the only approaching tragedy for which a plan needs to be made. Because time is running out.

The There There explores the impact of existing and emergent technologies on the relationship of two characters, K and M, over the course of their lives. Beginning in the present day when they meet in college, the play follows them over forty-five years into the near future, when they are in their sixties and have a child. Though both characters attempt to end the relationship at one time or another, the eternal ties permeating the thousands of emails, pictures, and network associations that exist in the digital world – made manifest theatrically in intermezzos that precede each scene – prevent them from ever fully severing their emotional connection. The mourning process involved in saying goodbye is never able to complete itself.

As the play moves forward, these technologies expand into holograms and individualized computers located within the body, which bring the two even closer. The piece concludes with a glimpse at the life of their child, who is leaving home to enter college, the very age we found K and M in at the play’s opening. Though the child and his generation have rejected their parents’ obsession with digital gadgetry, they appear to suffer from the same emotional uncertainties. Are the illusions generated by technology influencing the way we grieve and love, or are they only a parallel to the assorted illusions we have always permitted ourselves to form about the people we care about?