In the scenario that comprises the middle portion of Head Poison, disputes over the seating arrangements at a dinner party lead to plates being frisbeed through the air and, eventually, to the diners chasing one another over, under, and even through the six tables (conveniently equipped with trap-doors). After the raucous activity-;possibly precipitated by the meal’s mysterious dessert—has pushed the various sections of their promenade too far apart for the runners to jump from one to the other, swinging ropes and pulleys (rigging by Mark Wittiveen and the Chicago Flyhouse) magically appear and the monkeyshines continue. Then one of the companions is spotted lying supine on a table now suspended in space, rocking gently as if in a cradle. At first, his chums are alarmed and hasten to rescue him, but soon everybody is gleefully riding the flying furniture. And THEN …
Understand that all this takes place without a word of dialogue beyond an occasional grunt or scream to punctuate the party-guests’ giddy laughter and Eric Leonardson’s ticklish stageside incidental music. Neither are the various personalities identified by names, nor are individual scenes separated by blackouts in a subtle attempt to cue us as to the “correct” response. Director Dexter Bullard and his cohorts have long regarded literary text as a mere hook on which to hang elements of expression rooted in nonverbal communication, but now dispense with it altogether (plasticine, by the way, is what Brits call modeling clay). Instead, the players explore a catalogue of situational premises, with Bullard serving only to give shape to the program drawn from the results, which become the ensemble’s yearly show.
The Plasticine experience—like its bigger, costlier and noisier cousin, the Blue Man Group—defies neat descriptive summary. Unlike the abstract acrobatics associated with Mary Zimmerman at al., however, the dazzling physicality of Plasticine’s five zanies-;did anyone believe that human bodies could be this flexible?-;is firmly grounded in recognizable psychological dynamic and an unwavering sense of playfulness. (Dominic Conti has his trousers pulled down, not once, but twice.)
To be sure, the action also includes serious and even scary moments (for me, anyway). But “meanings” are optional in this hour-long display of seamless kinetic spectacle where even the purely practical task of striking props is executed with imaginative showmanship and balletic grace.