REVIEW: Webster’s Bitch (Keegan Theatre)
I would like to once again remind everyone that I am a Word Guy.
A Way With Words is my go-to podcast (honestly, the only one I ever listen to.) I’ve got the IPA memorized (so should you!). I even once considered minoring in linguistics.
I’ve always felt humbled by language as a concept. Over thousands of years, we’ve sculpted the rawest of human utterances into a disciplined army of phonemes. Words and sentences have an order — the brown, quick fox doesn’t sound quite right. Whether serendipitously structured like English and its Germanic groupings or loosely associated like the Semitic siblings of the Middle East, languages are learned over time and through mental labor to adapt to an entire lexicographical culture. Yet at the same time, it’s all made up. “I before E, except after C”, the adage goes, excepting basically every German-origin word in the English language (it mostly applies to French-origin words). “Gh” sounds like /g/, unless it’s in “enough”. The “o” in “women” is often pronounced like a short /ɪ/. “-tion” is a beast by itself. Logically, this would mean we could spell “fish” like “ghoti”. These radical inconsistencies are the basis of Keegan’s DC premier of Webster’s Bitch, the excellent new play by Jacqueline Bircher. Welcome to English.
Book
In the offices of Webster’s DIctionary, lexicographers Gwen and Nick are hard at work; there’s a deadline to meet. Nevermind the fact that the words are already there, written in the dictionary, as they have been for the last 19 editions, as Gwen’s visiting sister Ellie reminds us. Ellie leaves for a year in Nepal on Monday and wants a final happy hour jaunt with her sister, and bothers the hell out of Gwen and Nick until the time comes. Suddenly: the editor-in-chief has called Joyce, his second-in-command and Gwen & Nick’s boss, a bitch on a hot mic at a conference. The flame of PR damage control only spirals from there to ever-dramatic levels— and Bircher utilizes this to spin a yarn of the power of language and its influence in a post-#MeToo world. Via bitingly hilarious dialogue and playful linguistic debate, we’re implored to consider what “bitch” means, its use cases, and what counts as “obscene” speech. Additionally, it allows us to consider who defines these words, and how they do it; the words don’t just appear in the book by themselves. As the night grows more unhinged, the situation worsening, a B-plot opens regarding labor theory and intersections within feminism. The latter being a key theme in the piece, one that is explored succinctly akin to the sugary addictiveness of The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel. As an introduction to Bircher’s writing, this play is tightly-written and extraordinarily paced, and I would love to see more of her works hit DC. 10/10
Acting
Elevating the energetic book is an ensemble who expertly handles the wit. Fabiolla da Silva (Gwen) and Andres F. Roa (Nick) are hilarious in their back-and-forths, only being augmented by their collective annoyance with the smartly affable Irine Hamilton’s Ellie. Their boss, Joyce, is played with cold intelligence that unfurls over its 90-minute runtime, allowing Gwen’s turn to take on dramatic weight as the focus shifts from one crisis to another. If they ever were to turn this into a TV show, I ask them to keep this cast. 10/10
Production
An inferno of pages, Webster’s offices disintegrates from the ground-up in Matthew J. Keenan/Cindy Landrum Jacobs’ meticulous scenic design. Director Susan Marie Rhea attaches Dean Leong’s gorgeously subtle lighting, which highlights or obscures the action while you’re engaging in the mile-a-minute acting. 8/10
Viz
Da Silva’s expression on the marketing materials showcases less energy than the show itself actually provides, but introduces its nerdiness well. Leong’s lighting warms the upper section of the stage as Brandon' Cook’s brash soundtrack blares pre-show. 6/10
Verdict
Webster’s Bitch is a hilarious, profound look into the linguistics of the profane, using its skilled ensemble to weave an intersecting storyline of language, labor, and self-worth. 34/10
