Phillyist Reviews... machines machines machines machines machines machines machines

For whatever reason, I'm mildly obsessed with Rube Goldberg machines. (Maybe it's because my parents never let me own Mouse Trap when I was a child?) Because of this, I'd been excited to see Rainpan 43's machines machines machines machines machines machines machines. Like, really excited. Like, I'd been anticipating opening night of the show for well over a month.

And maybe that's why I was so disappointed in the show.

Don't get me wrong: it's impressive to see a stage that's set up as a giant Rube Goldberg device. And the first fifteen minutes, in which performer-creators Gabriel Quinn Baudriel, Trey Lyford, and Geoff Sobelle really use the assorted devices onstage, are really entertaining, if only because of the scope of the machinery. But after that, I found myself getting a little bored – and there were still forty-five minutes left to go.

The general plot of the show, inasmuch as there is one, is that a group of three para-militarists or anarchists or whatever the hell they are, are preparing for the end of the world, or perhaps just the downfall of their revolution. Because the plot is so confused, and the set is so complex, it's really never clear exactly what is going on onstage. If the plot had been clearer, or the same absurdist plot had existed with a simpler premise, it might have worked better. But it was just too much. The plot detracted from the conceit, and the conceit detracted from the plot, and in the end, everything was just too muddled. I would have been happy if they'd just stuck with the machines.

Photo by Steven Dufala, via Canary Promotion+Design.