Ain’t Gonna Make It
Through Oct. 6 at the Yale Cabaret, 217 Park Street, New Haven. (203) 432-1566, www.yalecabaret.org
Conceived by Nicholas Hussong, Cole Lewis, Masha Tsimring and Lauren Dubowski. Created with The Ensemble. Director: Cole Lewis. Producer: Kate Ivins. Technical Director: Kaitlyn Anderson. Costume Designer: Kate Noll. Sound Designer: Steve Brush. Dramaturg: Lauren Dubowski.
Ain’t Gonna Make It is, true to its title, most interesting for how it was made. It’s a conversational blues/rock/folk concert piece with a narrative about imminent death from cancer. The ending is inevitable, and abrupt. The choices made along the way, both scriptwise and stagingwise, is what truly makes Ain’t Gonna Make It.
The format is a small club rock show, with a five piece band of intriguing instrumentation (keyboards, cell, stand-up bass, violin and two acoustic guitars) and a set list duly taped to the floor of the stage. But the casual set-up is deceptive, since this is an ingenious and fully thought-through theater piece about a dire subject, which makes the most of its sparse surroundings.
Props are kept to a minimum, and much of the show is a monologue—with frequent musical interludes—delivered by Timothy Hassler. Unlike a lot of shows in this vein, Hassler did not script his own words, though his performance really has a lived-in feel, or more appropriately a died-in one. The character discusses his diagnosis of Stage 3 colon cancer. We observe his mental state, which seldom involves anger but often concerns sexual longings and disorientation.
This is not a dramatic musical monologue in the manner of, say, Hedwig and the Angry Inch. The songs and set-pieces (many of which involve members of the audience) flow like a story. The tunes are mostly basic four-chord rock & roll, conveying simple truths (“I’m feeling good/I need a pity fuck”), but some have a lilting Jacques Brel style, or the earthy dynamism of Brecht/Weill, and one even borrows the melody of “Ain’t Misbehavin’.”
Much of the show is very funny. In taking a concert framework, it also assumes that showbiz momentum of acknowledging the audience and making sure they’re involved and amused. This is hardly a self-pitying piece. It’s got jokes. Cancer is represented by party balloons. It has an ingratiating narrative—cancer treatment sucks, then you die.
The clarity and vulnerability of the staging add immeasurably to the impact of Ain’t Gonna Make It. The supporting band members have a constant effect on the proceedings, nudging the plot along by bringing hypodermic needles (improvised by the sharp pointed stand of a cello) and pill containers (which become a neat percussion device).
Call it Passing Away Strange. And call it another noble bit of theater experimentation at the Yale Cabaret that finds balance and hope amid some challenging subject matter.