Recovery with a twist (comedy!) in ‘White Chip’
Steven (Ben Clark, center) is applauded by his Alcoholics Anonymous group (Danny Scheie, left, and Lyndsy Kail) in Marin Theatre's The White Chip by Sean Daniels. Photo by David Allen
Sean Daniels’ The White Chip, opening Marin Theatre’s 60th anniversary season, is something you don’t expect: a madcap comedy about addiction and recovery.
Using his own life as a template, Daniels recounts a young man’s history with alcohol, from a first (disgusting) sip of a beer at a friend’s sleepover to the alcohol-infused destruction of promising career as a director/leader in American regional theater. Given that latter detail, it makes sense that Daniels is telling his story in the form of a play. From the main character’s perspective, especially as his downward spiral intensifies, he’s like an audience member watching the play of his life unfold – an observer powerless to change the ever more horrifying script.
What’s remarkable about The White Chip is the way Daniels handles the stuff of serious drama with such a light but biting comedic touch. Director Lance Gardner and his three adept actors keep the pace frenetic – to a fault at certain points – so that revelatory moments and deeply felt moments are bumping up against slapstick antics (spray bottles, giant balls of yarn, plates of breakfast that turn into steering wheels) that are genuinely funny.
We are all familiar enough with the pressure of addiction and the struggle of sobriety to know much weight that kind of storytelling contains. We’ve seen the movies and TV shows. We’ve read the books.
Steven (played by Ben Clark) is a successful theater director struggling with sobriety in The White Chip. Photo by David Allen
Daniels wants to entertain while he lets the story of Steven, played by Ben Clark, take us through the story. Danny Scheie and Lyndsy Kail play all the supporting parts in a flurry of activity around him, against a backdrop of ghostlike empty bottles on a set that mostly resembles every hotel/airport bar you’ve ever seen (design by Christopher Fitzer with effective lighting by Spense Matubang).
The risk here is that playing for laughs might diminish the seriousness of Steven’s struggle. But Gardner and the actors adroitly pivot from farce to reality, keeping the focus on what matters: the moment when Steven, – after too many stops, starts, binges and relationship disasters to enumerate – feels the light of change flicker to life.
Many of the laughs come courtesy of the physically and emotionally dexterous Kail and Scheie, who are especially effective as Steven’s harsh, martini-loving mom and his sweet, increasingly ill father.
Clark has a boyish charm, which serves him well because Steven talks a lot about how effective his charm offensive has always been at distracting people from his drunkenness.
Marin Theatre’s The White Chip conjures the allure of an airport bar with cast members from left, Kail, Scheie and Clark. Photo Credit: David Allen
But Clark never quite seems like an adult, which is perhaps by design. Despite all his success, Steven remains stuck as the Florida party boy he was in college. He even dresses like a student who hasn’t bothered to add anything grown-up to his wardrobe.
The White Chip (named for the token you receive at the start of an AA journey) finds its power in Steven’s steps (and missteps) into sobriety. With a faith damaged by his Mormon roots, he has a hard time with the program’s notion of a “higher power” until, with insight of some new comrades, he finds a different way into that step with a similarly powerful effect.
That hope anchors an evening of sometimes wild, always theatrical storytelling. It reminds us of the humanity at stake in every addiction story and just how uniquely individual each story is. This one dances over much of the darkness, never ignoring it but allowing clever language and appealing performers to help the spotlight conquer the shadows.
FOR MORE INFORMATION
Sean Daniel’s The White Chip continues through Sept. 20 at Marin Theatre, 397 Miller Ave., Mill Valley. Running time: 90 minutes (no intermission). Tickets are $39-$110 (plus fees). Visit marintheatre.org or call 415-388-5208.
