Metro Pulse/Backstage/Keely and Du

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What:
Keely and Du

When:
Thursday-Saturday at 8 p.m.; Through Feb. 17

Where:
Actors Co-op Black Box Theatre, 5213 Homberg Dr.

Ticket Info: $12/$8. Call 523-0900.

Keely and Du tackles a tough issue head on

by Paige M. Travis

It's amazing Jane Martin wrote a play about abortion that presents the argument as fairly as Keely and Du. Although "fair" isn't the right word; nothing is fair in Keely and Du. Not fair, or simple, or easy to watch. And a challenge and a risk for a theater company to produce. The Actors Co-op handles the play maturely and with an open-mindedness that keeps it from being a bombastic political statement or a melodrama.

The premise of Keely and Du is like something out of George Orwell's 1984 or Margaret Atwood's A Handmaid's Tale. A Christian right-to-life organization kidnaps a pregnant woman, Keely, from an abortion clinic. Acting out their spiritual and moral responsibility to the fetus, the kidnappers plan to hold her for seven months, when she will give birth to the child and keep it or let a nice couple adopt it.

As Keely wakes up from her drugged state, she finds herself handcuffed to a bed in a nondescript hotel room or small apartment. The bleak set includes only a twin bed, a rocking chair and a small refrigerator. Keely, played by Frances Hamrick, is understandably outraged. She yells a lot, which, in the Black Box Theatre, creates the deafening effect, like an echoey prison cell. Hamrick achieves a tone of fury without hysteria; we always believe she's got her wits about her, which is important to her credibility as we're presented with the whole story. Keely was raped by her abusive ex-husband. She's working two jobs and taking care of her invalid father. She can't support a child, not financially or emotionally. These reasons fail to move Walter, the pastor and a leader of the Christian group that's kidnapped Keely and three other women across the country.

As the passionate pastor, Patrick McCray exudes Midwestern wholesomeness. He's sympathetic in his big glasses, trusting eyebrows and comfy sweater—until his temper flares. He's not content to shackle Keely and force her to bring her baby to term; he wants to convince her she was wrong to seek an abortion, that the life inside her is separate from her own life and not entirely hers to make decisions about. While McCray keeps Walter from being a loathsome cretin, he's still essentially a stereotype. He's a self-righteous Christian patriarch who patronizes, employs fear tactics and raises his voice. His role is to represent a certain set of values and arguments about abortion. The role of Cole, Keely's ex, is about the same. The Christian group nabs him, saves him and brings him to Keely in an attempt to convince her to keep the baby after it's born. Joshua Beach plays Cole with a sensitivity the character almost doesn't deserve, but he and director Kara Kemp were wise not to give in to any temptation to make Cole a hulking roughneck. We almost want to believe his transformation, but we wait for Keely's final judgment.

Then there's Du (played by Mary Sue Greiner-Bell), Keely's constant companion and caretaker. A 60-something former nurse, Du tries to calm Keely and distract her with stories about her own family: her husband who's also involved in "Operation Retrieval," her children and her childhood. The silver cross around her neck belies her spiritual alliance, but unlike Pastor Walter, she doesn't see Keely merely as a vessel for the unborn life she's sworn to defend. She sees Keely as a woman, someone who could be her own child, a person who's been wronged and hurt and needs to be comforted. As the two women open up to each other, a certain respect grows between them that seems to have less to do with the issue of abortion than the relationship between women. Keely and Du play out several female relationships: sisters, mother and daughter, nurse and patient, confidantes and rivals. Greiner-Bell and Hamrick are natural, and they work together seamlessly. Their dialogue is flawless and rarely sounds written. Their interaction, especially in a scene where Du is rag-curling Keely's hair, is authentically heart-wrenching and emotionally draining without being melodramatic or over-the-top (thanks to Hamrick's restraint and Kemp's astute direction). The two women come to understand each other without relinquishing their very different beliefs, and we come to respect them both.

Keely and Du is not a morality play. Martin (who is a pseudonymous playwright or group of playwrights) acknowledges that abortion is a multi-faceted issue by throwing out every possible scenario for us to consider. But she never forces us to take sides or draw final conclusions. If anything, she leaves the door of doubt open wider with the last word of the play, a question asked by both Keely and Du: "Why?" The play doesn't answer the question for us, but it certainly leaves us with a lot to feel and think about.