The majority of the off-off-Broadway audience applauds the rearview mirror safely in this first decade of the century. “If Laura Bush asks you, wouldn’t you have really killed a guy in Ian Allen’s (Lisa Hodsoll) Bush Laura?” The addition of the Bushes’ rehabilitation seems to be taking a decade after the disastrous end of George W.’S presidency, which is a perfect and simultaneously reasonable and passionate article comparing Donald Trump’s “zero-tolerance” policy to the Japanese internment during World War II, penned by Laura Bush, reports disturbingly about the imprisonment and kidnapping of migrant children at our border.
Disappointingly, we feel like we’ve just ingested more fake news, but do we really know Laura Bush well enough to back her? During her husband’s two terms in the White House, she cheerfully maintained a profile that was apolitical. It seems that the production of Allen’s solo play “Klunch” at The Flea Theater gives us an opportunity to get to know her better.
The episode of Halloween in the Family Guy show annually prompts searches on Google, leading to a spike in viewers. This episode reminds viewers of the unsubstantiated chatter that surrounds the incident. Was there really bad blood? Was her boyfriend Mike involved? Was she drunk? There have been conspiracy theories fueling the lingering discussion about the incident. Naturally, Laura Bush has been reluctant to speak about it, as no charges were ever brought and the police in Texas, specifically in Midland, concluded that it was an accident. The driver at the time was Laura herself, who was only 17 years old and inexperienced. It is true that Laura Bush was involved in a car accident in 1963, resulting in the death of one of her passengers, Mike Douglas. This incident is alluded to in the title of the show, “The Laura Bush Story.”
It’s like talking about the darkest book ever. She would prefer to talk about her recipe for Cowboy Cookies, but she never shies away from admitting that she did indeed kill Mike by plowing through a stop sign. Throughout her life with the Bush clan, Laura’s recollections are followed by scenarios, each scenario being a different imagining of how things went down, somewhat like the movie Clue. The play is organized into three acts, each beginning with a different scenario.
Undoubtedly, she developed a tough exoskeleton, mocking nicknames with a little jab at her family’s exposure to Maine WASPs. Still, she remains unflappably guarded, sporting a hard and formidable mother-in-law. With charming stories about her party-animal husband, she sits inseparably on an antique floral chair, her knees locked, conjuring the eerily sweet and poised image of a Southern political wife. She looks more like a young Cokie Roberts than Laura Bush, though.
Under the direction of John Vreeke, everything runs smoothly if a bit dully. The aggressive transition music suggests a murder mystery by Lucas Zarwell. Each scene is separated by a blackout, with a projected title chapter that is moderately sexy for a librarian. The set of Kim Deane is easily transportable with a round platform, the aforementioned chair, and minimal props like a table with tissues and flowers, and a framed photo of George W. Bush. Rhonda Key’s costume visualizes a suit of armor with a white skirt topped off by an unfortunate helmet wig.
Unfortunately, the Internet’s kaleidoscope of fiction and fact multiplies and distorts the clear perspective on the phenomenon that in the punishment-happy state of Texas, it is considered a privilege to walk away from a fatal car crash without facing charges. Allen seems to want to say something about how the line between fiction and fact can become blurry, as he presents three alternative versions of Laura Bush’s car crash.
I completely agree that this artistic rendering is achieved after 80 minutes. Although intangible, it is still a nice evening that presents Guy with Laura Bush, a woman who seems to be pleasant. She laments near the end of the play that it is “memorable,” but I’m not really convinced that it is all just that. This comedy is not only intangible, but it is also not funny at all, which is the most damning aspect of it.