Swing State – Theater at its Best

The first thing you’re reminded of in Swing State, the quietly sensational Rebecca Gilman play now running at the Goodman, is that few things are as they seem. A woman is going through the steps of making zucchini bread in her cozy wood rich kitchen when suddenly she almost does something unthinkable.  She shakes off the impulse, rights herself and continues with her baking task.  That unthinkable almost hangs like an ominous talisman over this tale of attachment and protection until we eventually learn its trigger and its ramifications.   

After that moment of dread passes, we watch Peg (Mary Beth Fisher) more closely.  Her movements are those of an assured and pragmatic woman.  From the outside, she appears much steadier than that earlier lapse would suggest.   Comfortably rooted in her home and appearing to be in her middle years, we initially assume the young man coming into the kitchen from work is her son.  Brash, lightly cavalier and funny; Ryan (Bubba Weiler) doesn’t fill that bill by blood.  But it’s clear their relationship is close.   

Humanely portraying how delicate and finely woven relationships between people can be is just one of Gilman’s gifts as a playwright.  Her characters in Swing State live in rural Wisconsin and possess that stand-up resolute demeanor of stalwart Midwesterners.  Pain and hurt are not things they easily display.  Distress is something to be masked with grit or tranquil fortitude.  It’s all armor that helps retain personal dignity.  When Peg talks to Ryan about nitrates in the ground water, something that means the only water they can drink is bottled, she says it flatly and moves on.   But the ongoing changes in the environment that surrounds her and the losses they manifest are central concerns to this woman steadfastly plodding through the rigors of everyday life.    Swing State may be about the lengths people will go through to secure the well-being of those they care about, but it also asks how do we process the dispiriting challenges we face in this young millennium.   

Through their banter about Ryan’s work and Peg’s projects on her land, details seep out that let us know these two people well enough to start caring about them.  She lost her husband unexpectedly and fast a year ago.  He had loved nature so much he made it his profession.  From comments she makes to Ryan, her passion for it is just as powerful.  Her awareness of the losses in the habitat is great and makes her wistful when she recalls the absence of things she once loved like whippoorwills and chorus frogs.  With no children of her own, the melancholy she feels may contribute to the way she interacts with Ryan.  A manner that easily compares to that of a mother for a son.                                                                                                                                                                                                             

Rural Wisconsin isn’t protected from the pitfalls of modern life. Damaged and neglectful parents raise children there, too; just as they do in hardened cities.  Drugs and bad influences swirl through the corn fields and dairy farms with comfortable familiarity.  The product of a couple of those broken parents, Ryan fell prey to both hazards and did time.  He survived his stint in lock-up but knew he might not again. The thought of going back to jail was helping him stay clean.  Peg, his surrogate anchor and compass, was probably his only cheerleader. He was still surprised when she told him she was making up her will. Like any responsible person of a certain age would do, she assured him. She went on to say she’d be leaving her property to him. 

The imperfections of life and people don’t always allow plans to flow in a clean linear line and they don’t in Swing State.  Even though Peg thinks it odd that one of her husband’s rifles is missing; she’s noticeably annoyed when local law enforcement gets wind of the loss.  Like any small community, everyone knows everyone else.  That doesn’t mean they always like or agree with each other.  Still, folks can usually be counted on to stay on the right side of civil.  It’s that way with Peg and Sheriff Kris (Kirsten Fitzgerald).  Her niece, Dani (Anne E. Thompson) is the Sheriff’s newly minted deputy. Dani’s the face of what policing could look like, humane as well as capable.  Her aunt, the Sheriff, is old-school hard.  But Gilman’s rendering of her makes sure we see that her hard surface is not all that it appears.  We note there might be something vulnerable under the Kevlar.  Sheriff Kris still doesn’t like Ryan and can’t believe he’s serious about forging a new road for himself.  It’s an opinion that’s bolstered by her knowledge of what he does and says when he goes out at night.   And Peg doesn’t like the her.  Not just because the Sheriff’s disdainful of Covid masks, but because she also sees land simply as a fungible commodity; not as a resource in peril.  

Determining Ryan’s innocence or culpability regarding the missing rifle becomes the driver that opens greater insight into what motivates these four people and what gives them purpose.  Ryan turns out to be much more fragile than he seems when we first meet him.   But he’s not so blinded by his own demons that he can’t see through Peg’s flimsy veneer of strength. She never gets any real rest.  She’s making wills. She’s always alone.  He cares about her enough to take precautions to protect her.

Most slips of the tongue are merely embarrassing.  Others can be fateful.  The one in Swing State causes a spiral of events that mirror the kind of tragedies we see with far too much frequency on the front page of the newspaper.  Here at least we’re given the benefit of seeing how people try to heal themselves and each other after both the unexpected and unthinkable explode.  A work of thoughtful brilliance, Gilman’s observations on how we live our lives are gifts of needed wisdom.

Swing State

Through Nov 13, 2022

Goodman Theatre

170 North Dearborn Street

Chicago, IL  60601

https://www.goodmantheatre.org/swingstate