*****Cold War Choir Practice

A rollicking spoof that's dead serious

The choir (Suzzy Roche, Grace McLean, Nina Grollman) and their new recruit (Alana Raquel Bowers). Photo: Maria Baranova

The timing of the press preview for Cold War Choir Practice could not have been more on target: aficionados of Clubbed Thumb/Page 73 productions filed into the 89-seat Wild Project theatre still reeling from news of Trump’s unauthorized attack on Iran. A good laugh might have seemed in poor taste at this particular juncture, but playwright Ro Reddick, fresh out of Brown’s MFA theatre program, knows what buttons to push, and how. In this tongue-in-cheek spy caper, she needles our collective complacency lightly, wittily.

It's 1987 in Syracuse, New York, and ten-year-old Meek (Alana Raquel Bowers, low-key and convincing in a child’s role) is thrilled to be part of the local chapter of the “Seedlings of Peace” choir, a hands-across-the-ocean venture reminiscent of Samantha Smith’s one-girl glasnost mission to the U.S.S.R. in 1982.

Shoveling snow off the sidewalk outside her father’s run-down roller rink while sucking on Atomic Fireballs, Meek does not immediately present as a pivotal figure in a pending plot to sabotage upcoming negotiations at the United Nations – at least not until a Soviet pen pal (sweet-faced Nina Grollman) sends her a gift, a Speak + Spell device programmed to recruit her as a spy. The proffered reward? A pastoral romp in “the majestic Ural Mountains” – or perhaps full repatriation. Why not?

Hovering on hand throughout are a trio of saccharine adult singers – Grollman, Grace McLean (reliably arch), and Suzzy Roche (weathered and game) – prepared to provide subtextual messaging. Grollman uses the toy to channel seditious instructions to “Meeksnaya” (now magically proficient in Russian). McLean, whose angelic aspect and voice never fully mask an impish longing to go full Breughel, is particularly insidious as “Familiar Face,” whose main objective is to manipulate Meek’s cult-addled aunt, Virgie (Mallory Portnoy, glazed-eyed and hilarious), into sabotaging her high-powered spouse’s scheduled presentation at the U.N.

Bougified Uncle Clay (Andy Lucien) and Meek’s father, Smooch (Will Cobbs), who fondly recalls the good old days of Black Panther meetings and free breakfasts at the rink, go at each other like the competitive siblings they once were, before their political views bifurcated. It falls to their stealthily clever mother, Puddin (Lizan Mitchell, as commonsensical and comfy as her beat-up recliner/throne) to keep them in line – while safeguarding the country from the threat of nuclear annihilation . . .

It’s a lot, and the plotting gets a bit shaggy toward the end, but the performers are top-notch, and director Knud Adams, while marshalling a sizeable cast on a tiny stage (movement coordinators Baye + Asa even work in some convincing faux-skating), manages to bring out the play’s good bones. With any luck, we’ll get to see this work honed and sharpened down the line – provided we’re all still around.

The Wild Project, to July 1