The United States put a man on the fucking moon before a woman could find out whether she was pregnant without consulting a doctor — and not because the necessary technology didn’t exist previously. In 1967, Margaret “Meg” Crane developed a prototype for an at-home pregnancy test, combining creativity and common sense to package the necessary elements so women could know what’s what privately.
But it would be a full ten years until the test became available to the public, and almost half a century before Crane would receive due credit. Jennifer Blackmer’s Predictor tells the tale entertainingly rather than didactically, a smart choice the Garage Theatre dials up to the max.
Twenty-something Meg (Carly Tilson-Lumetta) is a graphic designer freelancing for Organon Pharmaceuticals, which does big business in pregnancy tests for doctors. Despite having no background in science, Meg quickly grasps that the simplicity of the chemistry involved means there’s no reason why a woman shouldn’t be able to perform the test on her own. No good reason, at least. Once Meg designs a simple, elegant, cost-efficient in-home test, she’s confronted with an obstacle course of terrible reasons, all of which boil down to sexism.
The last two or three decades have seen a glut of plays telling true stories of women who made contributions to science &c. in societies structured to hide their light under a bushel. But however worthy the topic, more often than not these histories are rendered as if their real-life significance moots the need to be artful in the storytelling.
While that just-the-facts approach is fine for Wikipedia and such, perhaps you want more from theatre. If so, Predictor is for you. Opening as an episode of an imaginary ‘60s gameshow called Who Made That?, the story of Meg and her invention are charmingly adumbrated before we launch into the narrative proper, a narrative that never progresses too far down any one track before switching it up. Flashbacks, fantasy sequences, a sitcom, that wacky gameshow — a farrago of scenes that collide and interpenetrate ceaselessly, rhythms breaking against contrary rhythms. There’s nothing meta here, no intellectual rationale, no logic other than Blackmer’s aesthetic sense, but Predictor is no less effective for that, unfolding as a sort of engaging chaos that never loses the plot.
This is where director Jessica Variz excels. Back at the Garage for the first time since back in the day (in 2009 and 2011 she helmed two of the very best things the company has ever done), Variz groks both the substance and style of Blackmer’s script and has the cast jumping through all the right hoops to deliver the goods.
Needless to say, Tilson-Lumetta is the heart of the show, turning her conspicuous youth (which I had some misgivings about before coming to find that she actually bears a resemblance to the baby-faced Crane circa 1965) into an asset for driving home the overwhelm Meg feels at finding herself in the middle of a game whose high stakes she fully understands but whose convoluted, misogynistic rules are beyond her ken. A particularly heartbreaking scene occurs near play’s end, when a coworker from the typing pool (Taylor Popoola) comes asking for one of the tests, which Meg is powerless to deliver even though a stack of them sit idly in the next room.
But it’s the supporting cast who bear the most responsibility for generating Predictor’s constantly shifting modes and moods. Variz may have told them what to do and where to do it, but there are a fuck-ton of opportunities for them to drop any one of the many balls they have to keep in the air, what with each actor taking on a variety of roles, sometimes changing from one to another in the blink of an eye, and having to execute a lot more blocking than you typically see in a non-musical. The biggest hiccups I caught were the occasional dropped beat or overextended pause — remarkably little to speak in a work so chock full of angular shifts. (And this was opening weekend, so I’m guessing it only gets better from here.)
After an unusual mise-en-scène stumble during their last show, the Garage production crew is back in form. Despite seating on four sides — including basically onstage — there isn’t a bad seat in the house, as the cast utilizes every inch of available space to constantly refocus the audience’s attention. Noemi Barrera’s lighting underlines all those energy shifts, and Rob Young’s elegantly simple set is as aesthetically apt as it is functional, with the red ring at its base acquiring deep significance as the play progresses.
Blackmer’s script isn’t perfect. Why, for example, doesn’t Meg fetch the coworker a test or make her one — we’ve been told repeatedly how simple and affordable they are — or at least say why she can’t? And while no doubt Meg encountered plenty of sexism in the Organon offices, Blackmer lazily personifies via a snarling caricature of a misogynistic ad man (played by Craig Johnson with a gusto that’s all the more notable for how quickly he downshifts into completely different characters), when in fact the most gut-wrenching such stuff in her script concerns the subtle insidiousness of the patriarchal milieu, such as when we’re forced to look on helplessly as Meg signs away the monetary rights to her invention. Then there’s the final scene, a pat peroration that’s much too on-the-nose (even if it does convey info we want to know).
But these shortcomings are not enough to blunt the historical interest, emotional force, and sheer entertainment value of Predictor. Margaret Crane’s contribution to the world we live in today deserves telling. And it deserves to be told this well.
Predictor at the Garage Theatre
Times: Thursday–Saturday 8 p.m.
The show runs through October 11.
Cost: $23–$28 (Thursdays 2-for-1); closing night w/afterparty: $40
Details: thegaragetheatre.org
Venue: The Garage Theatre, 251 E. 7th St., Long Beach