A man stands in front of his housemates in a New York City apartment as they gather around a table, facing him. A housemate meeting is under way, though the tone is one more suited to a lecture, even an inquisition. Tomato sauce was left spattered on the stovetop, see, and the man is humiliated that his visiting sister had to witness such neglect of common cleanliness and courtesy.
This is the opening scene of The Commons, a new play written by Lily Ackerman and produced by The Hearth, about a group of housemates living in an apartment with little in common except for the common space that they share. Several aspects of this scene are immediately familiar to anyone who has lived with roommates in New York, including Robyn (Ben Newman) turning a matter of messiness into a moral failing. But the real grace note of the piece is Robyn’s maroon hoodie, the same maroon hoodie seen on half of the city’s hipster men of a certain age group. That attention to detail takes The Commons to a level of realism almost uncomfortable to watch, or at least it would be if the script weren’t so engaging and funny.
The case of the sauce-spattered stovetop is one of many character interactions where one housemate treats an incident as a personal attack, while others dismiss their concerns, only for a seemingly detached housemate to turn a different infraction into a major incident. Janira (Olivia Khoshstafeh), unconcerned about the stovetop, makes a federal case out of the position of a lamp belonging to Dee (Julia Greer). Molehills become mountains and Chekhov’s gun becomes Chekhov’s chocolate almonds as each infraction causes more conflict, almost as if these people need to create drama just to have an excuse to talk to each other. An argument in the kitchen, after all, is less lonely than staying closed off in your own room.
The Commons doesn’t have just one character to root for, or just one to laugh at, because we find endearing and infuriating qualities in all of them. Dee and Robyn suffer from writer’s and artist’s blocks, respectively. Their pain is real, familiar to any artistic soul in the audience, but when Cliff (Ben Katz) asks, “How long do you get to be sad before it becomes indulgent?” we’re left wondering if this seemingly insensitive question has merit. Cliff, meanwhile, is the epitome of good-natured obliviousness, the person who always means well but needs a detailed road map for self-improvement before he’ll change his behavior. And then there’s Janira, the speaker of social justice clichés whose belief in each cause du jour is entirely sincere and frequently acts as mediator between the other housemates – unless she’s the one trying to redecorate.
The appeal of The Commons lies in the realism of each power struggle among the housemates broken up by the many moments where they bond and enjoy each other’s company. Roommates who live together only out of convenience are strangers in the same home, except for the times when they’re best friends and confidantes, or when they’re at war over their individual aesthetics and personal space. It’s easy to leave the play chuckling over the pointlessness of these squabbles, while simultaneously taking a strong side in one of the roommates’ arguments. I know I’m still mad about Dee’s lamp. #JusticeforDeesLamp.
The Commons is written by Lily Akerman, directed by Emma Miller, and produced by The Hearth. It plays at 59E59 Theaters in Theater C from February 6-23rd.
