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'CHERRYWOOD' EMBRACES ITS NONSTOP WACKINESS
By Jeanne Claire van Ryzin
AMERICAN-STATESMAN ARTS CRITIC
Thursday, October 28, 2004

Welcome to the neighborhood. "Cherrywood" is probably unlike any place you've lived before. Or maybe it actually is all the neighborhoods you've ever lived in.

Written by Kirk Lynn, directed by Shawn Sides and collectively staged by the Rude Mechanicals, "Cherrywood" is a 75-minute clever rocket ride through, let's see -- the solitary individual forever rebelling against and then embracing the group; war, contemporary politics and the inevitability (or evitability) of history; and finally lots of linguistic conundrums and games à la the philosophy of Ludwig Wittgenstein. Oh, and wait -- Lynn's script also weaves in a plot line involving werewolves as well as a quest to find the best band whose name starts with the letter "A."

Ten nameless characters arrive at a housewarming party. A couple seem to serve as hosts, but not everyone appears to know everybody else at the party. The house has a few strange attributes, such as a lock on the outside of the bathroom door. Everybody is forced to dance and then eventually, someone gets shot. And so now the partygoers have to figure out who had the gun.

Like the best of the Rude Mechs' shows, "Cherrywood" is a nonstop -- and impressive -- cacophony of visual and aural effects. From Laura Cannon's fabulously wacky costumes -- post-modern "Rocky Horror" anyone? -- to Leilah Stewart's trash/industrial set to Robert Fischer's masterful sound design, the production doesn't let up for so much as a microsecond.

But that's OK. Between the deftly shaded ensemble acting and the essential humanity -- and humor -- of Lynn's script, "Cherrywood" is wonderfully warm and odd.