Skins of the Inverted': Fish and other questions

September 2, 1997

Why do we have to wait for Paul? Why can't the Girl speak when Paul is around? Who's Alex ... and where is he? What's the deal with the fishbowl? What keeps growling? Who - or what - is Rex? What's in the bag? When is the blue monkey gonna show up? Will I ever find out any of the answers to the endless set of questions raised by Skins of the Inverted? Not likely. It's the sort of play that defies the old "A leads to B leads to C leads to the final scene" rut. It's a play that refuses to give away "answers" to even its own questions. In fact, the whole work centers around - rather, flows in and out of - some absence, something undefined, something audience members have to reconcile for themselves.

Inspired by a true (as frightening as it may be) local story about an anonymous friend of a friend who refused to move out of his apartment - even after his roommate split leaving him with no utilities whatsoever - Skins of the Inverted explores the neurosis of a disturbed, but incredibly likeable, young man named Paul. The audience knows nothing about the external elements of Paul's life, but the play divulges plenty about his internal state. The other characters on the stage, in fact, seem to be physical manifestations of his neurosis, or psychosis, or schizophrenia, or maybe all of them. Yes, I'm "certain" that's what they are.

Then again, certainties are not what Skins is all about. My tendency is to try and make a cohesive, tidy whole from what seem like clues given in the play, but the effort is moot. This play is an all-out postmodern assault on the very notion of certainty. Rich with word play, ridiculous mindbenders, and abstractions, Skins of the Inverted is a play that merits more than one viewing. And if abstruse, unconventional, and enigmatic aren't your gigs, go anyway. The energetic, amazingly physical performance by Robert Milstead and intensely funked-out set designed by Eric Perez are, in themselves, worth the trip.

Jodie Marion
I teach Composition at UCF while also studying for my Master's degree, which should be completed--hopefully--before the turn of the century. In the meantime I write for the Central Florida Hispanic (Education section) and especially dig reading Lawrence Durrell.