Kyoto - Soho Place
A pet peeve of mine is a play ending with a biography of the protagonist. When done poorly, it can leave the audience yawning or checking the time. In the case of Kyoto, however, it felt bone-chilling. No one could play Shirley better than Jenna Augen. Without her character, the audience would not have had the ability to see a human perspective in learning about his world and asking, “Are we on the right side?”
When one first enters, the audience feels part of the conversation: What is your country? Where do you stand in this discussion? Having been lucky enough to see this play twice, I noticed the difficulty and pressure of avoiding getting lost in explanation. Don Pearlman’s tracking of the play functioned like giving the audience a dictionary, with moments of, “Don’t forget this,” or, “The underline represents.”
The direction by Stephen Daldry and Justin Martin was intricate and rhythmic. One could snap to a four-count beat, and at every moment, the energy of the room bounced from one person to the next. If someone hesitated, it was either very noticeable or quickly saved by the ensemble.
The stage, set as a round space representing the COP (Conference of the Parties) and designed by Miriam Burther, was highlighted beautifully by the direction. The set seamlessly transitioned into A Midsummer Night’s Dream, hidden behind a see-through wire wall. It looked like a cage, with a chandelier falling from the sky and cherry blossom petals blooming as Shirley spoke. Moments like these struck me. Kyoto focused on the debate over wants versus necessities versus desires. For some, such as the AOSIS (Alliance of Small Island States), the conversation on climate change is a matter of survival. Others, such as the United States, open the first fifteen minutes with a joke that takes light of the subject, only to be confronted later.
When Don and Raúl Estrada, played by Jorge Bosch, walk through a space of mutual agreement, “one step forward, one step back. A game,” it is a small moment, without lecture or grand speech, yet profoundly effective. These understated moments felt the most pleading to the audience.
The rhythm of debate, with agreements appearing on the screen one by one, was mesmerizing. When the pace quickened and then settled, the audience seemed to settle back into their seats as well. What Joe Murphy and Joe Robertson do brilliantly in the writing is make this play uncuttable. It sticks in the mind like gum on the sidewalk. One could go home and think about the day, and these moments would keep returning to memory.
It is even frightening to imagine this play ceasing to be the conversation. But the courage of the Joes, along with Stephen Daldry and Justin Martin, lies in not shying away from unpleasant or less desirable moments. Instead, they embed them in details that may seem insignificant, even to the most uninformed audience member. Only in the end does Kyoto enter the mind as an inescapable feeling of possibility.
Shirley does not leave the audience saying, “Yes, finally perfect, everything worked out.” Nor does she leave them thinking, “Oh no, I need to build a bunker.” The effect could feel subtle, just the truth on paper. But it is in the blossoms, the repetition, the ensemble, and the careful attention to small moments becoming the heart of the play. That is what Shirley leaves the audience with in the end.
