Theater Review: 'Breakfalls,' Vermont Stage 

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• Courtesy Of Lindsay Raymondjack
• Chrissy Rose, Sarah Mell and Quinn Post Rol (in background) in Breakfalls

Vermont Stage has produced the premiere of local playwright Gina Stevensen's Breakfalls, a show refined in collaboration with the cast and crew over a seven-month developmental period. The play's subject is essentially its setting: a martial arts dojo, the perfect crossroads for strangers to intersect. The mats are a blank slate for the physical and mental practice of developing the strength to feel safe in the world.

The five characters in Breakfalls all arrive with something broken that they'd rather conceal. But martial arts puts a frame of discipline around their ragged edges, and the dojo's potential for community inspires friendship — they can start to heal. Watching trust form makes the play truly moving.

Stevensen sketches their characters through lean (even slightly stingy) playwriting that forgoes details to imply the large concerns that haunt them. Physical action underscores the dialogue, and quiet, unforced symbolism infuses the play. No conventional plot unspools, but each character progresses through largely internal struggles. Tough as those challenges may be, the script is often light and funny.

The title refers to the method of falling safely, and techniques of self-defense parallel the characters' overall search for protection. Giving and receiving blows becomes a way of communicating safely.

Martha (a deep and forceful Sarah Mell), the dojo's owner and black belt trainer, is a precise, intense instructor. Her martial arts jacket and pants are armor, and she's simplified grooming to a crew cut and bare feet. Martha retreats in silence when difficult subjects arise. She's mastered the karate skill of pushing beyond pain but remains troubled by a hidden guilt about the past.

Sean (Quinn Post Rol, taut and touching) is seeking a path between violence and vulnerability. He holds a lot of darkness inside, letting it peek out at the edges before stuffing it back in. Sean feels a need to constrain his aggressive impulses, and the play leads viewers to wonder how powerful they may be and how well he can control them.

The brown belt Summer (a gripping, mournful Chrissy Rose) is frustrated that Martha won't offer the black belt evaluation to complete their training. Summer is rarely at rest, always aiming punches and kicks at the heavy bag. Physically agile and expressive in movement, Summer withdraws from other people into self-doubt.

The uncertain Charlie (an affecting Alex S. Hudson) tries a class and is ready to quit but not brave enough to say why. Charlie sticks it out and finds the safety she needs and the courage to test her body. Charlie's karate improves, but she gains more strength from a brave walk across the room to express her feelings for Summer. Romance doesn't get any more uplifting.

Joe (an all-in Victor Toman) has an abiding need to test who's in power and can't resist a masculine rivalry with Sean and a false deference to Martha. But his bluster conceals the sadness he feels about not connecting with his son. It doesn't seem possible for Joe to fit in physically or emotionally, but the dojo has a way of breaking barriers.

Director Delanté Keys uses space elegantly, expressing the meaning of distance visually and, for the characters, sometimes viscerally. Keys effectively moves the viewer's attention, sometimes giving other characters background activities to emphasize the dojo as a public place. In a play about movement, this production uses stillness and slowness to emphasize it. Painterly as the blocking is, the direction ultimately addresses the relationships. What Stevensen sometimes leaves vague, Keys helps express in action.

Stevensen takes a risk in creating a brief interlude for each character in which a core problem becomes a physical gesture complemented by a short statement, much like an inner monologue. Keys directs these with emphasis on the action, and lighting designer Jamien Forrest soaks each character in vivid reds patterned with grid projections.

Distilling the characters to stylized movements and outcries is a bold way of expressing their inner lives within theater's boundaries. For this reviewer, it was more exaggerated presentation than emotional revelation, but pushing limits is always worth trying. The test for the script is whether these moments are the best way of getting inside the characters. The play would reach its dramatic peaks without the vignettes, but the chance to use a hint of dance adds some spectacle.

A production like this is exactly what a playwright needs to see their work. This show debuts with strengths as well as some possible weaknesses: The external crisis precipitating the ending seems abruptly delivered to the audience; abstract generalities can leave the characters thin; some story details could be further polished. But viewers will find a powerful, vivid play awaiting them in this premiere.

Costume designer Jess Nguyen gives each character clothing that masks some of their fears and reveals what they hope to project. Some costumes change over time, such as the heavy sweatshirt Charlie sheds, and others never evolve, such as Sean's loner look of cropped hair and colorless clothes.

The fully detailed space, by scenic designer Tenzin Chophel, is both filled with promise and lightly crusted with use, just like its occupants. The well-known logo on the heavy bag, Everlast, could be the play's thesis statement.

A dojo emphasizes the agreement students must make to ensure their safety while practicing aggressive actions. Each character here seeks sanctuary while testing violence for the protection it offers. Joe wants to show he's strong, Charlie doesn't want to hurt anyone, Martha wants to keep her students from becoming dangerous, Sean wants to control his anger, and Summer wants their skill to prove their worth. To tread these tricky paths, each of them must grow.

Breakfalls ends in a moment of beauty that the viewer could never guess would be possible until that ending is earned. That's proof the audience, too, has taken a journey.