THEATER REVIEW : The Sparks in Rep’s ‘Orinoco!’ Sputter, Fail to Ignite a Fire

In “Orinoco!” at the San Diego Repertory Theatre, Mexican playwright Emilio Carballido strands showgirls Fifi and Mina on a deserted boat careening down the Orinoco River, and sets them to thinking about where they are going, whether they will ever get there--and if they really want to.

This constant wondering recalls Samuel Beckett’s “Waiting for Godot” (now playing at the Old Globe Theatre), in which the characters use their wait to question the nature of reality and their role in it.

Like “Godot,” “Orinoco!” is more than the story of its characters. It questions the future of Latin America itself. Where is it headed? Has the pilot figuratively left the ship, as he literally has in “Orinoco!”? Can this struggling part of the world, like these down-on-their-luck performers, take control of its own destiny?

As such, “Orinoco!” is a thoughtful addition to the bilingual Latino play series that the Rep started with “I Don’t Have to Show You No Stinkin’ Badges” two years ago and “Burning Patience” last year. (“Orinoco!” will be presented in Spanish on July 19, 21, 22, 25, 26 and 29).

But, despite its humor, spunk and richness of philosophical allusion, it is by far the least dramatic of the three. The pleasures of this two-woman play come in fits and starts, and director Jorge Huerta never quite coaxes the parts into a rhythm that flows.

Still, some of the moments are well worth waiting for. There is an anecdote about flax blossoms, for example, that seems a poetic crystallization of the eternal dialogue between the two halves of human nature--the one that sees the darkness foreshadowed in our final end, and the one that sees through the veil of our end, the light of our beginnings.

Fifi, the showgirl who believes in the indomitability of life, tells the story of the blossoms, which fight against despair when the scissors cut them down by saying, “The best is yet to come.”

Sure enough, the flax is woven into cloth that again seems doomed by the scissors (“Just like life,” Mina says dolefully), and then finds itself transformed into beautiful linen shirts, then paper, then sparks that fly to the heavens.

The challenge of two-person plays lies in whether the differences between the two spark change or simply cancel each other out.

As touching as Ivonne Coll often is as the mournful Mina, she does not bring enough life to a role whose whole purpose seems to be to throw cold water on Fifi’s dreams. The tempo sags to a stop when Jeannette Mirabal, as the brightly festooned Fifi, dashes off stage to check on a prospective lover or the temperature of the waiting champagne.

What we see when Fifi leaves is a burned-out Mina just about to sputter out. What is missing are the glowing coals of Mina’s former fire that Fifi is trying to fan into a flame again.

D. Martyn Bookwalter’s set, a curving ship, looks better than it plays. The women don’t seem to have room to do much more than steer the wheel or dance on deck. It should be interesting to see how the set works when it’s used again for “Thin Air,” the world premiere of the Lynne Alvarez play that moves into the same design and space Aug. 8-27.

Peter Nordyke’s spare lighting fails to suggest the colors of the brilliant natural beauty that brings such joy to the women as they describe the sunrise. The resulting starkness of the surroundings sadly parallels the starkness of the drama on stage. Pretty as the sparks in “Orinoco!” are, they just don’t add up to a fire.

‘ORINOCO!’

By Emilio Carballido. Translation by Margaret Sayers Peden. Director is Jorge Huerta. Set by D Martyn Bookwalter. Lighting by Peter Nordyke. Costumes by David Mickelsen. Sound by Fred Lanuza. Choreography by Miguel Delgado. Stage manager is Julie Anne Moore. With Ivonne Coll and Jeannette Mirabal. At 8 p.m. Tuesday-Saturday and 7 p.m. Sunday with Sunday matinees at 2, through the matinee of July 30. Spanish performances are on July 19, 21 and 25 at 8 p.m. and July 22, 26 and 29 at 2. At the Lyceum Space, Horton Plaza, San Diego.