Into the Mounted Mouth of Madness
by Montserrat Mendez
10/19/2024
10/19/2024
FEEJEE MERMAID
DROPS IN THE VASE
By Clay McLeod Chapman
Directed by Pete Boisvert
At THE FLEA THEATRE, NYC.
No Intermission
TICKETS: HERE.
DROPS IN THE VASE
By Clay McLeod Chapman
Directed by Pete Boisvert
At THE FLEA THEATRE, NYC.
No Intermission
TICKETS: HERE.
four taxidermists gathered for an annual competition engage in a fierce battle that combines the lower body of No Exit with the torso of Requiem for a Dream.
Obsession is the lifeblood of art. It’s not a mere pursuit of perfection, but a total, unyielding fixation—a compulsion to trap beauty, to cage truth, to seize the impermanent in a net of human hands. This fevered desire for preservation goes far beyond creation; it becomes an existential mission.
FeeJee Mermaid, the hilarious, terrifying, glorious first play of new theater company Drops In The Vase, is a play that dives headlong into this obsession, using taxidermy as a metaphor for the eternal artistic struggle to hold onto life just as it is slipping away.
Taxidermy, as a craft, does not merely attempt to display animals; it seeks to freeze them in an exquisite illusion of life—frozen mid-stride, eternally poised to breathe, to hunt, to roam wild. But what it preserves is not the living creature; it is the artist’s defiant scream against time’s passage.
In the same way, theater, too, is a taxidermic act—an obsessive endeavor to trap fleeting moments, to halt the slow crawl toward decay, and to fool the audience, even briefly, into believing that these captured moments are still alive. This is where the obsession with creation and preservation becomes indistinguishable, and where Chapman’s play breathes its richest.
Obsession, as FeeJee Mermaid makes so painfully clear, is not just a pursuit of excellence but a dance with destruction. It is in this hilarious fervor—this frenzy—that the artist risks losing themselves, their identity dissolving into the work.
In a Milwaukee Hotel Room, four taxidermists gathered for an annual competition engage in a fierce battle that combines the lower body of No Exit with the torso of Requiem for a Dream.
Obviously working at the top of his form, Clay McLeod Chapman’s characters become consumed by the need to make something immortal, to push back against the tyranny of impermanence. This is not mere passion—it’s a desperate act of preservation, a fight to hold onto something as fragile as life itself, even as it withers in their hands. To be honest, It is the perfect post pandemic play.
There is something haunting and beautiful in this—something that reflects the very essence of art. For an artist, the quest is not to create for creation’s sake, but to capture something eternal, to carve moments out of the rushing current of time and suspend them, pristine, for an audience to witness. It is the ultimate human desire—to make what is transient, permanent. And in doing so, the artist, much like the taxidermist, risks becoming lost in their obsession, preserving not just life but their own soul in the process.
In Angels in America, Tony Kushner writes, that there is a haunting beauty in the “desire to carry the body, soul, memory forward,”
but that same desire—when taken to extremes—can consume. Chapman’s FeeJee Mermaid tells us that obsession is the artist’s greatest gift, but also their most dangerous weapon. It is the force that drives them to greatness, yet it is also the force that may destroy them.
The true brilliance of FeeJee Mermaid lies in the balance between the visionary script and the craftsmanship of its production team and performers, led by director Pete Boisvert. Boisvert doesn’t merely direct the actors—he gives them the space to channel their obsessions, to let their own creative drives shine through the characters they portray. In many ways, the director here is the ultimate taxidermist, meticulously framing and guiding the actors, but knowing when to step back and let the illusion of life take hold. He’s not trying to show the audience how the magic works, but rather allowing them to become completely consumed by it.
It would be impossible to speak about the success of FeeJee Mermaid without recognizing the contributions of the entire creative team.
Sandy Yaklin’s set design is an essential player in this experience. The environment she creates isn’t just a backdrop; it’s a living, breathing space that enhances every actor’s performance. There is meticulous attention to detail here. It is almost maddening.
But it also reminds us of the care and craft that goes into the theater, mirroring the obsessive craftsmanship of the taxidermists in the play. Ben Philipp’s costumes, particularly for Lyman, transformed the actor into a near-chameleon, disappearing into the bland hotel room with such subtlety that it is actually frightening. Nina Agelvis' lighting design accentuated the tension and unease with precision. Artemis Zara Gültekin's sound design added a haunting layer. Meanwhile, Stephanie Cox-Connolly, along with assistant Ariel Pellman, took props and effects beyond mere utility; every item felt like an extension of the characters’ psyches, and they were absolutely wonderful. Special mention must be made of the work of taxidermy consultant Divya Anantharaman, whose expertise lent authenticity to the experience.
And then there’s this cast, I am putting them last because I am trying to figure out how to speak about them without giving anything away, but it is just such a perfect cast that I have to give them their flowers.
Morgan Zipf-Meister’s portrayal of Lizette is a revelation. She embodies the kind of artistic obsession that blurs the line between genius and madness, dissecting her fellow characters with the precision of a scalpel. Her performance is a masterclass in restraint and release. Her ability to embody a character so wholly consumed by her craft feels unnervingly real, a performance that lingers long after the lights have dimmed. It is almost too late when you realize that she has been emotionally dissecting every male member of that cast with a means to her own ends. It is subtle and absolutely brilliant and haunting in its authenticity. It's Morgan claiming and owning her talents, completely.
Niccolo Walsh, as Lyman, captures the desperation of a lesser taxidermist struggling to hold onto their own sense of worth. Their performance is a study in quiet intensity, layering vulnerability and danger in equal measure. Their character’s arc, from subservience to something far darker, hints at the destructive power of unfulfilled ambition. Walsh gives us a character who is constantly teetering on the edge, making their eventual breakdown all the more devastating. In a pivotal scene, the character reflects on their first encounters with dead animals they scavenged and brought to school, teetering on the precipice of a dark revelation—an unsettling hint that they may one day traverse the line into seriality. It’s a thrilling thought, that their narrative doesn't conclude at the play’s end; rather, it hovers in that liminal space, suggesting that their journey is just beginning, full of ominous possibilities and uncharted paths. That Niccolo was able to stay in the moment, but inform a future for Lyman, is just extraordinary craftsmanship. And I hope Clay someday revisits that character.
Duane Fergusson’s swaggering brilliance serves as a striking counterbalance to the quieter obsessions of his fellow characters. In his portrayal of PT, he becomes a master conductor, skillfully manipulating the rhythm of each scene with an electrifying physicality and commanding vocal presence. He commands the stage and bends the play’s energy to his will in a manner that feels almost divine. His mischievous nature masks an undercurrent of anxiety, hinting at a fear that he might be approaching his inevitable end. In this duality, Fergusson crafts a character who is both enthralling and deeply human, and make sure you listen very carefully to the things he says, because it will certainly inform the very last moment of the play.
And then there’s Adam Files, whose portrayal of Gryffin is nothing short of breathtaking. Files’ character contains multitudes—he hates what he does, but is fated to do it, and his range of emotions, the speed with which he transitions from confidence to terror, makes him a standout in an already stellar cast. There’s a certain elegance to his performance, a deep understanding of classical acting technique combined with a rawness that makes him feel both timeless and utterly of the moment. Clearly, he has a leading man’s looks, a smoky whiskey like vocal instrument that he has absolute technical control over, and his ability to use every muscle in his face to convey the subtlest shifts in emotion is what great theater is made of.
In the end, FeeJee Mermaid doesn’t just explore the dangers of obsession—it becomes an act of obsession itself. From the script to the direction, from the set design to the actors’ performances, every aspect of this production is imbued with an intensity that feels both overwhelming and necessary.
This is theater that I want and yearn for, theater that grabs you by the throat and doesn’t let go, much like the obsessions that drive its characters. It is a play that demands to be seen, not just because of its brilliance, but because it feels alive in a way that so much modern theater does not.
Clay McLeod Chapman has written a near perfect play.
Pete Boisvert is fond of saying that he and the team have “made a mermaid,”
I disagree, Drops In The Vase have delivered a Triumph.
Do not, Do not, Miss it.
FeeJee Mermaid, the hilarious, terrifying, glorious first play of new theater company Drops In The Vase, is a play that dives headlong into this obsession, using taxidermy as a metaphor for the eternal artistic struggle to hold onto life just as it is slipping away.
Taxidermy, as a craft, does not merely attempt to display animals; it seeks to freeze them in an exquisite illusion of life—frozen mid-stride, eternally poised to breathe, to hunt, to roam wild. But what it preserves is not the living creature; it is the artist’s defiant scream against time’s passage.
In the same way, theater, too, is a taxidermic act—an obsessive endeavor to trap fleeting moments, to halt the slow crawl toward decay, and to fool the audience, even briefly, into believing that these captured moments are still alive. This is where the obsession with creation and preservation becomes indistinguishable, and where Chapman’s play breathes its richest.
Obsession, as FeeJee Mermaid makes so painfully clear, is not just a pursuit of excellence but a dance with destruction. It is in this hilarious fervor—this frenzy—that the artist risks losing themselves, their identity dissolving into the work.
In a Milwaukee Hotel Room, four taxidermists gathered for an annual competition engage in a fierce battle that combines the lower body of No Exit with the torso of Requiem for a Dream.
Obviously working at the top of his form, Clay McLeod Chapman’s characters become consumed by the need to make something immortal, to push back against the tyranny of impermanence. This is not mere passion—it’s a desperate act of preservation, a fight to hold onto something as fragile as life itself, even as it withers in their hands. To be honest, It is the perfect post pandemic play.
There is something haunting and beautiful in this—something that reflects the very essence of art. For an artist, the quest is not to create for creation’s sake, but to capture something eternal, to carve moments out of the rushing current of time and suspend them, pristine, for an audience to witness. It is the ultimate human desire—to make what is transient, permanent. And in doing so, the artist, much like the taxidermist, risks becoming lost in their obsession, preserving not just life but their own soul in the process.
In Angels in America, Tony Kushner writes, that there is a haunting beauty in the “desire to carry the body, soul, memory forward,”
but that same desire—when taken to extremes—can consume. Chapman’s FeeJee Mermaid tells us that obsession is the artist’s greatest gift, but also their most dangerous weapon. It is the force that drives them to greatness, yet it is also the force that may destroy them.
The true brilliance of FeeJee Mermaid lies in the balance between the visionary script and the craftsmanship of its production team and performers, led by director Pete Boisvert. Boisvert doesn’t merely direct the actors—he gives them the space to channel their obsessions, to let their own creative drives shine through the characters they portray. In many ways, the director here is the ultimate taxidermist, meticulously framing and guiding the actors, but knowing when to step back and let the illusion of life take hold. He’s not trying to show the audience how the magic works, but rather allowing them to become completely consumed by it.
It would be impossible to speak about the success of FeeJee Mermaid without recognizing the contributions of the entire creative team.
Sandy Yaklin’s set design is an essential player in this experience. The environment she creates isn’t just a backdrop; it’s a living, breathing space that enhances every actor’s performance. There is meticulous attention to detail here. It is almost maddening.
But it also reminds us of the care and craft that goes into the theater, mirroring the obsessive craftsmanship of the taxidermists in the play. Ben Philipp’s costumes, particularly for Lyman, transformed the actor into a near-chameleon, disappearing into the bland hotel room with such subtlety that it is actually frightening. Nina Agelvis' lighting design accentuated the tension and unease with precision. Artemis Zara Gültekin's sound design added a haunting layer. Meanwhile, Stephanie Cox-Connolly, along with assistant Ariel Pellman, took props and effects beyond mere utility; every item felt like an extension of the characters’ psyches, and they were absolutely wonderful. Special mention must be made of the work of taxidermy consultant Divya Anantharaman, whose expertise lent authenticity to the experience.
And then there’s this cast, I am putting them last because I am trying to figure out how to speak about them without giving anything away, but it is just such a perfect cast that I have to give them their flowers.
Morgan Zipf-Meister’s portrayal of Lizette is a revelation. She embodies the kind of artistic obsession that blurs the line between genius and madness, dissecting her fellow characters with the precision of a scalpel. Her performance is a masterclass in restraint and release. Her ability to embody a character so wholly consumed by her craft feels unnervingly real, a performance that lingers long after the lights have dimmed. It is almost too late when you realize that she has been emotionally dissecting every male member of that cast with a means to her own ends. It is subtle and absolutely brilliant and haunting in its authenticity. It's Morgan claiming and owning her talents, completely.
Niccolo Walsh, as Lyman, captures the desperation of a lesser taxidermist struggling to hold onto their own sense of worth. Their performance is a study in quiet intensity, layering vulnerability and danger in equal measure. Their character’s arc, from subservience to something far darker, hints at the destructive power of unfulfilled ambition. Walsh gives us a character who is constantly teetering on the edge, making their eventual breakdown all the more devastating. In a pivotal scene, the character reflects on their first encounters with dead animals they scavenged and brought to school, teetering on the precipice of a dark revelation—an unsettling hint that they may one day traverse the line into seriality. It’s a thrilling thought, that their narrative doesn't conclude at the play’s end; rather, it hovers in that liminal space, suggesting that their journey is just beginning, full of ominous possibilities and uncharted paths. That Niccolo was able to stay in the moment, but inform a future for Lyman, is just extraordinary craftsmanship. And I hope Clay someday revisits that character.
Duane Fergusson’s swaggering brilliance serves as a striking counterbalance to the quieter obsessions of his fellow characters. In his portrayal of PT, he becomes a master conductor, skillfully manipulating the rhythm of each scene with an electrifying physicality and commanding vocal presence. He commands the stage and bends the play’s energy to his will in a manner that feels almost divine. His mischievous nature masks an undercurrent of anxiety, hinting at a fear that he might be approaching his inevitable end. In this duality, Fergusson crafts a character who is both enthralling and deeply human, and make sure you listen very carefully to the things he says, because it will certainly inform the very last moment of the play.
And then there’s Adam Files, whose portrayal of Gryffin is nothing short of breathtaking. Files’ character contains multitudes—he hates what he does, but is fated to do it, and his range of emotions, the speed with which he transitions from confidence to terror, makes him a standout in an already stellar cast. There’s a certain elegance to his performance, a deep understanding of classical acting technique combined with a rawness that makes him feel both timeless and utterly of the moment. Clearly, he has a leading man’s looks, a smoky whiskey like vocal instrument that he has absolute technical control over, and his ability to use every muscle in his face to convey the subtlest shifts in emotion is what great theater is made of.
In the end, FeeJee Mermaid doesn’t just explore the dangers of obsession—it becomes an act of obsession itself. From the script to the direction, from the set design to the actors’ performances, every aspect of this production is imbued with an intensity that feels both overwhelming and necessary.
This is theater that I want and yearn for, theater that grabs you by the throat and doesn’t let go, much like the obsessions that drive its characters. It is a play that demands to be seen, not just because of its brilliance, but because it feels alive in a way that so much modern theater does not.
Clay McLeod Chapman has written a near perfect play.
Pete Boisvert is fond of saying that he and the team have “made a mermaid,”
I disagree, Drops In The Vase have delivered a Triumph.
Do not, Do not, Miss it.
