THE SEVEN YEAR DISAPPEAR: A Woman’s Art World — Review
In The Seven Year Disappear, Jordan Seavey’s very funny art world satire and mother-son love letter premiering in a clever New Group production, Cynthia Nixon plays, among others: a mid-career performance artist out for Marina Abramović’s blood; a GHB-addicted gay priest; and a disillusioned DACA recipient half-assing Hillary’s 2016 campaign. Nixon, ever the committed acteur, nails all seven of her characters, making a drag-worthy meal of their silliness while still letting her sole scene partner, Taylor Trensch, carry the show.
Trensch plays Naphtali, the beleaguered son and manager of Miriam, a performance artist who, unlike his mother, does not see having been bar mitzvahed at the Venice Biennale as a boon to his well-being. After a prologue during which he informs her of the major MoMA coup he’s secured for her, the timeline-hopping play skips seven years ahead to 2016, when Miriam returns following a much-Reditted, transparently performative, absence.
Napthali, who’d struggled with drinking before the disappearance, then cycles, alone, through various addictions while bearing the brunt of Miriam’s adoring fans pestering him for information he does not have. Their relationship forms the backbone of Seavey’s play, which sees Nixon adopt the other personas as constant foils to Trensch’s exasperated straight man. Dressed in appropriately chic-ridiculous jumpsuits (by Qween Jean) and appearing in hilarious projections (by John Narun) that carry the self-serious pomp of black-&-white pregnancy shoots, the two develop a great rapport, highlighted by a mostly bare, screen-heavy set (by Derek McLane).
Like Dominique Morriseau’s Sunset Baby, also currently playing at the Signature Center, Disappear looks at the children of movements – there the Black Panthers, here the aughts’ art scene – and how they must assemble themselves from explosive ideals and actions better suited for history books than family trees. This is far and away the heavier work, but tenderness and poignancy do arise, even if initially covered by the vape smoke with which one of Nixon’s characters comically shields herself.
As far as satires go, the humor here is fairly light-hearted but stems from an intelligent perceptiveness. Its targets, at least, aren’t winked at in reassurance, the way most recent stage comedies do. What emerges, through Seavey’s acerbic writing and Nixon’s tapped-in, multifaceted performance, is both a caustic takedown, and love letter to, white womanhood – of its ongoing performance and its insensibly defiant redefinitions. (On top of Abravomić and Hillary, Madonna is also evoked, not just in the play’s poster, which deserves an award, but in the faint thuds of “Vogue” during a club scene.)
An epilogue takes us back to 1990, where Seavey uncovers the heart of his play in a form-splitting manner that jars before jelling into a sentimentally sound coda. As much as we dunk on these bold women — and Miriam does suggest a Momma Rose-level delusion upon her return – they’re the ones we keep towards whose embrace we keep rushing.
The Seven Year Disappear is in performance through March 31, 2024 at the Pershing Square Signature Center on West 42nd Street in New York City. For tickets and more information, visit here.
