Book Review: When the Walls Have Ears and Other Plays

When the Walls Have Ears and Other Plays. David Hauptschein, Hauptschein Arts LLC, March 1, 2021, Paperback, 405 pages.

Reviewed by Susan Gaspar.

Plays are not meant as written entertainment. They are meant to be performed live and experienced by a living, breathing audience. Reading plays can feel a bit foreign, and both subtlety and spectacle can get lost in the transfer from page to brain. But it helps to have rich stage directions to flesh out the setting, the time period, the characters, and the pertinent stage business.

The plays in David Hauptschein’s collection When the Walls Have Ears and Other Plays have been produced before. It’s advantageous to have a visual sense of the size and scope of those productions while reading. I am lucky to be familiar with some of the theaters and actors involved in these world premiere productions, but even without that knowledge, you’ll be fine envisioning these works because Hauptschein provides detailed descriptions and stage directions to guide the reader.

The book contains five plays: “When the Walls Have Ears,” “The Playactor,” “Trance,” In Memory of Edgar Lutzen,” and “CAST.” To do a thorough review of each of these works is not possible in this forum, but as I read them, I noticed recurring themes and images, so I’ll use those observations as a springboard. And to be clear, this collection was an enjoyable read, even if I sometimes felt I may have missed some critical point or core understanding.

Most of the plays appear to be contemporary kitchen sink realism until the dialogue gets going and you see past its outer shell painted in familiar, everyday fare. These plays are, in fact, surrealistic, and there is much more going on than meets the eye. In fact, it may take a second (or even third) read to suss out the layers of intended meaning and to understand the often unconventional paths taken by most of the characters. These works are not light fare, no matter how simple the setting or how earthy the characters seem at first glance.  

Hauptschein has created a world of dysfunction and disrepair populated by people who are either oblivious of or powerless to their trappings. As a result, things may seem outwardly messy in the first few scenes. You believe it will all get sorted by the end, but that initial absent-mindedness or clutter of belongings or bad smell will worsen by Act II. And that gastric distress, muscular impairment, or bizarre craving will loom like a demonic giant once the action starts swirling.

There is a perpetual underbelly of illness in these plays: physical, mental, and emotional. It’s as though the head of an animal is partially severed and the creature limps along for a while, still alive and coping as best it can until its torment overpowers its actions and its world implodes. In addition, there is a pervading dark, dream-like quality, even if the stage directions say the sun is shining through the windows. This is heightened by Hauptschein occasionally dancing around the edges of the occult or the supernatural, which might merely feel like lost hope or a passing depressive episode at first. 

Atmospherically the plays are almost gothic. It helps to envision the light changing as days pass, the sunrises and sunsets, and the characters slide more deeply toward their inevitable end—whether stalemate or death. Even in bright lighting, the overriding tone is bleak and implies continuous work or a struggle—like mud smeared on a gleaming pair of patent leather shoes.

Whether the darkness develops into true danger or merely grinds along like relentless low-level anxiety, Hauptschein’s characters live in a world of chance and risk, of waiting and wanting, and of feeling frozen in their small universes with limited options. Their relationships may or may not hold truth or connection and will likely end badly or wither away into something sub-human. The families and couples represented in the plays appear to be in a parallel universe where safety is an illusion and where creature comforts are available, but progress and happiness are always out of reach.

Although not in a traditionally danceable sense, there is a rhythm to the language. It moves freeform and a bit wild. The dialogue feels alternately slightly sped up and almost imperceptibly slowed down, and the pauses are as vital as the words. Often the dialogue feels like a puzzle with an important piece missing.

As I read, the works of other playwrights popped into my mind. In case you have strong feelings about these, I will mention David Mamet, Sam Shepard, Len Jenkin, Samuel Beckett, and Harold Pinter (these last two are mentioned in a quote before the book’s introduction). Additionally, one of the plays stands alone in that it’s noted by the playwright to be “loosely based on the writings of August Strindberg.” This is the only period piece in the collection, and I enjoyed the heightened language and the stark yet somehow claustrophobic ambiance.

If you prefer your theater with a touch of the bizarre and peppered with scatological references and human disquiet, these plays are for you. If you like your existential angst with a side of aggressive obsession and unexpected violence, these plays are definitely for you. If you enjoy ruminating and analyzing what you have read for weeks afterward, these plays are a gift. I have set my book aside for now but plan to pick it up again when my mind has quieted down, for I believe there is more to unearth here.

This collection is the first part of a two-volume set by David Hauptschein. The second is called “The Alchemy of Flesh and Other Plays.” In addition, this prolific playwright is also a screenwriter and visual artist. For more information, you may visit his website: https://www.hauptschein.com/