The Select boasts a talented and committed cast who throw themselves into both their disaffected characters and Katherine Profeta's anachronistic choreography with precision. Abetted by the sound design of Matt Tierney and Ben Williams, they hop nimbly in and out of imaginary conveyances and onto the tables when it's time to pass out. And though the piece requires no talent on the audience's part, it does demand commitment. On opening night, the curiously structured work, with one intermission and a "pause" that stretched into an intermission, lasted three and three-quarter hours. (Gatz was six and a half with a dinner break.) For my money, the fishing trip of Jake and visiting American writer buddy Bill Gorton might be axed without subtracting from the arc of a story whose focuses are Jake, Brett, and the wretched swains, with Cohn (his Jewishness made careless much of) and Scottish fiancé Mike Campbell buzzing around her flame like drunken moths. And though many of Hemingway's macho, affectless doings seem dated, the gorgeous and manly Brett retains her fascination, with every iota of her butch sizzle and cavalier wretchedness conveyed here by the magnetic Lucy Taylor.
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