Awash in allusions to "Moby Dick" and the biblical story of Jonah, Samuel D. Hunter's startling play "The Whale" focuses on the kind of person you don't expect to see onstage, except, perhaps, in broad comedy.
The work, which had a much-admired Off-Broadway run in 2012 and is now enjoying an exceptional regional premiere by Rep Stage, is anchored by a morbidly obese character named Charlie, who tips the scales at about 500 pounds.
He's essentially trapped in his filthy Idaho apartment, where, in between eating and apologizing for things, he manages to teach a writing course online. Mostly, though, he is just in the business of giving up. Depressed over the death of his boyfriend, Alan, who stopped eating and wasted away, Charlie is doing exactly the opposite.
Played with power and poignancy by Michael Russotto in this finely molded production, Charlie is such a physical wreck — greasy hair, unwashed clothes, constant wheezing — that it may take a moment to realize just how big a heart beats, however strained, underneath that bulk. (The actor deftly inhabits a super-size costume.)
It turns out that Charlie has been obsessing over some unfinished business. There is the high school-age daughter he has not seen in years after leaving her mother (Charlie was a little late to embrace his sexuality).
And there is the lingering mystery of Alan's fatal decline, which started right after a visit to a Mormon church in town. The eventual answer to that mystery isn't as compelling as you hope, but does fit into the play's scheme of symbolic themes.
When a young Mormon missionary, Elder Thomas (Wood Van Meter), happens to turn up at his door, Charlie sees a fateful opportunity to learn more about Alan. But, of course, it's not that simple. The missionary has issues of his own to work through first.
So does Charlie's daughter, Ellie (Jenna Rossman), a tightly wound bundle of all-encompassing resentment and condescension who could not be more annoyed at her father's late-in-the-game reconnection attempt.
A would-be referee for all of this is Liz (Megan Anderson), a nurse who has a deep connection to Charlie and Alan. She is part-enabler, ever ready with fresh supplies of food (but curiously uninterested in helping to clean up the place); and part-counselor, eager to save Charlie from himself, not totally sure how.
Hunter takes these characters and one more — Charlie's former wife, Mary (Susan Rome), who carries some pretty hefty baggage, too — on an emotional ride that finds everyone bruised, confused and, just maybe, a little healed.
It is possible to question various aspects of "The Whale," both in terms of plot and philosophy. But it is easy to be thoroughly swept into this battle of wills and hopes, and, above all, to be touched by the literal and existential mass of humanity at the center of it all.
Much of Russotto's acting has to take place from the neck up, and he seizes that challenge masterfully. Not unlike Marlon Brando at his heftiest, Russotto can compel with just his eyes and the subtlest inflections of his raspy voice. In addition to conveying every ounce of Charlie's physical discomfort, he reveals the full extent of the man's embracing and trusting personality.
Anderson gives Liz as much edginess as empathy in a performance that rings true throughout. Rossman manages to put a little extra layer into what is basically a one-note role of the stereotypical teenager with a mountainous chip on her shoulder.
Looking like he stepped out of a "Book of Mormon" tour, Van Meter quickly reveals the range and sensitivity to make a multidimensional presence out of Elder Thomas, who is so sure that God has a plan (Liz's retort: "A plan he's constantly revising"). And Rome delivers a spot-on performance as Mary that's as assertive as the streaks in her hair.
The play's series of short scenes, separated by black-outs and sounds of the sea (Charlie's wheezing complements that sonic motif), are guided by director Kasi Campbell with a keen sense of timing.
James Fouchard has designed a terribly realistic set, right down to the squashed ketchup packet on the floor in front of a couch that, even supported by cinder blocks, looks in danger of collapsing.
At several points in the play, Ellie flusters Elder Thomas. "It's so easy to make you uncomfortable," she says. You could say the same for the whole of "The Whale." But even if as it makes you flinch, it makes you think and care.
You sense early on that Charlie will eventually have to experience something akin to a whale's breaching. It may be a little over the top, but when it happens, there's a mystical force to it, as if this strange anti-hero can suddenly see what Ishmael in "Moby Dick"describes as "the immense Remote, the Wild, the Watery, the Unshored."
The emotional weight of that moment lingers long after the curtain calls.