Ron Bottitta (right) plays Father, and Patrick Keleher is Son in Stephen Sachs's "verbatim" play Fatherland, about a son who turns his father in to the FBI for participating in the Jan. 6 insurrection at the Capitol.
It’s no surprise that the Trump era and its aftermath have been a boon to documentary plays. These plays don’t all address explicitly political topics, and they vary widely from one another in tone, method, and approach; but hovering over this era’s documentary plays is the relentless assault being waged on the idea of truth, on the very nature of reality itself, and the uncertainty over whether our society and institutions will persevere.
The U.S. Attorney (Anna Khaja) prosecutes the Father for his Jan. 6 activities.
Stephen Sachs’s Fatherland, originally produced at the Fountain Theatre in Los Angeles, uses the documentary play like a blunt object to pound on these issues: the play is “verbatim theater,” entirely constructed of court transcripts, evidence, and interviews from the trial of Guy Wesley Reffitt, one of the terrorists who stormed the Capitol on Jan. 6, 2021, at the behest of former President Donald Trump, and was turned in to the FBI by his teenage son, who then served as the prosecution’s key witness. This is no dry court proceeding: Sachs, who also directs, uses a fast-paced, stripped-down aesthetic (complemented by Joel David’s minimalist set design), jumping around in time and point of view, making the story feel tense and absurdly tragic.
Absurd because, as Father (as Reffitt is called in the script), Ron Bottitta captures the genuine danger of the Trump true believer and the aggrieved, well-armed, white American male, but also that touch of the pathetic, the middle-aged disappointment cosplaying as a soldier in a fight premised on obvious and egregious lies that he has built up to surpass the American Revolution. Indeed, during the performance I would catch myself thinking that Bottitta’s dialogue was too over-the-top (“The Chinese, they’re going to fucking shut down the U.S. power grid so the electoral votes can be re-set and recounted”), only to remember the text is all verbatim. This paradox is a strength, a potent reminder of the danger that this rancid mindset continues to pose.
“The text is all verbatim ... a potent reminder of the danger that this rancid mindset continues to pose.”
The play is structured around the trial testimony of the Son, impressively portrayed by Patrick Keleher, who manages to be level-headed, sure of himself, conflicted, and confused all at once. The U.S. Attorney (Anna Khaja) questions him, with occasional hostile or snarky interruptions from the defense attorney (Larry Poindexter), who later tries to imply that the Son’s actions were driven by a desire for fame or by greed (he created a GoFundMe page). Interspersed among trial testimony are scenes of Father and Son together in their Texas home, based on, presumably, conversations that the Son recorded on his iPhone or recounted in interviews. The Father’s political journey is one of drifting rightward as his circumstances in life diminish, and then forming a cultish devotion to Trump. (He reads passages from The Art of the Deal with more reverence than a priest reading Scripture.)
The Son, on the other hand, embraces Bernie Sanders and rejects Trumpism while trying to maintain a relationship with his increasingly erratic father, who is never without a Bud Light in his hand and a handgun strapped to his belt. (The choice of beer is a nice touch, since after the events of this play Bud Light became loathed by Trump supporters when a transgender influencer promoted it on social media—Father, no doubt, would be leading the charge.)
Father records a video for social media in advance of the January 6 attack. Photographs by Maria Baranova.
Father narrates and re-enacts his actions on Jan. 6, guiding the audience through his preparations and layering on of military-style protective gear (costumes are by Danyele E. Thomas): “My Spartan armor plates. Flex cuffs. Megaphone. GoPro on my helmet. My forty on my side. The dance is ready to start. Time to head to the Promised Land. I lock my AR in the car—I’ll come back for it when given the signal.” Again, there is real danger here—people died—but also the sweaty, out-of-breath faux-grandeur of the couch-potato warrior who has been conned into believing the big lie. And then comes the voice of the instigator, the con artist himself, via Stewart Blackwood’s sound design, instructing the crowd to march to the Capitol.
Some limitations to the verbatim method are evident, particularly the inability to explore what feel like absences, such as Son’s relationship with his mother and sisters, which is only cryptically alluded to. Sachs nonetheless crafts a gripping, and troubling, family drama. The verdict is guilty, and the truth seems to prevail, though Father shows no remorse and clings to the lies that have infected his brain. Fatherland’s backdrop, of course, is the impending election and the specter that Father’s hero might be coming to the rescue.
Fatherland runs through Nov. 23 at City Center Stage II (131 W 55th St.). Evening performances are at 7:30 p.m. Tuesday through Saturday; matinees are at 2:30 p.m. Wednesday, Saturday, and Sunday. For tickets and more information, visit fatherlandplay.com.
Conceived and Directed: Stephen Sachs
Sets: Joel David
Lighting: Alison Brummer
Costumes: Danyele E. Thomas
Sound Design: Stewart Blackwood
