Theater Review: With A Lacerating Script, 'Extinction' Is A Raucous Show

We are all thugs at bottom and what’s the point of aspiring to a more civilized state of being since we all end up dying in a hospital bed in Omaha?

Two former college roommates, once best friends, gather for a weekend to viscerally hash out this question abetted by a taco-sized bag of cocaine and unlimited supply of in-room booze in Gabe McKinley’s harsh and unsparing drama at Guild Hall, “Extinction.” The locale? An upscale Atlantic City casino/hotel.

Both were once drug-fueled guys on the prowl looking to get laid, assigning points on a rating basis for screwing this one or that. Several years have passed; it’s 2007. One of them has turned a corner and is getting a Ph.D. with plans to teach English; the other is still the contemptible s---head of college.

Did I say the homo sapiens involved here were males? Do I need to bother? This is undoubtedly boys at their meanest and before the night is over, boy, are they mean.

Max (Eric Svendsen) is the unrepentant marauder who sells Big Pharma drugs for a living and apparently does much of his living high. His mother died a week ago and he’s out to tamp down any sorrow at that loss as well as rekindle his once-tight relationship with his college buddy, Finn (Sawyer Spielberg). They have adjoining rooms in Atlantic City. Ladies will be invited. Mayhem will ensue.

Trouble is, the old fun-loving Finn is nowhere in sight. He’s in love himself, monogamous, and about to be a father. He arrives in a dorky but faux Norwegian sweater, totally unfit for a night on the town picking up babes. Costumer Brynne Kraynak’s excellent wardrobe choices for the characters provide the basis for considerable dialogue that illuminates the current division between the two.

Here, clothes do market the man, according to Max, who wears expensive suits. When he checks out Finn’s weekend wardrobe, Max proclaims that it “looks as if L.L. Bean puked in your bag.” The only women who might be interested in Finn in those plaid duds are communists, he adds—and homosexuals at that.

Max believes Finn’s metamorphosis is no more than camouflage, and for nearly all of the 90-plus minutes of the action he will do what he can to undermine that path of the straight and the civilized. The once extremely close relationship of the two men hints at more going on between them than what is acknowledged. A telling moment occurs when Max tries to goad Finn into comparing the size of their private parts.

By the second act, the ladies enter the picture. Neither is a pro, but merely in need of cash and willing to bend their morals to suit. Ms. Kraynak is doing double duty, for she is the voluptuous older woman in gold lamé, Missy. She’s protective of her younger friend, Victoria (Raye Levine), who hasn’t been knocked around much yet by life, and is reluctant to get involved. She’s ready to bolt, but Missy asks her not to leave without her.

A nasty reveal from Max to Finn will upend everything, and before the night is over something indeed will go wrong. A vicious attack works in the context of the setting, but makes this drama yet another one that all-too-often that ends with woman as victim.

Distasteful as the denouement is, Mr. McKinley’s lacerating script is fast and intelligent and at times witty. Under the brisk direction of Josh Gladstone, Guild Hall’s artistic director, the spirited ensemble of four drives the tragedy to its harrowing end as night moves to dawn. Two of the characters will be all right; two will never be the same.

Mr. Svendsen is dynamic as the horrid Max. He’s soft in the belly, vacuous in character, with the swagger of someone who’s used to screwing women and getting away with it. Mr. Svendsen, who came from Los Angeles for the role to play against his friend in real life, is explosive and vicious, snarling as a rabid dog. Fueled by copious coke and Maker’s Mark, he milks the script accordingly. As the limited number of seats on are the stage, you are only a few feet away from bodies swaying and white powder flying. You may feel the need to duck.

Mr. Svendsen’s oversized Max fills the stage and gets most of the lines, but that is not to say that the others in the cast are mere props for his bloat. Mr. Spielberg as Finn transforms naturally from nice guy to bastard in the screw that Max eventually turns. Both Ms. Kraynak and Ms. Levine exude vulnerability and yes, even sweetness. Ms. Levine, co-produced this production with Mr. Spielberg, the son of the famous film director who has a home in East Hampton.

A ingenious split set by the multifaceted Ms. Levine means that the adjoining hotel rooms—flawlessly decorated like a million upscale hotel rooms—are at all times completely visible. Sometimes there is action going on concurrently and one’s attention has to quickly shift from one room to the other to keep up.

Discordant rock music reverberates in the John Drew Theater as you enter into a dimly lit auditorium. Vivid pop images are reflected on the walls, warning you that what’s coming will be raucous as you settle into your chair.

Don’t however expect to get too comfortable as “Extinction” roars like an ugly beast to its savage, unsettling end. Nihilism will triumph.

“Extinction” will continue Wednesdays through Sundays at 7 p.m. at Guild Hall, 158 Main Street, East Hampton, through April 16. Matinée performances will be held at 2 p.m. on Saturdays. Tickets are $25, or $23 for members. Call 631-324-0806 or visit guildhall.org.