“The Reservoir” is a memory play. It is also a memory-loss play. The dance between the two is at the heart of Jake Brasch’s semi-autobiographical dramatic comedy about a college student who, kicked out of his theater program in New York for alcohol abuse, returns to Colorado and finds that his declining grandparents may be his lifeline.
The most laudable ambitions of “The Reservoir” aren’t in Josh’s addiction tale, however; much of the nattering self-regard rings familiar. Instead, the richest moments are embedded in the intergenerational connection between Josh and his grandparents: Irene and Hank, Bev and Shrimpy.
From the moment Josh awakens on the shore of the Cherry Creek Reservoir, we are privy to his thoughts. “Don’t mind me, I’m just a drunk waking up at the ocean,” he tells us, looking out to the audience, somewhat dreamily. Played by Philip Scheider, he’s dressed for his beach party of one in colorful khakis and a striped shirt.
“Wait,” he says, not quite sober. “Ocean? There’s no ocean. This is Colorado. How did I … did I get on a Greyhound in a blackout?”
An alcoholic, Josh is the embodiment of the unreliable narrator. Sometimes, his wisecracks and confessional asides come as a direct address. Other times, the rush of anxious insights and questions reflects the voice in his head interrogating itself out loud.
Josh is also just plain unreliable. He has been making empty promises to his mother, Patricia (Vanessa Lock) — and to himself — for far too long. It’s clear that his ample cleverness is wearing thin, that even a loving mom full of hope can, must tire of failed promises and endangering behaviors.
The job that his mother finagled for him at a beloved bookstore appears to be a disaster — especially for his manager, Hugo (Rodney Lizcano). Instead of alphabetizing at a decent clip, Josh sniffs the books and ponders and ponders and then sits a spell to read.
One of the books that Josh reads while not on break is “Cognitive Reserve: Theory and Applications,” by Yaakov Stern, Ph.D. In addition to being Hugo, Lizcano steps in as the good doctor, whose book introduces the idea that doing certain activities — exercise, eating right, crossword puzzles — build up a reserve in one’s brain as a wedge against dementia. This idea of keeping memories from flowing outward to nowhere strikes him like a thunderbolt and sets him on a quest to slow down his grandparents’ mental decline — and perhaps address his own brain clutter.
Four chairs sit upstage on a riser for the quartet of elders. In a sense, they are Josh’s Greek Chorus, there to bear witness, engage and, on a few goofball occasions, act out his metaphors. His mother’s parents, Irene (Joyce Cohen) and Hank (Mark Kincaid), are of Midwest evangelical roots. With a light chirp, Irene truly is as sweet as pie. Hank’s upright, stern and not good at acknowledging his grandson is gay. He also has a scene late in the play that is unexpectedly moving for its mix of hurt and honest reckoning.
Irene is Josh’s favorite. So he’s upended when he learns she has already lost a great deal of memory. She and Hank have already relocated to an assisted-living facility when Josh comes out of his stupor and visits.
Bev and Shrimpy are Josh’s Jewish grans. (Notably absent from the play is Josh’s father or any mention of him.) Peter Van Wagner brings a fine comedic timing to Shrimpy. As he trots around in a sweat suit, spouting the sort of wink-wink, nudge-nudge lines expected of a guy refusing to act his age, he personifies the phrase “he’s a character.” (Understudy Mark Rubald’s interpretation was differently enjoyable.) At 83, Shrimpy’s prepping for his second bar mitzvah. Only he’s beginning to have trouble memorizing the passages from the Torah.
Lori Wilner’s Bev is the no-nonsense force of the play. An electrical engineer, she’s the audience’s patron avatar of “get your stuff together!” — especially as Josh’s self-indulgent bright ideas prove so exhausting in Act I. Bev has insight into Josh’s excuses but also offers bracing doses of practical compassion.
There is a panoply of ancillary characters — among them, a senior-living aide, a rabbi, a Lycra-encased aerobics instructor at the JCC — that keep Lizcano and Lock humorously busy.
There is an intriguing, enforced even, empathy to the playwright’s intentions and Butler’s staging of “The Reservoir.” Like Josh’s constant riffing that puts us into his cluttered and harried mind, the set with its iterated proscenium suggests a boxing-in. It’s smart stagecraft, if not always pretty and willfully busy.
Brasch is having a moment, a very promising one. In December, the Julliard grad received two Paul Vogel Playwriting Awards: one from Vineyard Theatre, the other from the Kennedy Center. He is developing work with the Alliance Theatre, Geffen Playhouse, Manhattan Theatre Club, The Acting Company, Farm Theater and EST/Sloan Project.
In 2023, “The Reservoir” was among four plays workshopped and performed at the Colorado New Play Summit, an annual highlight of the Denver Center Theatre Company. (Next week, another CNPS work, “The Suffragette’s Murder” by Sandy Rusin, opens; this year’s New Play Summit runs March 1-2). That staged reading (also directed by Butler) was looser, funnier. Which doesn’t mean this full production isn’t its better self. In fact, while the humor still has its moments, the heaviness rings truer. If Josh is Jake pre-sobriety, the new guy isn’t ready to let his addict-self off the hook.
“The Reservoir” is a remarkably layered and intricate work from a young playwright who is already being recognized for his gifts of timing, of wit, of emotional frankness. That he is a native son is only one more reason to keep an eye on him.
IF YOU GO
“The Reservoir”: World premiere. Written by Jake Brasch. Directed by Shelley Butler. Featuring Philip Schneider, Vanessa Lock, Rodney Lizcano, Joyce Cohen, Lori Wilner, Peter Van Wagner, Mark Kincaid. At Helen Bonfils Theater Complex, 14th and Curtis streets, through March 9. Tickets at denvercenter.org or 303-893-4100.