Thinner Than Water (Melissa Ross)

I have a rule for myself: I don’t judge a playwright until I’ve read at least three of their works. It’s what let’s me confidently say that I think Adam Bock is a bad playwright, that Peter Sinn Nachtrieb is great, and that Sarah Ruhl (by and large) isn’t for me.

It also helps to avoid getting too excited by a play and crashing back down into Earth when the next thing you read by them isn’t nearly as affecting. That’s how I feel about Melissa Ross’ Thinner Than Water, a work that starts strangely, is built on an odd foundation, but does manage to find a great ending when all is said and done.
Thinner Than Water is about three half-siblings navigating their own bonds to each other. Looking back that’s what the play is about, but when I was in the middle of it I thought it was more about their shared father.

Picture from the NYTimes

This next statement is harsh, but it isn’t really meant in any particular bad way: this script does not use its characters efficiently. In most modern plays the characters are tightly pared down and frequently mix in interesting pairs. In this eight-person cast there are essentially three characters who only ever talk to one of the siblings, and there may as well be a fourth.

This led to an odd detachment as I read through the script: we took time to learn a little more about Gary, a little more about Renee, a little more about Cassie, but it didn’t feel like it was going anywhere, and that’s because it wasn’t: Ross isn’t here for the plot of taking care of their ailing father, she’s here to think about each of these three screw-ups individually.

Ultimately the play has a touching ending, one that isn’t neat, but is evocative. However, the play pales to Ross’ later work Nice Girl, and is a play I don’t think I’ll think about for too much longer.