A Fatal Step
Jill Vice
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| Jill Vice |
Maybe the archetype goes all the way back to Eve and the
apple. Ancient models can be traced to
Jezebel, Delilah, and Salome in the biblical era or Aphrodite, Helen of Troy,
or Medea from the Greek and Roman myths.
Jumping millennia ahead into the 1930s and ‘40s Hollywood, the great
femme fatales – “fatal women,” sometimes referred to as “maneaters,” vamps, or
even witches – include Phyllis (Barbara Stanwyck) in Double Indemnity, Cora (Lana Turner) in The Postman Always Rings Twice and Brigid (Mary Astor) in The Maltese Falcon. And who can forget the most notorious of
curvy, sexy seductresses, Natasha Fatale from Rocky and Bullwinkle?
Joining this long line of mysterious, seductive women who
use their perfume-laced charms to ensnare supposedly poor, innocent (and
usually hunky) lovers is now Jill Vice, author and performer of the satirical
thriller, A Fatal Step, soon to
complete its extended run at The Marsh in San Francisco. What makes A Fatal Step particularly enlightening as well as hilariously
entertaining is that Ms. Vice (and that is in fact her real name) tells this
tale from the viewpoint of the enchantress herself, allowing her character to
lure in the audience with her hypnotic powers. We willingly are on her side in the conflicts,
crises, and crimes to ensue – those largely of her own making of course.
Prone to stand with her hip shifted to the side with one
hand resting ever so lighting on it, Sarah is naturally in a dress tight and
red, with dipping neck line and a slit up the back hem that parts nicely to
show her stocking legs whenever she turns her back to us. Yes, she is determined to seduce us just as
she has her live-in lover, Frank. Sarah
has that required Southern accent that has some aristocracy hints in it; and
she has red, red lips that smack, purse, and open wide is innocent amazement on
cue. She is totally delicious in a very
dangerous way.
As this former nursery worker who has a thumb green for
growing creeping plants and vines spills her tale of woe, she introduces us to
a host of characters to populate in delightful ways the story. First and foremost, there is her boyfriend,
Frank, a podiatrist (just imagine the foot jokes that find their way into the
telling) who calls her “Shh-arahhh” in his back-of-the-throat voice like Sam in
Casablanca. Jill tells us that Frank is “just tall enough
he could reach my hat shelf but not so tall I had to strain to kiss him.” From her pantomimed gestures, we can imagine
Frank having broad shoulders and large hands that know how to stroke her curves
and curls.
We also meet Alice, Jill’s best friend with a high, pebbly
voice that sounds straight from a Saturday morning cartoon. Into her and Frank’s life comes Alice’s
friend, Hope, “too tall for proper pumps ... with mousy brown hair” who is
“painfully optimistic.” Hope sits with
her toes tucked inward and has a little-girl voice to match her mousy
hair. The too-too nice Hope becomes soon
the rival that every femme fatale must have in order to do her harm. In this case, Hope convinces Frank to quit
his practice and to open a free foot clinic in the Tenderloin for the homeless where
Hope herself will use her angelic tears and her long hair to welcome folks off
the street, cleaning their tootsies as they enter the clinic.
What becomes more and more stunning about Jill Vice’s
performance is how seamlessly she switches from one character to the next in
voice, accents, countenance, posture, idiosyncratic twitches, and foot
placement – often having two to three of them in rapid conversation or tense,
desperate arguments with each other. We
also get to meet Frank’s bed-ridden mother, Mona, whose deep, gravelly voice
calls out from her severely down-turned mouth.
There is also the squatty, froggy-voiced reporter with bowed legs from
“Foot Medicine Magazine” and the stoned Lyft driver who is quick to give his
advice and counsel for Sarah’s sky-rocketing concerns that she is losing her
man to that do-gooder, not-at-all-pretty Hope.
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| Jill Vice |
David Ford, who aided in the piece’s development, has
created a lighting design that has Hitchcock-familiar shadows and projections
that smack loudly of film noir. A
window’s Venetian blinds fall cock-eyed against the back wall while later a
rotating spiral provides great parody of scenes from Vertigo. Mark Kenward’s
direction is a great partner to Ms. Vice’s innate abilities to weave a tale of
stock characters that have their feet planted both in the 1940s and in current
San Francisco, where a raised eyebrow, a upturned lip, or a flick of a finger
speak volumes in ensuring the mimicry of film noir occurs in subtle but
distinct flair.
The sixty minutes of A
Fatal Step are so packed with characters, twists and turns as well as
screen-worthy moments of drama that in the end, it is difficult to believe that
all that could be done in just one hour.
The length is perfect as is Jill Vice’s satirical, but loving homage to
the femme fatale.
Rating: 5 E
A Fatal Step
continues through in an extended run through April 28, Thursdays at 8 p.m. and
Saturdays at 8:30 p.m., at The Marsh, San Francisco, main stage, 1062 Valencia Street. Tickets are available at http://themarsh.org or by calling 415-282-3055
Monday – Friday, 1 – 4 p.m.
Photo
Credit: Jill Vice
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