Eric Schabla
Kelsey Brennan (left) plays Rachel and Brenda DeVita plays Zelda in "The How and the Why."
Two Crows Theatre Company’s production of The How and the Why, by Sarah Treem, begins with a long silence as two characters meet for the first time in 28 years. The prolonged pause at the top of the two-hander is a provocative choice for director Laura Rook, and a brilliant one. The longer the silence goes on, the more tension builds, both onstage and in the audience. It’s as if we can see the gears turning in each of the actor’s minds. Just below the surface, the women’s faces are filled with a plethora of competing questions, assumptions and analysis — as well as a cascade of emotions: love, hate, regret, longing, panic and fear. Ultimately this moment is key to who they are, how they are connected, and how they each navigate the world.
As the first act progresses, it’s revealed that Zelda (Brenda DeVita) and Rachel (Kelsey Brennan) are both scientists, working in the field of evolutionary biology. Zelda, in her mid-50s, is an established academic with prizes, publications and considerable professional stature due to her groundbreaking “grandmother hypothesis,” which attempts to explain “the how and the why” of human menopause. Her theory holds that it is a necessary biological change to women’s bodies, to ensure that younger offspring can thrive. Rachel, a 28-year-old graduate student at NYU, also has a revolutionary theory about “how and why” women menstruate, postulating that it’s a defense mechanism against the toxicity of sperm — a regular flushing of bacteria and other pathogens women are exposed to during sex.
Both of these theories are interesting on their own — and grounded in real research that has sparked plenty of discussion in the field. But more than exploring the scientific explanations for why we have evolved the way we have, the play brings up related questions that have everything to do with genetics and gender roles: the construct of marriage, the biological and/or emotional approach to human relationships, perspectives on second wave and modern feminism, historical biases against women in science and in academia, the question of whether women really have to choose either career or family, and the bonds that exist between a mother and her child, even when they have been separated for years.
Like an action that sets off hundreds of chain reactions, some with far-reaching consequences, The How and the Why asks us to start with a premise and then probe further, consider more, think harder. It is, at times, a challenging and contemplative exercise that forces us to reexamine our own beliefs about a woman’s place. It is also deeply emotional, as we see two women try to understand themselves better by learning more about each other.
The How and the Why is not a portrait of hysterical women. When plays about women in science tend to follow afterschool special-esque, hackneyed melodramatic storylines, this piece paints women scientists as intelligent, measured, flawed, but ultimately resilient people who are not overwhelmed by their feminine “frailties.” Even when the script packs in as many high-stakes complications as it can — occasionally straining credulity — these are people who revel in difficult questions, don’t settle for easy answers and persevere, just as their scientific training has taught them to.
Layer upon layer of conflict in the script is handled deftly by both actors, who give smart, nuanced performances. They have surprising moments of strength and vulnerability over the course of the play, and it’s delightful to feel allegiances switching between the two points of view, as each makes bold leaps forward and occasional missteps on their quest for “truth.”
Dressed in layers of professional garb, suits and pashminas, DeVita exudes authority without femininity. As the matter-of-fact, sometimes clinical Zelda, she is more comfortable with professional interactions than personal ones, but her urgency to pass along all that she’s learned over her life and career to Rachel is palpable. Cracks in Zelda’s emotional armor appear towards the end of the second act, as she questions her life choice to be alone — unmarried and without children — and catches glimpses of what she gave up.
As Rachel, Brennan is a young woman still finding her footing, both in her field and in her relationships. Sporting a corduroy miniskirt and a sweater over a plaid shirt, she dresses younger than she is, with a jumble of impulses that mirror her mental state. She is easily hurt and discouraged, and initially skeptical and suspicious of Zelda. Rachel grows fierce when she explains her new theory, but bursts into tears when overcome with the emotional power of her idea. On the brink of so many possibilities she waivers, wondering which path to take, and with whom. But even as she mourns the end of one possibility, we are assured that she will find and pursue many others with rigor.
The silent moment at the top of the play is repeated several times later in the story as the two scientists pause to study and marvel at each other, as if trying to compress the time they’ve been apart. This urge to understand is what’s celebrated in the play, which runs through Feb. 2 at the Slowpoke Lounge in Spring Green. And at this moment, pondering both the “how” and the “why” of our relationships and our place in the larger world feels essential.
