The piece opens withimages of three women (Kralj, Ferro and Lilly) in identical old-fashioneddresses of gray, purple and red, motionless before Rick Graham’s white windowframes and glowing sea-blue backdrop, under Nathan Booth’s good lighting, andaccompanied by Warren-Crow’s electronic wood block tick-tock rhythm. Kreslinenters, representing the sailor from the Montenegrin tale that inspired thepiece. He woos each sister wordlessly, leaves her visibly changed, then settlesat the side of the stage and sings for the rest of the hour as each woman waitsin vain for her three-timing, faithless lover. In the role of yearningballadeer, in a style that combines the emotional candor and intimacy of agreat cabaret singer with the whiskey voice of a rock troubadour, Kreslin isindeed the troubled women’s soul mate.
Interestingly, thewomen’s obsession with their betrayer begins to seem sick; they are no longertragic, just creepy, and they know it. “At what point,” Kralj’s character asks,“does a choice become an obvious mistake?” Funny episodes follow, including anextended, stylized crying jag. The best moments for me came unexpectedly: Aftertaking us to disturbing places, the women sat lost in thought while Kreslinsang. It felt profoundly intimate and utterly real, and formed a shatteringbond. We can “despair without despairing,” Kralj’s character says, meaning tolearn to accept a shrunken fate. But the piece protests that.
