SYNDROME

Inside View of Tourette's as a Lifelong Companion

When people with disabilities turn up in plays and films, the story is often only partly about them; the real drama involves the struggles of the disabled person's teacher or lawyer or loved ones. ''Syndrome,'' a one-man play at the Greenwich Street Theater through Feb. 9, aggressively avoids that model. Not only does the lone character in the play have Tourette's syndrome, but so does the actor playing him.

That by itself would make this a risky work, but the premise is only the beginning of the chances taken by Kirk Wood Bromley, who wrote the script, and Joshua Lewis Berg, the actor who helped him shape it.

It would have been easy to put Mr. Berg onstage and have him tell the straightforward story of his life and its challenges. Instead, Mr. Bromley has provided an impressionistic, fragmentary script that bounces around from interior monologue to flashback to screaming fit to telephone conversation.

It is an attempt to view Tourette's from the inside, to mimic the syndrome itself, rather than having a Touretter (to use the play's term) describe himself in the language of non-Touretters. That's an ambitious agenda, and ''Syndrome'' doesn't always work, but the mere attempt makes for an intriguing, often bracing evening.

Tourette's syndrome (or in the phrase preferred by the playwright and some advocacy groups, Tourette syndrome) is a neurological disorder characterized by spasms and tics. It is a favorite of Hollywood because it sometimes manifests itself as bursts of profanity, though one of the first things Mr. Berg tells us is that this is a stereotype, that only 15 percent of Touretters display this behavior. He then, oddly, proceeds to engage in it sporadically for the rest of the hour and 45 minutes.

Mr. Berg, whose character is named Egon though the script is partly biographical, says in an accompanying essay that he is able to stifle his real-life tics when onstage, and it is quickly obvious that he is in complete control in ''Syndrome,'' since his many split-second personality changes are carefully coordinated with lighting effects.

There's something unsettling about watching an actor who does have Tourette's pretend to have Tourette's, and this feeling never quite dissipates. Gradually, though, it is overtaken by another realization: that Mr. Berg, in a demanding, intermissionless show, is giving a very fine performance.

As the play begins, Egon gets a phone call from his parents inviting him to join them at a restaurant for dinner. His reluctance to do so leads to a review of his relationship with his mother and father (''He took me for normal; she took me to the doctor'') and of his battles with Tourette's and disorders often associated with it, like obsessive-compulsive behavior. Tourette's becomes a character in the play whom Egon refers to simply as Syndrome. Syndrome, he says, hates the word Tourette; Syndrome prefers Tourist. ''According to Syndrome, I am a tourist in my body,'' Egon says, ''so I must behave myself in accordance with the manners of the local inhabitants.''

Mr. Bromley's script is full of lyricism and a fair amount of humor. One speech, in which Egon presents himself with a mock award as Best Actor Ever in a Film, deserves to be spliced into the Oscar ceremonies somehow. (''I want to thank myself for giving me so many wonderful options to use in my task of transforming myself into what I'm not.'') Too often, though, Mr. Bromley gets carried away with his own language or lost on a tangent, leaving ''Syndrome'' feeling long, and sapping some of its power.

By Kirk Wood Bromley; based on a concept by Joshua Lewis Berg; directed by Rob Urbinati; sets by Bob Olson; lighting by Scott Clyve; sound by David Weiss; costumes by Pascally Toussaint; Mr. Berg, Rachel Melanie Berg and Tisha Berg, producers. Presented by Legend. At the Greenwich Street Theater, 547 Greenwich Street.

Neil Genzlinger, New York Times
January 25, 2002

The success of the motion picture 'A Beautiful Mind' has shed new light on what it's like to live as a paranoid schizophrenic. Syndrome, Joshua Lewis Berg's new solo show running at the Greenwich.. Street Theater through Feb 9, is likely to do the same thing for a number of mental maladies including Tourette Syndrome, Attention Deficit Disorder, Obsessive-Compulsive behavior and Biopolar personality traits.

Written by Inverse Theater Company's Kirk Wood Bromley, 'Syndrome' offers an educational and entertaining glimpse into the mind and life of an actor facing his demons and struggling to become successful. In the program, Berg, who has Tourette Syndrome in real life, explains that this new work is the result of not "achieving certain acting milestones" before his 30th birthday.

Modestly successful with off-off-Broadway, but without representation or an Equity card, Berg asked playwright Bromley ('Midnight Brainwash Revival') to collaborate on 'Syndrome.' The production, which opened on Berg's 31st birthday, is the actor's first Off-Broadway credit. However, he's still looking for an agent.

Theatergoers and potential agents alike will discover Berg as an open, charismatic actor and comedian. Complemented by Bromley's rich, poetic- and often humorous - script, Berg adeptly commands the spotlight throughout the play's intermission-free, 90-minute run. A few edits would strengthen the piece (especially for A.D.D.-afflicted audience members), but overall it's a welcome addition to the genre of autobiographical-based solo productions already represented by Lauren Weedman's “Homecoming,” Pamela Gien's “The Syringa Tree” and numerous New York International Fringe Festival entries.

Set in a typical New York bachelor apartment littered with stacks of books and videotapes, 'Syndrome' opens with Berg playing an alter-ego named Egon. A phone call from his mother sets the character on a memory trip. He reveals how, at age 11, he realized that he was acquiring tics and developing differently from his peers.

"In difference, there is freedom," he reminds theatergoers, then proceeds to recall his adventures (or rather misadventures) as a person with Tourette Syndrome. He remembers attending a convention where Touretters are allowed to let their vocal, physical and psychological tics to surface without fear of ridicule. At this "convention of freaks," Egon becomes involved with a woman whose tic of choice is crotch grabbing. In another segment, Egon reminisces about a long-term affair with a Russian prostitute.

Between misguided relationships, Berg's alternate persona makes several attempts at succeeding in showbiz. These include hawking products on a cable access program, performing educational workshops for children, and appearing in an Off-Off-Broadway epic in which he only has one line of dialogue. The actor also receives visits from Syndrome, an inner-demonic character responsible for creating mental havoc. Of course, Egon combats this demon and all ends well. "It's one small step for Egon. One giant step for Egon's mind," says the performer, who feels Iike "an accidental tourist in his own body."

Skillfully directed by Rob Urbinati, 'Syndrome' shines as an example of what can be done if someone puts his mind to it. Not only does it showcase Bromley's talents as a writer and educate theatergoers about mental disorders, this likable production allows Berg to achieve a 31-year-old goal to act like "a big goof on a small stage." Congratulations.

Robert Kent, digitalcity.com
January 2002

A Show About—Fuck You!

The villain of Kirk Wood Bromley's Syndrome (Greenwich Street Theatre) is a rare, inherited neurological disorder characterized by involuntary body movements and uncontrollable vocal noises—a disease otherwise known as Tourette's syndrome. As performed by Joshua Lewis Berg, it's a malicious little ogre of a guy—possessive, vindictive, and foul-mouthed —who relentlessly preys on the good nature of our hapless narrator, also played by Joshua Lewis Berg. Watch how the diabolical villain turns the simplest task—the making of a sandwich, say—into a frenzied ordeal of self-doubt and invective. Or consider the way it bursts onto the stage (literally) at the most inopportune moments—for example, when the hero's parents are in town or, for that matter, whenever the hero, Egon, is awake or conscious or simply within a hundred miles of another human being. Like the troll from the fairy tale, it thrives on its own nastiness and won't go away without exacting some sacrifice. Or maybe it just won't go away at all.

Let's note in passing that there's something peculiarly riveting about Tourette's, on or off the stage. But having said that, I'll turn your attention to Bromley's elegant, if ingratiating, script, which manages to be thoughtful and irascible, often within the same beat, and which plays with our own discomforting associations and stereotypes. Yes, the overenunciated themes stray distressingly far into Oprah territory—especially when cornered by an obligatory conclusion—but worry not, this is no disease-of-the-week movie. Above all, I give you Berg, an actor of uncompromising talent. According to the program, Berg "lives" with Tourette's himself, though you could never tell from his focused and unerring performance. Wherever he goes from here, let's hope he keeps confounding expectations.

Jeffrey Bivens, Village Voice

See Syndrome. It's insightful, it's moving, it's smart, it's profound, and it's off-the-wall hilarious. Its star, Joshua Lewis Berg, gives a performance of rare intelligence, dexterity and integrity; its author, Kirk Wood Bromley, creates astonishing universes of existence and imagination from what we generally regard as mere words; its director, Rob Urbinati, keeps things focused and balanced even as the theatrical journey he takes us on jolts and surprises and unsettles and challenges us. Theatre should always be this intense and involving and dangerous–although if it were, we'd probably have to numb ourselves to its cathartic effects on our overloaded senses.

Syndrome is about a man with Tourette, a condition whose best-known symptoms are the verbal and physical tics that we commonly associate with it: seemingly spontaneous exclamations of presumably inappropriate language; contorting movements that appear involuntary and uncontrollable. Tourette has neurological and psychological manifestations, and as we spend time with Egon, the young actor who is Syndrome's protagonist, we experience, vicariously and even voyeuristically, what it might be like to live with this disease. Egon recounts events and anecdotes about himself and about others with Tourette, including a man who, he tells us, had the worst case imaginable.

The only reason he was alive was because he couldn't hold the gun steady, the pills kept falling out of his hand, his head wouldn't stay straight enough to slip into the noose.

The stuff of tragedy, almost.

Perhaps; but Syndrome doesn't traffic in anything so obvious or sensational. There's a traditional arc to this play, in which Egon relates his life story to us, avoiding and then eventually revealing the pivotal childhood event that led to the first onset of Tourette. But don't expect Movie-of-the-Week patness here: Berg and Bromley are on to something far deeper here than a mere examination of one patient or even one life.

For the shocking and remarkable truth about Syndrome–so specifically about a man quite like Berg himself–is how much it's about every one of us. Here's the line that follows the one I quoted above:

We all have this guy within us... everyone does... contained somewhere deep and dark in maximum security for the crime of inhibition. For me, I feel he is my uttermost wish, the phantom of my genes, the critter at the bottom of my psychic canyon, pulled from his sandy bed and put out on display. He's me without the button which reads "not now."

That's Syndrome. There's a spectacular rundown of Tourette's numerous diverse symptoms: five breathless minutes or so during which Berg displays dozens of the verbal, motor, and affective tics associated with the disease in a dizzying tour de force of acting/acting out. The revelation starts to click as you silently inventory which ones belong to you: licking lips? check; licking shoulder? nope; biting tongue? oh yes, sometimes. Suddenly, we see our own way in to understanding: we've all got this stuff inside us, but most of us suppress, or control, or bury it.

We also suppress, or control, or bury the impulses that Egon's alter egos revel in. We meet these "characters" when the disease kicks into higher, scarier gear. One is simply called "Syndrome," the feral Hyde to Egon's Jekyll, breaking loose with muffled obscenities or, more alarmingly but less frequently, torrents of imagery, violent and frenzied and obscene and impenetrable. The other is "Bayou Jones," a jive-talking, sex-fixated pimp who takes over whenever libido is aroused. Bayou is depicted as the basest, most derogatory black male stereotype you'd dare dream up. Don't we carry that inside ourselves too?

And there's the potent, marvelous core of Syndrome. On one level, this is a play about understanding: by sharing his experiences with a disease we barely know anything about, Egon/Berg helps us dissolve our anxieties and fears about something that was scary and alien. But on a deeper level, this is a play about the human urge to censor. What makes words, actions, sounds–thoughts–unacceptable? Or, putting it another way, why are your tics okay, but mine dangerous? We have much to learn from Berg and Bromley here; in Syndrome they submerge us far deeper into troubled waters than we ever expect to go.

Berg's work here is explosively effective–a physical and psychological workout of immense proportions, loaded with humor and warmth and blazing intelligence. Urbanati's staging feels flawless; the design is especially impressive, particularly Bob Olson's set, which is backed by a wall of clear plastic panels that appear to fit together but nevertheless won't interlock, as shrewd a visual metaphor as anything I can remember seeing in the theatre.

Bromley's script blows me away the same as all his work does: for originality, clarity and depth of vision, humor, and utter humanity, who can match this big-souled poet? Syndrome contains riffs on downtown theatre, on pharmaceuticals, on doctors, on sex, each of which is a little time bomb of pyrotechnic linguistic imagination and ingenuity; and riffs on sounds (like the word "tic" itself) that are like verbal jazz, taking our heads and hearts on hopped-up magic carpet rides we don't see coming and we never thought we'd take.

It's been a long time since I've seen something in the theatre that excited me as much as Syndrome did. My only message to you is, see it for yourself.

NewYorkTheatre.Com

There's something cathartic about seeing someone on a stage, expressing their innermost thoughts and desires with wanton abandon. The sense of immediacy this creates is what truly sets theatre apart from any other medium.

It is a rare occasion when this is as brazenly present as it is in the case of Joshua Lewis Berg. For over 90 minutes, regardless of what he does or says, it's not really possible to look away; you may be made uncommonly uncomfortable by the fits and starts than emanate from his body and his voice, but just try to let your attention drift. It's almost impossible.

That Mr. Berg is the only actor on the stage at the Greenwich Street Theatre is beside the point; that the play he's performing, Syndrome, is partially the story of his life matters little more. What does matter, for better or worse, is the way in which Mr. Berg draws your attention.

Berg, like the character he plays, Egon Covert, has Tourette Syndrome, and he displays the physical and verbal tics that have come to be associated with it. Watching him deal with it while portraying a character who must also deal with it is the double-layered drama on which Syndrome thrives. Of what you're seeing, how much of it comes from the character, and how much of it comes from the actor portraying him?

As such, Syndrome doesn't need much of a story and, in fact, doesn't have much of one. In Kirk Wood Bromley's script, Egon is supposedly fretting about meeting his parents for dinner (he has a very strained relationship with his father due, in part, to Tourette), but that situation is dealt with in fits and starts at most. It serves as little more than a springboard for a series of tenuously connected monologues to explain himself to the audience. Syndrome works best when it sticks to this stream of consciousness style; the script and the director (Rob Urbinati) make sure Berg and Egon (by extension) are compelling enough on their own.

The show is less secure in other areas. Having Egon's Tourette Syndrome itself appear as a character (named, of course, Syndrome) is an interesting idea, and his libido (named here Bayou Jones) is less so, but these concepts aren't executed as well. There's an all too predictable confrontation scene between Egon and each of these other characters, for example, but a sufficient dramatic reasoning for them existing as wholly separate entities from Egon is never made clear.

Bromley needn't have even bothered, as Berg is compelling enough on his own. The scenes with Syndrome and Bayou Jones are the most written and dramatically phony in the show; Syndrome is strongest when it deals with Egon and Berg working feverishly at dealing with the issues they simply can't hide from the world.

The play as a whole might be flawed, but Berg onstage, alone, laying bare his problems for the world to see, is worth the price of admission. In that way, at least, Syndrome is theatre at its best.

Matthew Murray, Off Broadway