Monkey See, Monkey Do

It takes a moment to realize that Trevor, sulking and dressed as an overgrown teenager in a T‑shirt and sweats, is actually a 200-pound chimpanzee.

At first, he just seems like the former. He has taken his mother’s car without her permission, and shows no remorse as he drops the keys onto the counter, and sinks into the sofa.

It’s only once she, still fuming, storms in and begins speaking that something seems way off. There’s a communication divide, and it has everything and nothing to do with the bounds of human language.

So begins Nick Jones’s Trevor, which runs this Thursday through Saturday from the New Haven Theater Company at EBM Vintage on Chapel Street. This weekend’s performance is an encore to last weekend’s opening; ticket information can be found here. 

Inspired by a real-life chimpanzee attack in Stamford eight years ago, Trevor draws its strength from its capacity for empathy, and uncanny ability to straddle narrative worlds until something redeeming about every character has been revealed.

Purchased by a now-absent father as a baby chimp in a Wal-Mart parking lot, Trevor (Peter Chenot) is now 11, and living with a human mom/keeper Sandra (Sandra Rodriguez) in a small apartment with chipping red paint and a permanent mess on the floor. After a childhood enhanced, or perhaps plagued, by a TV appearance with Morgan Fairchild (Susan Kulp), Trevor wants to get back to acting; he sees human behavior as something honorable to approximate, and scorns other chimps. His happiest moments are those in which Fairchild, of whom he carries a life-sized cardboard cutout, struts through his memories in several-inch heels, begging him to do another commercial.

This is what sets his world — and the world of everyone around him — in a slow, off-kilter orbit. Sandra never expected to raise Trevor on her own, but she’s deep in denial about the care he needs, and quickly comes to barbs with sleep-deprived new mom Ashley (Melissa Smith). It’s a basic problem and we can see both sides: Sandra wants to protect her chimpanzee child, and Ashley wants to protect her new human baby. Then we have police sergeant Jim (Erich Greene) and friendly animal control dude Jerry (Chaz Carmon), who both think Trevor would be happier and safer in a sanctuary. The gorilla in the room might not actually be the 200-pound chimpanzee.

Rather, it’s what he stands for — our maddening ability to jump to conclusions, talk straight past each other, and cause profound hurt in the process — that resonates throughout the show. Depicting Trevor’ struggle is a balancing act that director Drew Gray pulls off beautifully. Working with each of the characters, he has pulled strains of robust humor, deep sadness and misunderstanding, and gnawing regret from the script, placing them just far enough apart to strike with alarming impact.

The cast’s performances transport audience members from Chapel Street to some confounding yet candid animal control situation. As Trevor, Peter Chenot channels both a petulant teenager and something not exactly human, performing human mannerisms that feel forced or maladjusted. It’s exultant and heartwarming: the verve with which he embraces the demands of his role (picking a fellow actor for nits, playing guitar and roller skating as a monkey might, showing chagrin at pooping himself) isn’t just endearing. It yanks us in, and makes us want to believe everything is going to work out for him.

That’s also true of Sandra, for whom it is hard not to feel a mix of pity, empathy, and contempt. In Rodriguez’s expressive approach, the audience feels Sandra’s every setback and triumph, the depth of her grief. Petite and almost-orderly beside a slovenly Chenot, she’s got the nervous nellie meets headstrong working mom down to a science.

They are both bolstered by vignettes and fever dreams from Oliver (Trevor Williams), who raises the cast’s energy each time he comes onstage. Playing the suave, smooth-talking and spiffily-dressed chimpanzee who has made it — or so we think for a while — in the television world, Oliver is sort of a foil to Trevor, and he embraces the role wholeheartedly. His speech is an infomercial. His eyes, a sparkling blue, appear not to close. He is a statue from Madame Tussaud’s coming back to life, all veneer and incredibly pleased about it. Williams breathes life into the character, drawing succinct laughs that are both funny and not. For the latter, it seems that Oliver has learned already what we will come to recognize.

Even the NHTC set — a meager apartment, with a chimpanzee-sized wire and mesh cage outside of it — becomes a character in this warm little work. Nestled in the small black box theater space at English Building Markets on Chapel Street, the set doesn’t waste space. Instead, it zeroes in on how quickly clutter can become claustrophobic. Around a couch with perpetually rumpled cushions, there are unframed pictures stuck to the wall, a cutout of Fairchild, toys scattered about. A small kitchen sits to the upper right, a dining table to the lower right. We know from the beginning of the play that a confrontation has to happen, but it becomes so intimate by the end of the work that we are surprised when it does. 

Despite hearty literary nods to Daniel Quinn’s Ishmael and Arthur Miller’s Death of a Salesman, Trevor is much more than the inside of an elevated chimp joke. This smart, heavy, candid, and heartfelt play asks you to travel to the limits of your comfort zone, and sit down next to someone you don’t quite understand.

Strike up a conversation. Don’t ask what happens when a chimp walks into a bar. It’s much more interesting to see what happens when he walks into a home, and tries to make it his own. 

The New Haven Theater Company’s production of Trevor runs Mar. 2, 3, and 4 at 8:00 p.m., at the NHTC stage at English Building Markets, 839 Chapel St. Click here for tickets and more information.