There is an ache in growing up — in the limbo between young and old, between an idea and creation, between desire and calling, between potential and fulfillment or disappointment. I tend to think I’ve outgrown or outsmarted this feeling until I see a piece like Primary Stages’ “On That Day In Amsterdam,” which brings me back to desires I’ve suppressed, the ghosts of what might have been.
Writer Clarence Coo’s play begins with a literal bang, when the college aged Sammy and Kevin wake up together after a rave-induced one-night stand. It’s 2015, the year “Hamilton” opened on Broadway, the year Drake’s “Hotline Bling” became a cultural touchstone, the year that Jon Snow died on “Game of Thrones.” Also taking place was the Syrian refugee crisis, when more than a million people traveled to Europe to seek asylum, the most in a single year since World War II.
Our protagonists have a single day in Amsterdam before moving onto their final destinations. Kevin, an impatient American writer and son of illegal immigrants, is captivated by the world through Sammy’s eyes. Sammy stops to take pictures of the snow. He speaks broken Dutch with the natives. He sees what Kevin can’t: the luxury — and importance — of being present. “I don’t want to tell my story,” he implores, “I just want to focus on today.”
Just as Sammy teaches Kevin, he learns from him about the power of dreams. Sammy, portrayed with striking sensitivity by Ahmad Maksoud, is a refugee, fleeing his war-torn home for a construction job in England. As they travel to the homes of great Dutch figures — Van Gogh, Rembrandt, and Anne Frank — he envisions a different future. Art school in London, visits to Kevin in New York.
“That all sounds so simple,” he says, knowing that it’s not. He, an illegal immigrant with no papers or prospects, is powerless to change his circumstances.
Director Zi Alikhan relies heavily on projections to build a world around this fleeting, magic day. Theater A at 59E59 is enclosed in a scrim that, when lit by designer Cha See, can obscure or reveal the action in an instant. It allows for projection designer Nicholas Hussong to simulate art galleries, weather changes, and sunlight, and gives the piece a distinctly cinematic feel. The audience watches from outside scenic designer Jason Sherwood’s structure, as if peering into a snow globe.
Mr. Coo’s writing lends itself well to this cinematic vision, calling to mind the dreamy fiction of authors like Haruki Murakami. He utilizes three supporting actors to represent Van Gogh, Rembrandt, Anne Frank, American tourists, inner monologues, and more. This choice can, at times, make suspending disbelief an arduous task.
The play is at its most believable — and most poignant — when it focuses on Sammy, Kevin, the questions they ask of each other, and the things they leave behind. What brings us together and pulls us apart? What makes us the same, and what makes us different? What keeps us from our potential? Self-made barriers or misconceptions, or circumstances outside of our control? Most importantly, why does it matter what we leave behind?
Near the end of the show, Kevin steps outside of the story to observe his time with Sammy from afar. He’s forgotten many details, like we all do. Did Sammy really speak with the locals? Could his Dutch have been so fluent? What did his voice sound like? Where is Sammy now? Was Sammy the refugee who drowned attempting to swim the English Channel, or one of the hundreds to die in the back of a truck?
Kevin is haunted by Sammy’s memory, beating inside him like a second heart. Like Rembrandt painting his first love in the twilight of his life, Kevin sits at his laptop, doomed to write forever about that single day in Amsterdam.
Image: Carol Rosegg
Published August 11th, 2022