To see a Marga Gomez show is to see her life. A bewildered child of eccentric showbiz performers, an adolescent whose adventures sustain vivid impact, and a lovelorn lesbian whose slapstick tangles with romance may not have been much fun at the time but provide big laughs now. These have been among the subjects of Gomez's past solo shows.
But in Lovebirds, Gomez creates a fictional set of characters whose lives are obsessively chronicled by a happily addled street photographer known as Polaroid Phillie. Working with director David Schweizer, Gomez takes a gentler route from her often anything-for-a-laugh antics (and to be fair, these antics usually got the laughs they were seeking), and the performer brings skill and welcome empathy to the diverse population she creates on the Marsh stage.
The always-smiling Polaroid Phillie takes us on a journey through recent decades of Greenwich Village life. She targets in on young couples, cajoling them into having their picture taken together, and if they balk at the $10 price, she points out the increasing rarity of Polaroid film and throws in a genuine imitation wood frame to seal the deal. Behind her are cartons upon cartons of past Roids dating to the 1970s, when Greenwich Village was a on a post-lib collision course of socio-political agendas.
Through Polaroid Phillie's memories, we meet just-off-the-bus Barbara, whose first foray into a lesbian club lands her in the firm embrace of a diminutive butch dyke known as Turkey. But Barbara is on a feminist journey, changes her name to Dahlia, and rejects Turkey as being too "heteronormative." Even applause, in the hypersensitivity of these times, is considered an aggressive act, symbolizing a strike across the face. Better to murmur your appreciation.
The tendrils of other lives spin off from these principals, including Barbara's burly nightclub-owner father trying to inflict the song stylings of his current mistress on his audience, the rad-fem teacher who's pulled Barbara from Turkey's embrace, and a professor whose somnambulistic manner is at odds with his theory that humans need only minutes of sleep a night. In one way or another, these characters do have significant intersections, and Gomez manages to make them memorably distinct through just the strength of her presence.
Toward the end of the show, Gomez jumps the wall she had erected between herself and her fictional characters. Gomez, as herself, seeks romantic advice from Polaroid Phillie following a painful breakup. Whether the fictional character Gomez has created possesses more knowledge than she herself is left ambiguous, but it's an invitingly plaintive moment from a performer who seems at a crossroads.
Lovebirds will run at the Marsh through March 15. Tickets ($15-$35): call 282-3055 or go to themarsh.org.