Human conception is often the byproduct of another activity made pleasurable, presumably so the species carries on. But procreation by choice likely comes from more than the built-in urges provided by nature, and when pregnancy doesn't or can't happen, it can become an urgent issue for reasons that surround us as well as those inside us. There is dejection built into the word "childless," which is heard much more frequently than "child-free."
This is a well-trod subject for fiction, film, and drama, and even the more delimited world of same-sex parenting has become a familiar topic. But Sarah Gubbins' The Kid Thing, now at New Conservatory Theatre Center, adds unexpected layers to the choices facing two lesbian couples. The reasons for and against parenthood vary not only from couple to couple, but from woman to woman. And even the characters do not always understand these reasons, at least not until all pretense is finally stripped away.
The Kid Thing, first seen in Chicago in 2011, opens with a dinner party hosted by the feminine Leigh and the mannish Darcy for their friends, the feminine Margo and the mannish Nate. These gender attributes are not assigned blithely, but are invoked by the characters themselves for reasons that become increasingly germane.
Plays that begin with dinner parties often launch on a familiar trajectory, and The Kid Thing is no exception. Lively banter swerves into more serious terrain, setting up the increasingly tense scenes that follow. In this case, however, even the early banter has an edge. The four have just returned from seeing the Michael Jackson tribute movie This Is It, and reactions to the late icon vary from pedophile whose own children are "collateral damage" to a "celebrity tranny" to be enjoyed for his music and collateral weirdness.
Guests Margo and Nate have a surprise to drop on Leigh and Darcy, figuring it would be a happy coda to the evening. The well-grounded Margo is pregnant with an offspring that she and the childlike Nate plan to raise together, and while Leigh is aflutter at the news, hauling out seven flavors of sorbet and a bottle of champagne to celebrate, her partner Darcy only perfunctorily joins the celebratory mood. After the guests have left, Leigh is ready to reignite the back-burnered question of their own possible parenthood, and while never coming out and declaring she doesn't want to be a parent, Darcy deflects the issue in ambiguous fashion.
Darcy, in her preferred attire of suit and tie, is the play's most compelling character, whose sardonic comments and reactions are enjoyed by the other characters, at least up to a point. It's hard to imagine anyone better in this role than Desiree Rogers, who not only sharply delivers the lines but also is fascinating to watch for the nuances in both her verbal and physical reactions to what displeases her for increasingly complex reasons.
Director Becca Wolff confidently stages the play on Yusuke Soi's set of simple elegance, and elicits a cast-wide set of fine performances. Sarah Coykendall gives the womb-ready Leigh a bright-eyed enthusiasm that gets close to mania in difficult situations. Kimberly Ridgeway provides a welcome stability as the pregnant Margo, and Jaq Nguyen Victor spreads a likeable flightiness as the possibly parentally unready Nate. Nick Mandracchia plays the donor whose sperm impregnated Margo, and from whom Leigh eagerly wants the same service. Mandracchia, burlier than the dialogue suggests, nevertheless creates an amiable character thrust into a battle not of his choosing.
Playwright Gubbins distracts from the play's core with an unnecessary subplot of spousal cheating, and the play ends on such a vague note that the audience sat quietly waiting for the next scene until the actors arrived for the curtain call. Even so, The Kid Thing is often quite funny, bracingly serious, and bravely revelatory. Parenthood, it is often said, makes believers out of even the nervously reluctant. But the self-loathing that the play eventually reveals might be a stop sign worth observing.
The Kid Thing will run at New Conservatory Theatre Center through Dec. 13. Tickets are $25-$45. Call (415) 861-8972 or go to nctcsf.org.