Wrecked

So much of Eat Megoes against prevailing wisdom about violence, its perpetrators and victims that it’s destined to be labeled controversial and anger some sensitive viewers. And yet so much of it makes some sort of brave and uncompromising sense that it’s impossible to dismiss the play as either exploitation or antifeminist backlash. (In fact, I came to conclude that it’s not about gender politics at all, which is perhaps why Wright gave her woman a man’s name.) As Tommy and Bob’s scarred histories push through — a process that starts when he berates her for not having written a suicide note and presumes to write one on her behalf — we’re reminded that cruelty to oneself and others comes from the same place of unexpressed suffering, a place that exists in every one of us to some degree. The audience may find that an uncomfortable revelation; so do Tommy and Bob. And that may be Eat Me’s cruelest, and most vivid, point: The knowledge that restrains us, collectively or individually, from bringing pain and ruin to others’ lives may also make it impossible for us to go on living. Told to the murmur of Martin Carrillo’s piano music and a television stuck ominously on afternoon reruns — an element that underscores the vaguely sickening mood — it’s a devastating story. Like so many devastating stories well told, however, Eat Meis ultimately enriching. If you don’t turn away from it, you leave knowing you’ve witnessed something whose implications are bigger than its modest parts.

EAT ME | By JACQUELINE WRIGHT | At the McCADDEN PLACE THEATER, 1157 McCadden Place, Hollywood | (323) 856-8611 Through September 18