Nothing Really Happens In "The Flick," But That Just Makes Room For Awesome Acting

It's literally just movie theater employees talking for three hours.

(Owen Carey)

At some point during The Flick, you might wonder if it's really just going to be about movie-theater employees talking among rows of seats for three hours. So you should know the answer is yes, that is literally all that happens.

Despite its 2014 Pulitzer Prize, Annie Baker's play is not for everyone. Namely, it's not for those who go to the theater for theatrics. The Flick aims to be as naturalistic as possible: There are long, awkward pauses. The actors say "like" a lot. And it doesn't really have a plot any more than daily life has a plot. The stage looks like a mirror of the audience's seats—the same rows of red velvet theater seats, except with a small projection box above them.

Set in a rundown theater in Massachusetts, The Flick is an aimless, touching look into the lives of three movie-theater workers who in some way feel left behind by life. They seem like nonspecific people you used to know: Sam (Isaac Lamb) speaks with a bro version of uptalk, and Rose (Rebecca Ridenour) has that edgy cool-girl, almost nasal, dragging delivery. Jonathan Thompson, as the nerdy, stiff-shouldered and limp-armed Avery, is unrecognizable from a recent commanding presence in the activist play Hands Up.

Although the characters are immediately recognizable types, they're not caricatures. All three performances are as astonishingly detailed as Baker's script, so instead of feeling one-sided, the characters just feel real. At one moment, Rose is courageously gyrating around the theater, which is empty except for Avery. But even her embarrassment doesn't last long: She makes a move on Avery as they watch a movie, gets rejected again, responds with standoffishness, and ends up having a slightly awkward heart-to-heart with her co-worker.

The play often hints at its own verisimilitude. After Sam's love for Rose is rejected near the end of the play, he slumps in one of the theater seats and faces the audience teary and puffy-eyed. His back is to Rose, who accuses him of putting on a performance. Sam denies this, and the acting is strong enough it's almost possible to believe him.

Ultimately, that's what keeps your attention for the entire three hours: Even though not much actually happens, you feel completely involved with every little thing that does.

SEE IT: The Flick plays at Imago Theatre, 17 SE 8th Ave., thirdrailrep.org. 7:30 pm Thursday-Saturday, 2 pm Sunday, through Feb. 11. $25-$42.50.

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