Review: ‘Job’
Emilio Madrid
I first saw Job in September of 2023. I had heard the rumblings of a new two-actor one-act play tucked away in a tiny theatre downtown. The run quickly sold out after buzzy word-of-mouth, critical acclaim, and a handful of celebrity endorsements. In the days following my solo trip to the SoHo Playhouse, I couldn’t stop thinking about Job, haunted yet mesmerized by playwright Max Wolf Friedlich’s ability to distort my perception of reliability. It immediately earned its rightful spot on my Best Theatre of 2023 list.
The same production has returned to Off-Broadway this winter - now at the East Village’s Connolly Theatre. As 18 upcoming shows race to open on Broadway between March and April amidst a challenging economy, Job is a much-needed reminder of what defines theatre: an actor and an audience sharing a space. I find that simplicity can create the most powerful, groundbreaking theatre. Job requires no spectacle, opting instead for a case study that is equal parts riveting and shocking
Burnt-out Millennial Jane (a brilliant Sydney Lemmon) has recently been doxxed from a tech job after her severe panic attack was filmed and posted across social media. An endless thread of memes and hateful commentary follows - the modern-day equivalent of a witch at the stake. The tech company in question? It remains unnamed, so that doesn’t Meta… As requested by the company’s HR department which allegedly has no legal grounds to terminate her employment, Jane is permitted to return to work if she receives evaluation and approval from a licensed therapist. She seeks out counsel from crisis therapist Lloyd (an equally brilliant Peter Friedman) and our play suddenly begins in a moment of attempted murder.
The structure of Job is rather straightforward: an 80-minute conversation between doctor and patient. The language is colloquial, the discussions are topical, and the characters are familiar. In live theatre, very rarely do the audience and characters experience a paralleled passing of time. But here, we experience Jane’s therapy appointment at the same time she and Llyod do. There are no costume changes, no large-scale scene transitions, and no day-to-night subtle lighting shifts that fast-forward our clocks to let us breathe. Michael Herwitz directs with a suspenseful, intense pacing that refuses to let our minds wander. Job absorbs you entirely, blocking out stomach grumbles that echo a pre-show dinner or sneezes that transport us back to a not-too-distant Germ Frenzy.
Emilio Madrid
Scott Penner’s modern psychologist office is interrupted by an abyss of darkness, a void that is made even more foreboding by Jessie Char and Maxwell Neely-Cohen’s cacophony of erotic moans, camera clicks, and speeding cars. The turbulent flashes of light by Mextly Couzin are the cherry on top of this growing pile of dread.
Lemmon and Friedman, who both appeared in HBO’s Succession, deliver a masterclass in contemporary acting. The two-hander is perfectly balanced by Lemmon’s energetic dissent with Friedman’s passive restraint. The dialogue seems to flow from each of them organically as they race to make sense of complicated emotions and battle for righteousness.
For the majority of the play, Jane appears scatter-brained, chaotic, and defensive. She’s a loose cannon ready to snap back with the cadence of a private Twitter account on a political tirade while Lloyd surreptitiously tip-toes through the mine field that is her brain. But as onlookers, we’re not able to dismiss Jane. Friedlich and Lemmon have fueled this character with so much intelligence and experience that we find Jane alluring even if, at times, we’re frightened by her. She’s erratic, but not crazy. Unhinged, but not stupid. It’s easy to associate fear with uncertainty. Uncertainty over elections and pandemics. Economies and natural disasters. Ghosts and the dark. While Job manages to strike this fear of the unknown, it reminds us that truth itself is terrifying too. Learning the root of who someone is can be far scarier than the idea created in one’s head.
In Job, there’s a fine line between disdain and admiration. The shifting ownership of power between Lloyd and Jane is what makes this piece so nerve-wracking. We’re never certain of who’s the reliable narrator and Friedlich, while meticulous with the bits of exposition he gives, has no interest in spoon-feeding us answers. Instead, his extraordinary play dares to question all sides of humanity - the flaws, complexities, secrets, quirks, triggers, and horrors.