Missing the Sixties, An Apocalypse Of His Own

By now Generation X musings seem perfectly dead--or at least you wish they were. Douglas Coupland always struck you as lame and were it not for a single term he co-opted, he would be utterly irrelevant. Yet the subject still crops up. Now Generation X is embattled by its own constituents who protest that no, they really are not lazy, cynical and inarticulate, and that (yawn) life does have reaning.

Boston comedian Kim Davis is one such voice. He loves the ideals of the '60s and hates people who sneer at them. Martin Luther King Jr. and the Kennedy brothers still inspire him, and he's tired of the prevailing pessimism that seems to define his particular demographic. In a statement included in the playbill, Davis explains that Generation X signifies an apocalypse of sorts to him. It is not one ushered in by four horsemen and plenty of fire, but rather a protracted apocalypse of mass resignation similar to what Thoreau described as lives led in quiet desperation.

Whether this apocalypse has been dragging on all this time is unclear. You'll just have to ask Davis. "Greetings" reflects on life in the nineties through a mixture of comic monologues on politics and pop culture and short sketches about Davis' miserable love life. Just how the apocalypse, Thoreau and Davis' ex-'s all hang together never becomes clear but the jumble of thoughts does have a loose coherence. At least we know that Davis says we're in the midst of this apocalypse right now. Too many people meander through life with bad attitudes, and instead they should adopt a little optimism, maybe even study a little Walden.

If Davis sounds naive it's because, for better or for worse, he affects it. Naivete would seem to be the last quality someone battling cynicism in the '90s would want to use, but Davis has selected it for his comic mode. The pretension of naivete merely says that even a chowderhead knows enough to hate Nixon. It also lets him approach his monologues after the fashion of Mr. Rogers by setting himself in his own room, speaking earnestly, changing his coat and addressing the audience as though they were close friends. It's something in between an allusion to the TV-generation and a pedagogical forum for national politics and culture.

The latter ventures no further than things liberals love to hate. He takes us through thirty years of headline news and hot-button issues with takes that are equally well-worn. Standard fare, for instance, asks why John Hinckley was dubbed insane. After all, he wanted to shoot Reagan and date Jodie Foster. Other subjects include abortion doctor assassin John Hill, white guys with pent-up hostilty, and, of course, the NRA.

In the second act, Davis narrates an autobiographical side-show of himself (Dana Colt) and various romantic partners (all played by Karyn Levitt) with decidedly mixed results. Colt seems utterly bored with Davis' life, more acutely with his girlfriends and particularly with the script or lack thereof. Most of the vignettes are minimalist sketches requiring a great deal of concentration from the actors and even more patience from the audience. With an excess of dead air and awkward exchanges, some studied but others accidental, the audience loses confidence that Davis will pull out a satisfying conclusion.

In fact, far from being simple and banal, the final monologue is turgid and confusing. The closing act abandons comedy altogether for a sentimental affirmation of life as something to cherish by mixing a heavy dose of Thoreau with Davis' own ardent declamations. The rather opaque passages from "Higher Laws," "Solitude" and other essays are further obscured by Davis' casual commentary scattered throughout. When finally he concludes that he is "everything God intended in man," he is everyone from Jesus to Ghandi to Ghengis Khan, the poetics ring hollow.

Davis' sincerity compensates for an underdeveloped script, and his usually unassuming charm makes up for spotty execution. It's neither offensive nor challenging--it is a mild version of familiar ideas without a lot of importance attached. It's one guy's sincere confession and the gesture is refreshing.