The office of the modern day Webster’s Dictionary is not the first place you’d expect for a commentary on feminism, generational conflict, and the nature of language itself to erupt. But that’s where a team of unassuming lexicographers find themselves in the DC premiere of Jacqueline Bircher’s Webster’s Bitch after a clip of their boss deploying the titular slur goes viral over the course of a hectic evening.
Directed by Keegan Artistic Director Susan Marie Rhea, Bircher’s script is sharp and breezy in the mouths of a talented ensemble cast: Webster’s younger resident linguists, Gwen (Fabiolla da Silva) and Nick (Andrés F. Roa), plus elder, Joyce (Sheri S. Herren), their newly-famous boss, Frank (Timothy H. Lynch), and Gwen’s visiting sister, Ellie (Irene Hamilton). From the first moments to curtain, da Silva, Roa, and Herren bring the specific sort of niche but abiding passion required for linguists working at Webster’s Dictionary. Their clashes over the political and social contours of the word “bitch” and other bits of crude slang are a delight to see play out. Hamilton also steals her share of the show as a bubbly, but obnoxious, wild card constantly popping out against the staid surroundings of the Webster’s office. Lynch’s Frank is so pitch perfect as the oblivious boomer boss that you almost forget he’s the driving force of the show’s conflict.
Satisfied as I would have been with a full evening of debate around the finer points of profanity, the play dips into a few different thematic pools as Frank’s outburst spreads from Twitter mentions all the way up to The New Yorker. Around the midpoint, a dichotomy around Herren’s Joyce comes more clearly into view. She has a clear claim to victimization by a patriarchal workplace (Frank’s utterance was referencing her), but her thorough dressing down of Gwen over the latter’s pay discrepancy with her male coworker complicates that narrative. It’s a difficult line that Herren navigates well, with moments of unexpected vulnerability, sharing space alongside interactions that show how she may have come to develop a certain cold reputation. She and da Silva bring a palpable tension and clear history to these scenes in another highlight of the show.
Matthew J. Keenan and Cindy Landrum Jacobs’ set design splits the space in half. The players work in their carefully-detailed, leather and wood office adorned with tacky office ephemera and grayscale portraits of Webster’s founders. Right above them hangs a haphazard, stage-length chandelier of randomly arranged dictionary pages that emphasizes the ever present chaos beneath the surface of their regular office life. It provides a unique canvas for Dean Leong’s lighting where it may have felt too incongruous on the ground. Shadia Hafiz’ costumes also serve the personality of the characters well, from Ellie’s bright yellow top and ripped jeans to Joyce’s sharp-lined gray business suit. It all adds up to a surprisingly pretty show at times, given the overall lower key level of spectacle.
Webster’s Bitch likely won’t be redefining anything in the theatrical lexicon, but it’s a high-energy play with some stellar performances, plenty of laughs, and a healthy amount of worthwhile commentary despite its occasionally scattershot focus. That’s a show worth seeing by most definitions.