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Volume Number 1 Issue Number 7 / November 10 - 16, 2006
Robbie Renfrow Shopgirl: Jessica Lynn Johnson embodies a shallow, self-involved Paris Hilton wannabe in “Oblivious to Everyone.” What would Paris Do? One-woman show explores the inner life of a media maniac By Jennifer DeMeritt What would happen if reality TV replaced reality? For “Carrie,” the main character in Jessica Lynn Johnson’s one-woman show “Oblivious to Everyone,” it has. Originally performed at this year’s Fringe Festival, the show depicts a confessed “smut-a-holic” and Paris Hilton wannabe whose tastes, values — in fact, her entire personality — come straight from daytime television. By channeling such drivel into one clueless narcissist, “Oblivious to Everyone” holds up a mirror to so-called reality TV and the people who watch it. The sight isn’t pretty. Like a walking billboard for shallow self-involvement, “Carrie” first appears stage with shopping bags akimbo, cleavage popping, and JUICY emblazoned across her well-toned hindquarters. Then she speed dials her beauty salon, requesting highlights that are “a little more Paris Hilton.” Her call finished, Carrie addresses her new therapist, supplying a tried-and-true answer to the eternal question of the one-person show: why is this woman talking for an hour? Poor Carrie suffers from split personality disorder, the pretext for Ms. Johnson to perform multiple characters. She deftly snaps into nearly a dozen reality-show stereotypes that reflect Carrie’s addiction to daytime television: the arrogant stud on the dating show “Elimi-Date,” the feminazi-hating, Bible-Belt husband on “Jerry Springer,” the trailer trash girl on a make-over show. Together, they represent the worst of American low culture: ignorant, homophobic, racist, and sexist. When she’s in non-schizo mode, Carrie, who has an oddly sweet demeanor, cheerfully embodies all the dreck that spews from her television. Her casual racism is appalling — she can’t tell the difference between her Korean and Japanese manicurists and simply doesn’t care — and her idea of femininity is freakishly regressive. She shamelessly admits that her only ambitions are shopping and man hunting, though the man hunt isn’t going so well; she got a boob job to please her fiancé, who then left her for a girl with even bigger tits (hard to imagine while looking at Carrie’s abundant cleavage) — hence her reluctant arrival in therapy. Ms. Johnson’s ability to perform these characters is impressive: each has a distinct physical vocabulary and accent (Puerto Rican, African American, southern, and more), and Ms. Johnson transitions seamlessly from one to the next. They also make good fodder for jokes like “I’d get butt implants but I’m afraid to attract minorities.” The show’s biggest belly laugh comes when she’s playing a porn star on the Howard Stern show and declares that she wants to be “Aphrodiddy.” In a single word, this brilliant joke combines sex goddess with entertainment mogul, while mocking the intelligence of the speaker. This is the kind of moment you wait for in a solo show, or any work of art — one that takes a familiar idea (in this case overblown sexuality) and shows it in a new light. Unfortunately the rest of the show falls short of this high-water mark. The TV characters are stereotypes of stereotypes — so flat and shrill they don’t seem human, even by the low standards of reality TV. They’re merely mouthpieces for attitudes that we are clearly meant to condemn, and Carrie has no identity aside from what she passively absorbs from TV. Obviously that’s the point — “I’m who the media made me” she laments in her final monologue — but the obviousness of the point makes the show feel bland in spite of the jokes. If we could hate this hapless victim of the media, watching “Oblivious to Everyone” might be as wickedly fun as watching the real Paris Hilton. But alas, Carrie is more pathetic than loathsome, and we already know that too much TV is bad for us. The end result is a charming but fangless attempt at satire. Ms. Johnson can be forgiven for this, because her performance is undeniably impressive. If she teamed with a writer instead of doing everything herself, she could create a show that’s worthy of her true talent. As it is, “Oblivious to Everyone” provides light amusement for the audience, and a strong vehicle for Ms. Johnson’s acting ability.
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