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[0:00] Robert W. Schneider: Hey friends, we have some exciting news here at Behind the Curtain. Do you remember Shetler Studios? Well, they are now back in business and they are now called Amda Studio Rentals. Same great location, but with incredibly beautiful new renovations. Yes, Amda Studio Rentals is now the new go-to rehearsal and audition facility in the heart of New York's theater district. Amda Studio Rentals offers studio space for acting, music, and dance at unbeatable prices, including 40% off same-day rentals. For more information, go visit them at www.amdastudiorentals.com or give them a call at 917-522-9753. I am sure we'll see you there.

[0:49] Robert W. Schneider: Hello, friends. Hope you are doing well. Today, we are starting a new portion of Behind the Curtain, Broadway's Living Legends, one that is called Critics Corner, where we're going to shine a spotlight on some of the wonderful theater that's going around the New York City area. And today, we're taking a look at Colin Quinn's show, Small Talk, or as we like to call it, the diminishing returns of an ancient tradition, Small Talk at the Lucille Lortel. For over 30 years, Colin Quinn has been a fixture of American popular culture. His varied occupational titles in the world of entertainment have included barfly comic, hardworking headliner, a seat at the Saturday Night Live's writer's table, and holder of the most coveted position, that of the weekend update anchor person, a stint that is best remembered even in his own correct inadmission for his low placement amongst all those who have appeared on the iconic TV show.

He's a film actor and a survivor not only of the mean streets of Brooklyn, but a 2018 heart attack that he vowed would not kill him, but if it did, the public would see a funeral that would outshine that of Al Capone's.

[1:55] Robert W. Schneider: Now Quinn can add another title to his resume, Soothsayer. Quinn is no stranger to the world of solo shows, having focused on topics as varied as the politics of the American voter, like in 2013's Unconstitutional, to the politicking of mourners in his first solo outing in 1998 in Irish Wake. But with Small Talk, Quinn's new show playing at the Lucille Lortel, Quinn uses his ability as a self-appointed professor of interpersonal civics to peer into the future of interpersonal communication and warn us all of its pending destruction, if it has not been destroyed already. While it would be easy to compare Quinn to the landmark solo artists who made a name for themselves dissecting the news of the day like Mort Sahl or Jackie Mason, Quinn takes this genre of storytelling one step further because instead of staying fixated with the present and its current grievances, Quinn uses the events of today as a springboard to explore what he sees as an impending cyclical destruction of interpersonal communication and compassion.

[3:01] Robert W. Schneider: Surrounded by chalkboards with drawings of various images of ancient communications and a simple stool that he is too agitated to sit on, as if that relaxation would stop his urgent need to proselytize, Quinn's observations explore the unspoken contracts that we make with one another. Dressed like a middle-aged man who's about to go on his first Tinder date and speaking with the cadences of a Brooklynite who feels that traveling abroad means trekking to Westchester, Quinn firmly plants himself center stage and speaks to us as if we are his fellow bar patrons. This is his turf and we are the newbies who must listen to his worldviews as we wait for him to pour our necks around. His first topic of the evening is the face-to-face communication contracts that have been in place since the beginning of time and how, while there are no legal ramifications for breaking those contracts, they are sacred and holy in the world of small talk. If you break this contract, you will be banished to the prison of not being included in conversation and banishment that is a life sentence to a society that now does not forgive.

[4:55] Robert W. Schneider: Quinn sees communication as a reflection of the society in which the communication exists, and as means of communication changes, so does the reflection and the boundaries of what is and is not allowed. And as a new generation only knows communication without any face-to-face interaction, the primal animal instinct that lays dormant is now ready to be unleashed. There are no consequences. We are ready to speak with one intention, and that is to prove superiority over the listener. And if you do not wish to engage, that disengagement is applauded as boundary setting as opposed to antisocial. As Quinn observes with the factual tone of a guidance counselor, we have become obsessed with being our authentic self.

And as he says, quote, I got news for you. Your authentic self is not your best self. Quinn tells a humorous anecdote about making eye contact with a toddler who clearly does not have a desire to engage in small talk of any kind, meaning the next generation might be the asteroid hurtling towards the dinosaur of in-person conversation.

[6:03] Robert W. Schneider: Soon Quinn becomes a street smart secretary of education advising us that our children should take classes that really matter, like how to nod your head at after work bar nights and throwing out statistics. Quote, we're not robots yet, but we're halfway there. Between phones, AirPods and self-checkout, small talk is down 87 percent and that people who nod yes while not understanding a word being said end up being more successful than those who do not. Well, Quinn is making us laugh at how often we have been that person. We secretly must ask ourselves, if we know a co-worker cannot hear us, then why do we still talk openly oblivious to the fact? Perhaps it's because we need to keep small talk going even when we know there is no end goal.

It is just the tradition must be upheld unless we are deemed odd. What Quinn puts alongside humorists like Mort Sahl is that he sees absurdity in both political parties whose communication is cult-like. He says the Democrats are the Manson family, tossing word salads into the world of social media. The Republicans are the people's temple, drinking whichever Kool-Aid is convenient for the moment.

[7:55] Robert W. Schneider: One of Quinn's most enlightening political observations is how we seek a truth we truly do not want from our leaders. We shake our head in disbelief when a president of the United States, red or blue, stands amongst poverty and destruction and proudly exclaims, everything's great, America's strong. But as Quinn points out, what would happen if the president stood in front of the camera and, in a Madea-like fashion, admits that nothing is good and it's not going to be good. In fact, it's going to be horrible and there's no end of this pain in sight. We thank you, President Schopenhauer. As we laugh, we realize Quinn is right and we realize, for better or worse, we need to be lied to and feel comforted, which is what words give us.

It's what small talk provides. Yet this is not an evening of pessimism or despair. In fact, Quinn sees humankind, regardless of what it might say in the I generation, a generation that cannot seem to see beyond its ability to put one another in boxes, as one that wants to connect and coexist in a way so that everyone gets to succeed.

[8:15] Robert W. Schneider: The ability to make small talk a simple connection over weather or traffic or sports is the entree into another human's psyche. And that bare minimum, with its odd rules, is fundamental to the health of any society. Colin Quinn's dyspeptic coarseness is never off-putting in the 70-minute exploration of our need to be heard and recognized. In fact, his unvarnished ability to speak pure truth and the simplicity of the stage environment, which is enhanced by James Favreau's gentle direction, pulls us even closer to his observations. Quinn never cares about sacred cows, political correctness, or placating either side of the divide, refuting buzzwords that he knows would get an ovation from either side of the aisle.

While there are a few moments here and there where you hope Mr. Quinn would get the message that we get his message, those moments are minute compared to the wisdom and guidance he has imparted on a group of strangers who find themselves grasping for the right words upon exiting the theater, more aware of the power we hold in our initiation of small talk. Once again, the show is called Small Talk. It's down at the Lucille Lortel. If you want to get tickets at www.colinquinshow.com, that's www.colinquinshow.com. This is Diminishing Returns of an Ancient Tradition. It's Small Talk at the Lucille Lortel.