I’ve been told that great plays are the ones that you discuss and debate with your companion after you leave the theatre. I’ve discovered the exception that makes that rule true: Ellen Simon’s Moonlight and Valentino. Simon is the daughter of The Simon, Neil. Moonlight and Valentino is her vaguely autobiographical depiction of Rebecca, a young woman dealing with the loss of her husband after only six years of marriage. Rebecca is comforted (and driven crazy) by a trio of female archetypes: Her best friend Sylvie is a hyper new-ager; Lucy is Rebecca’s younger, wilder sister; and Alberta is the go-go divorced stepmother who sweeps in to take control of the grieving process. The fifth character, a silent role, is the hunky Valentino, a brawny housepainter that sets the four ladies ablaze with considerations of their relationship and needs for men in general. Both my wife and I disliked the production mounted at Phoenix Theatre, but for very different reasons. This was the central theme of our lively after-show discussion.

First, we both agreed that the blame for the dreadfulness of the show did not rest on the wonderful cast. Robyn Allen (Rebecca), Cathy Dresbach (Alberta), and Athena Hunting (Sylvie) are known elements, capable of pulling off stunning theatrical turns. Though not a familiar face, Frances Anita Rivera (Lucy) did justice to her role, and obviously has similar pedigree to the others with whom she shares the stage. Rick Estrada is a sexy slab, and that’s all he needs to be. Each of the ladies successfully worked their limited character arcs and tried to make real the bulky dialogue. And Estrada took off his shirt nicely. No problem with them.

Alicia fervently blamed Karla Koskinen’s direction. Because of the impressive talent brought in to perform, she reasoned that Koskinen failed to drive the actresses past the point of caricature and into the realm of empathy. She liked some of the sentiments expressed by Simon and felt that the concept had some possibility, but she couldn’t stand hearing great actresses striving to find their purpose.

I, however, believe that Koskinen has done an acceptable job of keeping the show moving. I feel that the source of the problems of the evening can be traced directly back to Simon. I know, I can hear the catcalls now. “You’re a man. You just don’t get it.” But while I admit that the forcefully genuine femininity of the writing (long-winded discussions about feelings, trite connections that try to make an easy sense of darkly deep situations) is too much for us “boys” to appreciate, the problems are much more basic and not at all gender-bound. It’s just not a very well-written work (which might explain why it appears to be her only one). No matter how you feel about her dad, Neil, you have to agree that he can make one quick-witted line of dialogue speak volumes. Here, Ellen has her characters speak volumes to circumnavigate a single line. No one talks like her four characters. No one explains everything so long-windedly and with such conviction all the time. This is a fanciful depiction of a heart wrenching time of life and pat has no place in it. Alberta and Sylvie and Lucy and toward the end Rebecca just go on and on and on, leaving things like subtlety and intimation in the wake of their never-ending discussions. With material like this to work with, it’s hard to imagine that all the talent in the world (or at least some of the best talent in the Valley of the Sun) can make it work. So in my opinion, Geoffrey Eroe’s beautiful set, Steve Carmichael’s expressive lighting, Koskinen’s frantic pacing and blocking, the four women’s valiant acting efforts, and Estrada’s pulsing pectorals can’t save this show.