Cedar Rapids - In 2008, General Motors closed a metal-stamping plant in Wyoming, Michigan, resulting in the loss of 1,500 jobs. The plant had been a major force in the city for decades, and the effects of its closing were wide-reaching. Austin Bunn, a professor and playwright, went to Wyoming to get the personal stories of those affected by the change. His play Rust, co-written with Sean Christopher Lewis, opens at CSPS this weekend. It is a creative and moving piece of documentary theatre, which not only tells very human stories but asks huge questions: how and why is America's economy changing so drastically? What does it mean if we lose the capacity to work with our hands—to really make things? Can people adapt, or has GM effectively killed the city it helped build?
Bunn conducted hundreds of interviews while developing Rust, and his compassion and curiosity show in the writing. The structure of Rust is fast-paced and mercurial, as the piece shifts from the perspective of Bunn himself (played by Matthew James), to video clips and snippets from interviews spoken by the actors of the ensemble (Martin Andrews, Jennifer Fawcett, K. Michael Moore, Luis Sierra, and Jessica Wilson), to the personal story of two displaced workers who grew close while enduring a four-hour commute together.
James' portrayal of Bunn is engaging. The story begins with a bit of nostalgic dreaminess, romanticizing the American worker, and we get to watch his character grow as he comes to better understand how complex a problem he is dealing with. His curiosity and concern drive the play forward. He starts by reminiscing about watching his father build cars: "I had watched it come apart, and I was supposed to know how to build it back up." Bunn, a somewhat naive academic, seems determined to make up for his inadequacy at the top of the play. He drives into blue-collar neighborhoods with his corduroy and his Japanese car, comically uncomfortable but determined to press on. It's as if he can figure out what broke the country, and that knowledge will empower him to put all the parts back together again. Of course, nothing's that simple.
It's becoming increasingly clear that, as Bunn's colleague says, we're no longer concerned with how things are made, but how they're bought. American manufacturing, for a variety of reasons, has all but left the country. Whether you blame corporate greed or market forces is really a matter of your perspective—from the outside the economy is a complicated engine that even experts disagree on. Bunn is looking for the engine that drives the thing—the American dream—the idea that hard work will always be rewarded. "I always thought the American dream was a linear thing," he says, "each generation getting closer to prosperity. Turns out it's more of a squiggly line." It's something he has to come to terms with: America's once mighty factories for metalworking are not as immortal as they seem; rust is inevitable. Bunn manages to find optimism in this, showing those who adapt and better themselves, but there are also some moving stories of loss.
One story of struggle is that of Hank, a union rep who was in the dark about the close, and who is thrown together with a co-worker as they share a mind-boggling four-hour drive to their new job in Reno, Illinois. Scenes from their story are interspersed with interviews, short but intensely dramatic: we see the shock and fear when they learn the plant is closing, the long car ride where she learns to "build capacity" between rest stops, the cheap hotel where Hank pines for the deck he is building at home. Andrews and Wilson work well together in these roles, building very real characters very quickly and loading the scenes with romantic tension. It's a very desperate relationship -- these two are pushed into a corner by forces much bigger than themselves, and they grab onto the only human contact available. When Fawcett appears as Hank's wife, her civil, graceful rage seems the only natural response.
It's of course impossible to tell all the stories of the loss of 1,500 jobs in one night, but Rust is very effective at making a theatrical collage of people's statements and feelings. There are a wide range of reactions: some are mad at GM, some are mad at the Union. Some are more philosophical, realizing that they had it pretty good to have such a great job, back in the days when the American car industry truly was great. There are some very colorful characters: Sierra plays a suicidal homeless man who reminds Bunn that "someone else is holding the end of this rope," Andrews an excitable tinkerer who has gone to college and learned to build computers instead of cars, Moore a migrant worker who cares less about the big picture and more about how to provide for his son, Wilson a life-long GM loyalist who has decided to take a risk and start a bike shop. This last is very striking: Wilson rides in on a bike and grabs the audience's attention, recreating the tough and optimistic proprietor of Bad X Sports. "Life is 10% what comes at you, and 90% how you react," she remarks.
All of this is held together by the direction of Sean Christopher Lewis; Angie Toomsen co-directs. The two are able to focus a wide variety of subject matter into a collage of very human stories, and their skill in guiding these incredible actors comes through in the effective way the numerous transitions are handled. Lewis also designs the sound, which does a great job of creating the emotional landscape of this piece. The set is simple but quite intriguing: most of the piece is played on the floor of CSPS's auditorium, which is covered with folding chairs, ladders, benches, and in general a great deal of metal. This is used to create the atmosphere of a busy factory in its heyday: banging, shouting, and excitement; fast-paced, energetic work. The setup is ingenious in its creativity and reminds us that all Americans, not just those in the manufacturing industry, show a determined energy when faced with a problem. One woman interviewed remarked: "I don't know how you're going to show all of this." Working Group found a way.
Rust plays Friday, Aug 31, 8 p.m.; Saturday, Sep 1, 8 p.m.; and Sunday, Sep 2, 7 p.m. at CSPS Hall, 1103 Third SE, Cedar Rapids. Tickets are $12 in advance and $15 at the door.
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