100 (Sam Henderson): 2015 Fringe review 63

HundredI meet Sam Henderson at the entrance to the Rose Garden in Old City. He takes out a multi-colored dice and a water bottle, and we sit next to each other on a bench like two kids about to play an elaborate game. I roll a six, and he tells me a story about working in an office on a day tragedy hit: glass splintered chaos. I think of 9/11—that’s where my head goes. I roll the dice again and he tells an elaborate story about a guitar, so thick with imagery it’s like snapping a picture of a moment. 100 feels like you’re overhearing people on the bus: you hear these stories in passing, then Sam stops, takes a sip of water, and I roll the dice again.

The most visceral point is the middle of the performance. It’s my turn to play, Sam says: “You’re about to leave your house, got your keys, your coat buttoned up and you know that in two minutes something horrible is going to happen on the corner of 4th and Chaston. Do your best to stop it.” I take out my imaginary phone and say: “Run down to 4th and Chaston. Its kitty. She’s”—I put my phone down. Some lady is going to kill my cat. I yell at her and collect my cat, bring her back to the bench trying not to cry… I got into it.

I don’t want to tell any more. 100 is more than an elegantly written play told in random pieces—it’s an intense experience if you are open to it. [various locations] September 8-17. 2015; fringearts.com/100.

Read an extended version of this review at Foley Got Comped.

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