In terms of craft, Ickoholics Anonymous could not be tighter.
In this solo show, writer and performer Lucy Lucia plays a character named Lucy who’s attending her first meeting of Ickoholics Anonymous. Conveniently, she’s brought a PowerPoint presentation, which allows her to guide the audience through the seven stages of ick, ick being the petty forms of disgust that cause her to bail from romantic relationships. Lucy gets the ick, for instance, if a date wears ankle socks or confuses your and you’re.
Recently, she’s met a hot, blue-eyed barista and she wants to break the cycle.
Lucia moves with the grace and athleticism of a dancer. Her timing, including her changes of focus and tone, are as sharp as a knife blade. And she can sing, which she does a lot here — everything from pop music to “Take Me for What I Am” (Rent), and “I Can Hear the Bells.”
But none of this skill made me care even a tiny bit, and it rarely induced me to laugh, even though the people around me were rolling in waves of hilarity. I just didn’t give a flier about this superficial straight woman. To me, the satire of Ickoholics Anonymous felt superficial and repetitive. And I’m pretty sure I would have felt the same way if Lucy had been a gay guy.
Remaining performances: September 12 (2:35 p.m.), 13 (8:50 p.m.), 15 (5:00 p.m.), 19 (3:00 p.m.), and 20 (8:15 p.m.) Tickets and information.
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