Austin is porch culture. That’s how I describe it to outsiders – a land of warm nights under string lights, cool drinks and shooting the breeze. Ideally Austin theatre should echo that vibe, right? Bottle Alley fully embraces it. A bottle in hand, a field behind an alley, a stage and story meant to spur sublime conversation.in a field tucked behind pet psychic/photographer Stern Hatcher’s Paper Plate Gallery.
The play follows donut-shop employee Aurora on the night of her 30th birthday. She quickly monologues the basic setup: Her maybe-mother told her stories of 1897’s UFO crash in Aurora, Texas, and connected that event to finding Aurora in a remote field. So clearly, in Aurora’s own words, she’s a “space dumpster baby,” a being from beyond just waiting to go home.
Performance-wise, it’s a deft three-hander where director Trace Turner has characters bounce off each other in ways that enhance the story. Aurora is visited, Scrooge-like, by beings that change her perspective and offer new insights. There’s fellow donut-shop employee Andi , whose warmth spreads through her scenes like sweet honey. She grounds Aurora to Earth, grudgingly accepts her yearning for orbital escape while begging her to recognize the connections in humanity.
On the other hand, Aurora also encounters Anne , a sudden and stiff presence who may or may not have escaped from a local hospital. Lambert’s spot-on cryptic weirdness further humanizes Aurora, while simultaneously unmooring her from the present. Aurora seems looser against this intentionally alien presence, even while Anne beckons her toward the unknown.
The characters aren’t too outlandish. They talk and drink and smoke, read T.S. Eliot poems and listen to music . But the conversation feels honest, builds them into real people. These could be your neighbors or friends. Fontanes did such a good job creating them that I wanted more of their story, more of this place. More of the poetry radio tower. More of the donut shop and the alluded-to town carousel.