Dan Kitrosser on PJ Witkowski

Dear PJ (aka Bambi),

First of all, no one plays a drunk, nihilistic (dead?) deer like you.

This past Sunday, I walked from my home in East Passyunk, South Philly, to Sawubona — which, thanks to Tanya Morgan, has become a vibrant hub for comedy and theater in the neighborhood. The space, like the rowhome I live in, has a narrowness and a warmth the moment you arrive. And as we hurtle toward armageddon (or live in its aftermath already), watching a play about the end of days — with two girlfriends on a journey (expertly acted by Lauren McKee and Mal Mackenzie) who hit the aforementioned deer — felt like being at a house party, watching a classic comedy with friends, only with the creeping realization that it was about me: my relationships, my fears.

Mal Mackenzie’s script, brought to life by Artsake Theatre Company, is hilarious, absurdist, and heartfelt all at once. Also—THE CAR! You should see this play for the car alone.

But PJ, this postcard is for you.

Your performance as the deer — pontificating about existentialism, the withering environment, blasting human capitalism, and confessing anguish over our limited time on this planet — recalls the great monologists of our theatrical canon. Are you Spalding Gray? Anna Deavere Smith? Mike Daisey? Stephen Colbert? Edward R. Murrow? The writing gives the deer wit and bite, but you transform him into a man cut down in his prime, wrestling with the fact that he’s no longer part of the conversation.

I left wondering: would another gender, race, or body in this role tell a different story? Perhaps. But the story you told, PJ, was of so many people knocked off in this world — doomed to wrestle with resentment, complicity (their own and others’), and the absurdity of it all.

I laughed a lot, PJ. That’s something I want you to know. I laughed, and then I felt for you.

And then I wondered: aren’t we all that deer in the headlights?