Living in the modern world, we are constantly the bystander to, or observer of, the life events of others. Be they consequential and indelible, or fleeting and forgettable, these seemingly disconnected series of events serve as context to our community’s larger story. The more we notice and choose to connect, the better we understand the relationships that bind us all. For those already familiar with Daniel Kitson’s fourth-wall-breaking, unfiltered, and hilariously sporadic delivery, that might seem almost too deep for his latest work—A Short Series of Disagreements Presented Here in Chronological Order playing at Studio Theatre—and yet through the tangents and outbursts, torrent of focus and side notes, it is the common thread that pulls the story along: the challenge of following a series of events and adjusting our perception based on the contexts we allow ourselves to expand to in order to gain a greater understanding.

Tapping into truly expert observational comedy and unleashing razor-sharp wit, Kitson’s monologue show is genius. Staged as a sparsely furnished office with a Macbook, projector, notebook, and single bulb light, Kitson talks with the audience, riffing and poking fun like a stand-up comedian warming up the audience. What seems to start off as a casual audience talkback about the creative process of developing his show dedicated to seemingly unconnected disagreements—from the correct pronunciation of quinoa to the gun control or a neighborly quarrel over a backyard fence—quickly blurred into the peculiar mystery of a late night bicycling accident. With the tangential organization of someone unable to concentrate on any one subject for longer than 15 seconds, Kitson balanced his need to write A Short Series of Disagreements with his need to satisfying unquenchable curiosity into the circumstances of the accident that he had witnessed and the white ghost bike that had since appeared. The streams of thought, anecdotes, and quirky ticks were unending as Kitson’s focus slowly shifted from trying to write A Short Series of Disagreements separately and telling this cycling story.
You describe him as a combination of “your crazy uncle at the dinner table and that weird guy on the metro shouting a story at you while you wait for a train . . . ” He also sounds like a crystal meth head who hasn’t slept in two days, who can’t shut up for even a moment despite desperate attempts at self-medication with sedatives, and who exhibits an accent that is most often inscrutable — especially when delivered at a breakneck pace.
I wanted to like him — really, I did — but I also kept wanting him to slow down just a wee bit so we could actually understand some of the details of what he was saying. Yes, there were moments of truly gifted humor, and I thought the storyline had possibilities as it unfolded, but in the end I rank it as among the most miserable evenings I’ve ever spent in the theater.
The evening I attended he shouted — truly shouted — at someone in the audience fiddling with their cell phone. I dislike those people, too, but it was a really brutal attack launched from the stage. People around me gasped. I couldn’t leave mid-performance given the location of my seat and my unwillingness to trouble those around me. Other were more fortunate than I and a number of them walked out.
A little more than two hours of this without an intermission was just brutal. Had there been an intermission, I’m quite sure a number of my fellow theater goers wouldn’t have returned. I gladly would have joined the crowd grabbing their coats and getting the heck out of there.
I walked out after an hour with still over 30+ minutes to go. My son and I discussed it at length and tried to find some meaning and we were left perplexed as to how a show like this is even produced. Mr. Kitson is personally funny and charismatic, but the show itself is 100+ minutes of hyper, non-storytelling, Adult Attention Deficit Disorder ramblings, pieced together by pseudo answering machine critique transitions from his female playwright muse. There was no ‘story’. The show never drew me in, I didn’t care about the character and after an hour, I’d had enough. I basically sum this up as theatrical mental masterbation.
It’ll probably win an award.