Serving as his own director, Crone makes clever use of the Yellow Bicycle Theater. The venue’s lounge has been transformed into a functioning VFW bar where bartender Jan “Doc” Szymanski (Thoeger Hansen) serves drinks to patrons, while the main theater shifts into various configurations. While the promenade-style movement between these spaces is conceptually neat, the physical transitions ultimately stretch the runtime and could easily be trimmed down.
Capturing moral quandaries
The first act spends too much time introducing the characters without setting the actual stakes of the narrative. We meet Doc, Skipper (Richard Roddy), and Froggie (Crone, pulling triple duty as writer, director, and actor). Their dynamic is that of a well-worn, antagonistic friendship built on the deep, unspoken understanding of their shared time in Vietnam. Hansen carries the weight of the show as he guides the audience through the evening, slowly beginning to reveal his own deep-seated biases. Roddy lands a few solid comedic moments, but some of his dialogue pacing can feel a bit stilted. While the challenge of acting and directing your own work is significant, Crone excels in a role that captures the moral quandary of post-Vietnam veteran life.
The play finally catches fire with the arrival of Aki (Lenny Ramos), the son of Moonbeam, a Marine from Froggie’s unit. When Aki reveals his father was actively pursuing activism with the Vietnam Veterans Against the War (VVAW), it forces the older men to reconcile with their own wartime actions. Ramos is an excellent and needed jolt of energy to the production.
Profound complexity
Where the script finds its most urgent relevance is in how it models discussion across troubling disagreement. As the veterans clash over civilian casualties, genocide, and deep-seated defensiveness, their arguments inevitably echo the painful, ongoing conversations surrounding Gaza today. It is uniquely instructive to watch these complex debates unfold in a historical context that is just removed enough from our immediate present to allow the audience room for genuine reflection. Ultimately, the play serves as a vital reminder that even those with whom we deeply disagree, or who offend our sensibilities, hold profound complexities, and their stories remain worth telling.
Seeking rules of engagement
In its second half, Waiting for Westy makes bold choices in pacing, memory, and medium. Sudden flashbacks and projected video tribunals clash with the present day to great effect. However, because this tonal shift is so dramatic, the play would be much stronger if it leaned entirely into this surreal trauma-scape and gutted the lengthy opening exposition.
The immersive mechanics also stumble in their framing. Doc frequently utilizes direct address, leaving the audience trapped in a murky liminal space; sometimes we are active patrons in the room, and sometimes we are safely tucked behind a fourth wall. The rules of engagement are never clearly established. Furthermore, Doc’s bookending monologues wrap the narrative up far too tidily. The piece would hit much harder if Crone simply let the raw, messy action of the play start and stop the story.
Know before you go: This play references sexual violence, war crimes, alcoholism, and suicide, and contains racial slurs.
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