In "Violet Hour," predictions put book publisher in a bind

Sure, many of us might think the Xerox machines at work are possessed. But what if, instead of reporting nonexistent paper jams, yours foretold the future? Would you throw it out the window? Buy stock in it?

If the main character in Tony-winning playwright Richard Greenberg's "The Violet Hour" has it right, don't buy your FutureCopy2000 just yet.

ReAct Theatre presents the Seattle premiere of this cautionary tale of supernatural office equipment, nailing Greenberg's quirky philosophy while reveling in his humor.

Initially, Greenberg's stance seems little more sophisticated than "Back to the Future": to know one's destiny is dangerous. His depth is revealed cleverly, though, disguised as witty asides about race relations, gender politics and the impermanence of "truth."

Set in 1919, "The Violet Hour" features an aspiring book publisher, John, and two aspiring book publishees: Jesse, a popular black singer (and John's current lover) and Denny, John's college pal (and possibly future lover).

The conflict? John can only publish one book, and both are vying heavily for the honor.

Amidst John's hemming and hawing, his assistant, Gidger, announces the arrival of the future-telling machine — a mysterious ticker-tape of doom that shows all choices leading to dire consequences.

Enter paralysis: Faced with certain catastrophe, John is unable to decide anything. Enter anachronism: John and Gidger, flipping through reams of future predictions, find themselves slipping into the language of their future selves.

Under David Hsieh's direction, these supernatural happenings are played with a deadpan everyday attitude that draws out the comedy.

The major accomplishment of the men in the cast — Jeffrey Grimm as John, Andrew Peterson as Denny, Shawn J. West as Gidger — is not getting in the way of the women, for it is they who give the play life.

Amber Wolfe gives sultry class to diva Jesse — her scenes with Grimm are electric. As Rosamund, Denny's high-society fiancée, Emjoy Gavino comes to the edge of psychosis while remaining believable.

Greenberg's attitude, revealed in the rather anti-climactic ending, is a cavalier one — screw consequences, risk ruin and despair, better to have lived and lost than never to have lived at all.

ReAct serves this go-get-'em attitude up with good humor and simple precision.