My overall impression
The concept of apparently unrelated characters who become intertwined by story’s end has become less of a novelty in recent years (think “Crash,” “Nine Lives,” or “Babel”). And while the topos gains some traction in a story about Manhattanites, the backbone motif “Bad Connections?” still feels labored.
But don’t kill the messenger. Losing interest in the cleverness of the script should not mean losing interest in Paul Cosentino’s dexterous and occasionally pitch-perfect performance. Make that performances. He is, after all, inhabiting nine characters—each with their own physical tics, vocal shades, and smoothly distinctive lighting cues. Cosentino succeeds especially in his portrayal of an addled middle-aged Jewish woman, a tough-talking, nervy Italian shop-owner and a placidly sapient yogi.
What convinces most in each of these characters is Cosentino’s nunanced physicality. For the Jewish woman it’s his tense ankles and exaggerated sense of self-awareness, conveyed through widened eyes. Cosentino locates the young Italian man in a set of pocket-tapping fingers and hunched hips. And his yogi is imparted through lilting voice and a liberated posture in which Cosentino actually seems to grow an inch or two.
