goestoshow

(Real) Gone (Girl) isn’t really a play so much as an experiment. A really really interesting experiment. The experiment is that the actor doesn’t have a script to work from, has never seen the play performed, and has only practiced a few key movements as choreographed in advance. Instead of a script, she has an ipod telling her what to say and do.

Lines come out stuttered. More so at first, though Mari Chartier (the actor unique to our performance) quickly found a groove and was able to follow it most of the time, making her performance increasingly natural as the show progressed.

The whole performance seems designed to be as difficult for the actor as possible. It’s a physically demanding role, as the actions themselves are sometimes quite yoga-like, and are repeated endlessly until switched. But it’s also mentally demanding, since she has to figure out where things are going and develop her characterization of the people she’s narrating/speaking for as she goes along. This combines to leave her seeming exhausted by the end.

What this basically means, to me, is that we are watching her the way an actor might sometimes watch their audience (assuming they can see them past the stage lights). We are seeing her react for the first time to the story. Sometimes she laughs a little at something she’s being told through her ipod. Sometimes she hesitates, perhaps unsure of whether it’s reasonable to do what’s being asked of her. She always comes through and performs every action with gusto, however.

But what really fascinated me in this performance is what happened when something failed. Towards the end, it seemed the ipod cut out. Mari was left with no real idea what to do, so she quickly communicated through hand gestures to Andrea Beça, the playwright, her inability to continue.

What I though I saw (through my purely subjective lens) on Mari’s face was something I don’t feel I’ve ever seen in a play before. She seemed a little upset, and I first assumed that she was being asked to do something she simply could not do for physical or emotional reasons. And I realized that for an actor, not being able to improvise your way out of a situation like this, because you know the script or at least the story or the character, must be incredibly frustrating. Like something that might be in a nightmare for an actor. Standing in front of a bunch of people, no idea what to do, no voice to speak through, no mask to wear. It might feel a bit like being naked.

So to me, the experiment was entirely validated by this experience. I don’t have much to say on the content part of the play because I feel I would have gotten more out of it if I were more aware of the lives of the people presented in the play (Jack Kerouac, William S. Burroughs, Allen Ginsberg, and their wives). I suggest you scan some wikipedia pages about them before seeing the play if you aren’t already fairly aware of the events of their lives.

I don’t think this one’s for everyone, but if you’re into experimental theatre that tries to do something different and expose a side of theatre you might not ever see elsewhere, do check this one out. It’s worth it.

Despite covering what seems like fairly cliched material, namely the idea of the soul mate and the chase across lifetimes for that one perfect life that’ll make all the rest worthwhile (see for example the film The Fountain with Hugh Jackman), this play manages to be touching and bittersweet in its attempt.

I can pin this play’s escape from cliche on one really important twist. In this play, the soul mate is not always the opposite gender, nor always in a sexual or even romantic relationship with you. While the Aloysius (Lou in one life, Aloys in another) is always a man, his soul mate Valentine switches between being a man and a woman (played by two different actors). In one life, Valentine is even a budding female-to-male transsexual unsuccessfully seeking her father Aloysius’ approval.

Seeing the frustrations of their love across their lives as they are guided to a conclusion they don’t understand by a nearly-all-knowing mischief god in a field of blocks that represent their other lives distorted by other-worldly perspective manages to create a tragic atmosphere that culminates in what I felt to be a very powerful climax. The climax is also helped by some of the most effective use of well known music in a fringe play I’ve seen in a while (simple formula, touching well known song + touching scene).

I feel the only downside to this play for me was a digression into a kind of myth-building that I don’t think can really be pulled off on the small stage. It makes an admirable effort, but I would have been ok without the flashback to the Fox’ origin story. I have to say, though, that it would have made an excellent graphic novel.