Love & hate, abandonment & connection in the searing, electric Fool for Love

Cara Gee & Eion Bailey. Set design by Lorenzo Savoini. Costume design by Shannon Lea Doyle. Lighting design by Simon Rossiter. Photo by Dahlia Katz.

 

Soulpepper Theatre presents a searing, electric production of Sam Shepard’s Fool for Love, directed by Frank Cox-O’Connell and running at the Young Centre. The shifting temperatures of love/hate and tenderness/cruelty take on new meaning, with the pairing of an Indigenous woman with a non-Indigenous man as the on again, off again lovers—who come together and tear apart, both individually and collectively, in this rough and gentle dance of connection, abandonment, rage and desire.

In a cheap, grotty motel room in the Mohave Desert, May (Cara Gee) and Eddie (Eion Bailey) play out their ongoing cycle of of love, hate, abandonment and connection in a relationship that has come together and broken apart since they were in high school. Fiery, furtive—and playing off each other’s emotional and mental states—the power dynamic shifts as one pulls it together and the other falls apart. Explosions of jealousy, rage and recrimination reveal the simple, awful truth that they can’t live with or without each other.

Watching from the sidelines is the Old Man (Stuart Hughes), a father—a memory or a ghost?—observing the scene, and offering comments and advice from his rocking chair on the sand as he drinks Jack Daniels from a Styrofoam cup. Then, entering this love/war zone is local lawn maintenance guy Martin (Alex McCooeye), there to take May out to the movies. Initially interrogated by Eddie, he becomes an unwitting confessor as Eddie reveals how he and May met—and the nature of their connection.

Outstanding work from the entire ensemble in this intense, fly-on-the-wall look at a deeply complex, conflicted relationship. Gee is both fierce and vulnerable as May; wounded, wary and loving Eddie so much, but refusing to take it any more, May wants him to leave and to stay, to have him and move on. She also doesn’t want to be a dirty secret like her mother. Bailey balances Eddie’s cocky cowboy and hurt little boy; with a family history of abandonment and an unfulfilled longing to connect with an often absent father, he struggles to be his own man—all with the painful realization that he can’t be with May, nor can he quit her. The casting of an Indigenous woman and non-Indigenous man in this production highlights ongoing issues of colonization of Indigenous women’s bodies and minds; and the lies the white-dominated patriarchy feeds to white boys—about women and what they’re entitled to—when only certain white men actually benefit from this system. (Be sure to read Gee’s Artist Note at the front of the program for her lived experience and experience working on this production, as well as shared insights on these themes.)

Hughes and McCooeye provide arms-length—though very different—perspectives of the May-Eddie dynamic. Hughes brings a grizzled, cynical, even haunting vibe as the Old Man; revealing his own life as he reveals theirs. McCooeye’s performance as the sweet but dim Martin rings of a small-town, child-like innocence, and provides some much needed comic relief. There for a simple date at the movies, Martin winds up as a witness to the latest skirmish in Eddie and May’s relationship, and confidante to their personal history together.

With shouts to the design team for their part in creating an environment of heightened realism for this production: the gritty, sparse motel room set (Lorenzo Savoini); regional costuming that is both seductive and practical (Shannon Lea Doyle); the lighting effects that give the room a neon, then a fiery, glow (Simon Rossiter); and sound design and composition (Andrew Penner) that provide both atmospheric highlighting and practical punctuation to the action. And there’s live music, created on the dobro with slide, nicely done by Hughes.

Love as a cycle of possession, addictive desire, oasis, war zone and even shame—it’s easy to see why these lovers can’t be together, yet can’t be apart.

Fool for Love continues at the Young Centre, the run extended to August 11; advance tickets available online, or by calling the box office at 416-866-8666 or 1-888-898-1188. Advance booking strongly recommended; I saw it on a Tuesday night and it was sold out.

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Preview: The search for a healing prayer in Spiderbones Performing Arts’ mind-blowing, heart-wrenching Everything I Couldn’t Tell You

Searching for a healing prayer with science, music and ancestral language. Spiderbones Performing Arts combines the arts of neuroscience, and music and language therapy with traditional Indigenous healing principles in its moving, mind-blowing multi-media production of Jeff D’Hondt’s Everything I Couldn’t Tell You, directed by Erin Brandenburg and running in the Theatre Centre’s Incubator space as part of the RISER Project.

Cassandra’s (Jenny Young) neuroscience has brought Megan (PJ Prudat) out of a coma, but she fears the combination of electric current and music applied to the brain may have done more harm than good. Still struggling to remember what happened to her, every emotion Megan feels presents as anger; attempts at talk therapy and other standard treatments aren’t working and Megan’s responses, fuelled by alcohol and her hatred of Cassandra, are becoming increasingly violent. When Megan fires Cassandra and demands a therapist who speaks Lenape, Cassandra reluctantly brings the experimental, unorthodox Indigenous neuropsychologist Alison (Cheri Maracle) onboard.

Unlike Cassandra’s method of electric and music impulses input into the passive brain, Alison’s method incorporates active, directed output from Megan’s brain, and translates those choices into music. Even more importantly, Alison has learned that conducting sessions in Lenape calms Megan’s tortured brain—and she’s convinced that a combination of their therapies will uncover Megan’s healing prayer.

While their approaches differ, Cassandra and Alison are both haunted by the loss of someone they loved very much: Cassandra’s partner Melanie (Cheri Maracle) and Alison’s sister Steph. Torn between maintaining a professional perspective and distance, and sharing their personal experiences of pain and grief, they both struggle with the question: who are they doing this work for? And who are they really treating—and what does this mean for Megan’s recovery?

Strong, compelling and heartbreaking performances all around in this powerful three-hander. Young delivers a taut performance as Cassandra; distant and clinical, even cold, on the surface, Cassandra is tightly wound—holding onto self-control with all her might and she navigates the aftershocks of losing Melanie while continuing her work, and lashes out with her sharp scientific mind. Moments of beautiful artistry and tenderness are revealed in a flashback, where the shy introvert Cassandra meets Melanie at a conference. Maracle brings a remarkable sense of strength and conflict to the brilliant, haunted Alison; struggling with her own ghosts, as well as confidence in herself and her theories in the face of so much doubt and derision, memories of her sister both break her heart and push her to find a way to help Megan. Alison’s determined to connect—and persists through each barrier and set-back. Prudat’s Megan is part wild child, part lost girl; as her memories surface, she mourns the familial discouragement away from her heritage, her own Uma (grandmother) steering her towards piano lessons to get her away from the ‘evil’ drum. Her irreverent, devil-may-care feral outbursts are both a cover for and a symptom of her profound pain and suffering—and she’s got the guts to do whatever it takes to get better and get her life back, however dangerous it may be.

Shouts to the evocative work from the design team: Michel Charbonneau (set), Tess Girard (videographer), André du Toit (lighting), Isidra Cruz (costume) and Andrew Penner (sound/composition) for creating a world that combines the clinical with the natural in a striking, innovative way. White set, with images—brain scans, shimmering water and art therapy drawings—and English translations of the Lenape text projected on pieces of scrim that hang like hospital curtains. The scrim also creates ghost-like barriers for flashbacks featuring lost loved ones. And there’s an opportunity to hear the Lenape language in a visceral way, with bone conduction headphones that transmit the sound into your cheekbones, providing a physical experience of the language and leaving your ears free to hear it. Headsets are limited, and distributed via a combination of game of chance and lottery draw before each performance.

Science, music, art and language combine in the search of a healing prayer in Spiderbones Performing Arts’ mind-blowing, heart-wrenching Everything I Couldn’t Tell You.

Everything I Couldn’t Tell You continues in the Theatre Centre Incubator space until May 12. Tickets available by calling The Theatre Centre’s Box Office at 416-538-0988 or online; advance booking strongly recommended, as it’s an intimate space and a short run.