Snore: Reviewed

Max Posner’s Snore is a 2011 play that focuses on a group of close-knit friends whose relationships fracture as they begin to face the travails of adult life. The play itself is full of comically absurd moments, eliciting laughs whenever the backstage team wheeled on a cumbersome toilet that provides a comic backdrop for emotional duologues between various couples. It’s best quality is Posner’s ability to mix the mundane with the profound and sometimes tragic, and Director Martin Caforio shows a keen understanding of the tone and style of his chosen subject matter.

Another strength of the production is the performances, which all combine youthful energy with a contemplative maturity befitting this transitionary period in the lives of the characters. Martina Sardinelli and Jack Detwiler as Nina and Tom give the show its emotional anchor. I found their relationship immediately believable and lived-in, yet unfortunately was disappointed as their relationship proceeded to break down and they shared less and less time on stage. While this may be the fault of the script, I felt as if there was not nearly enough explanation given to Tom’s lengthy absences (a case he’s working on is repeatedly brought up but is not given enough time to be properly fleshed out, jostling for attention with half a dozen inconsequential subplots).

Morgan Corby impresses in his first scene as Abe, an excitable ball of charisma and neuroses who conceals an aching insecurity that is revealed as the story progresses. However, just as with Nina and Tom I felt his character soon loses his way, becoming a rambling and often nonsensical component of an increasingly difficult-to-follow plot. Alongside these enthusiastic performances are gleeful cameos from Grace Thorner and George Watts as oddballs who, again, despite their noble efforts, do not seem to fit naturally into the script past their initial scene. Ella Dao as Ally was often too quiet and hesitant for her supposedly feisty character, though she certainly gained confidence as the play progressed.

As mentioned above, the script is sporadic and often neglects to conclude (or even initiate) arcs for certain characters. I couldn’t tell while watching the show whether the producers had decided to cut the script down so it would be more digestible, but I found a number of gaps in the plot and character development that left me feeling cold by play’s end.

Set is minimal, which creates a cosy, domestic atmosphere, but also begs the question of why scene transitions take so long. Every time a scene changes the audience is forced to sit through a few minutes of ambient music and stage dressers haphazardly pulling off coats, chairs or toilets. While the attempt is impressive, one feels it could be more efficient. This also sometimes bleeds through into line delivery; while some scenes crackle with the chemistry of the cast, far too many have lengthy silences and moments of obvious hesitation.

Overall, although the final product could be more polished and focussed, this is an ambitious and worthy effort for a first time production team. I look forward to what’s coming next from Lost Boot Productions … 

3/5 Owlies

Reviewed: The Children’s Hour

When it comes to Peachy Keen Productions, I’ve learned to set my expectations high and wide open. The drive of this company is not toward reproducing what has worked for them in the past, but toward exploring and inventing something new. The Children’s Hour, directed by Rowan Wishart and produced by Anenti Winter, is no exception.

Lillian Hellman wrote the play in 1934, but this production feels fresh and contemporary with musical interludes by Kat Reynders and Anenti Winter, a brightly painted pop-up book of backdrops (à la The Cheviot, the Stag and the Black, Black Oil), and some remarkable performances.

Karin Sophia Johansson and Georgia Luckhurst lead the pack as Martha and Karen, two schoolteachers whose lives are ruined by accusations of a lesbian affair. The subtlety of this friendship between two women exhausted by the competing demands of rowdy children, a delusional aunt (Molly Williams), and a relentlessly cheerful fiancé (Connor Norris) holds everything else in place—at least until Sophia Kiely takes the stage. Kiely is almost too convincing as Mary Tilford, the manipulate child tyrant who starts the rumor about Martha and Karen. Anyone who has ever dealt with an impossible (would I go too far to say “evil”?) brat will shudder at Kiely’s wheedling, whinging, and chilling shifts of expression.

While these three are locked in opposition, the rest of the cast is working just as hard: standouts include Gabrielle Green as the ill-used Rosalie, Molly Williams as faded actress Mrs. Mortar, and Heather Tiernan and her tartan skirt as the formidable and inexplicably Scottish (no complaints) Agatha. 

Visually, the production is a mixed bag. Kat Reynders’s ‘60s costumes are the standout; the cohesive ensemble of jewel tones and carefully coordinated textures create a powerful sense of the world of this story—a world so detailed and specific it extends even to the beautiful paper-doll publicity illustrations by Sasha Man.

The set, unfortunately, has less of an eye for detail. The cardboard pop-up book is extremely ambitious and, at its best, magical. It is also bulky and prone to malfunction, which detracts from the effect. More importantly, though, it seems to belong on a different stage from the ordinary furniture in the foreground, and fails to feel like an extension of the space occupied by the characters. 

I also have to say that, while this script is excellent, its queer aspects are slightly unsettling to me. Doubtless The Children’s Hour was groundbreaking in 1934, but today I have my doubts about a play in which the only queer character takes her life after being snubbed by her friend, and the people who spread the rumor about the lesbian affair have to apologize, not for being vicious or prejudiced, but merely for being incorrect. Still, there is something to be said for preserving these moments in the history of queer culture and thinking about how they translate into new contexts—and there is even more to be said for a play in St. Andrews with twelve female roles, real period costumes, and creative decisions which are strong, if not always slick.

3/5