Wednesday 7 August 2013

Fringe 2013 - Day 1

And we're back, more or less. This blog hit a crisis a few months ago and never quite recovered. But if anything was going to kick me back into gear, it was going to be reviewing 11 plays in 9 days. Unfortunately, I've had a bit of a time getting my reviews to catch up to the Fringing I've been doing, so I'm coming in under the wire. "Day 1" in this case is actually last Thursday. Day 2 will be up within the hour. Day 3 this afternoon.

And now, without further ado,

Don't Panic (Dibley Theatre, SK)

     Do you notice how whenever someone says not to panic, it's always a situation where you should totally be panicking? Do you notice how when you have to tell someone else not to panic it's almost embarrassing because there's no reason for them to be panicking. Someone panics over something small and we say, "It's not the end of the world." But what if it really is the end of the world? Don't Panic blows this whole idea wide open.

     This inaugural Fringe show by Dibley Theatre Productions (a subsidiary of Amorous Waffles). Takes us to a dystopia. Everyone likes dystopias (except for the people living there, I guess). This particular dystopia happens some 20 years after a devastating war which left much of the world as a blasted wasteland. What remains is the shining Fatherland: an enclosed civilisation run by a seemingly omniscient figure called Father. Here, efficiency is valued above all else, and the society runs in such a way that clockwork would be fined for being too emotionally suggestive. One day, as a man and a woman await the beginning of their productive workdays, and unthinkable tragedy occurs: their bus is late. As they try to grapple with this horrific incident, they find that they must, fearfully and trepidatiously, talk to each other, and the results surprise them.

     Don't Panic starts out as an absurd (perhaps even absurdist) comedy. The first scene depends heavily on getting the point across to the audience what sort of world they have dropped into; it succeeds by the subtleties of the script and the expressions of its stars, Danielle Roy and Rohan Keenan. Talk of "collateral zones" and "The Department of Data" help to establish the kind of ruthlessly bureaucratic society it is, while the uneasy first words between the man and the woman make it clear just how staid and isolated they've become. Roy's look of terror and confusion when Keenan offers a meek "hello" sets the stage for everything that follows. The set is fairly involved for a Fringe show: bench, bus stop, emergency phone, and garbage can, all rigid and uniform, stamped with department names. The setpieces represent the dull immovability of the society, which becomes more pronounced as the characters become more active. Much of the humour in the early parts come from the moments between lines, when the two stars fumble around human interaction like a five-year-old trying to tie shoelaces.

     The script carries a tradition of sketch comedy, drawing from Monty Python, and a bit of classic SNL. The wacky comedy pulls some sharp satire of the insecurities of modern culture. We might laugh at the panic that sets in on our characters when the bus doesn't show up, but anyone who has had their internet go down can surely relate.

     The play reaches the point where a comedy sketch would reasonably wind down, but then it keeps going. The comedy ramps up as the characters move from panic to desperation to hopelessness, but then it turns darker, the satire graver. We delve further into the truth of this society. As the man and woman shed their fastidious outer layers, they are revealed to be tragic and vulnerable. Instead of laughing at the absurdity of their situation we eventually turn inward and start considering their questions for ourselves, like whether freedom from worry is worth sacrificing freedom of choice. Seeing their cogs break down raises the question of what cogs we trust completely in our regular lives.

     As with any two-hander, the success of the play is contingent on the chemistry of its two actors. Keenan is the slightly bumbling but good-hearted archivist who carries around a few subversive thoughts in his head that he has never had the chance to share before now. Roy is the shrewd and firm risk analyst with unyielding faith in the system until it breaks in front of her. The two grow, transform, entwine, and fracture repeatedly throughout the play. They connect impeccably, bouncing off each other with incredible energy. The script is almost as demanding as the Fatherland, requiring spot-on comedic timing and profound emotional availability. The actors make good with both. Keenan spends most of his stage time being vulnerable, always staying present with his stage partner. Roy steals the final scene with a performance that brings the audience to tears.

     And I can't forget about the music. From the oppressive semi-futurist pseudo-Jazz that plays over the first couple scenes (because it's Father's favourite song) to the Cold War retro songs by the Inkspots (which will be familiar to any Fallout fans in the audience), it creates an off-balanced feeling of yearning for a bygone era that is only getting further away.

     There are a lot of elements that make Don't Panic work. Just like in the Fatherland, if any of them had failed, it would have been a disaster, but none of them did. It was lively, hilarious, touching, and philosophical. If that's reason to panic, then go right ahead.

     Six out of five stars. WHAT NOW, CHARLTON?

   

1 comment:

  1. Best review ever! I am going to have to put your "six stars out of five" rating on all our posters.

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