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Jerry Mouawad plays an actor, of all things, in Imago Theatre's
No Can Do. |
INTERVIEW
HALF
DONE
Though they boast
moments of brilliance, Miranda July's The Swan Tool and Imago's
No Can Do are undercooked.
by STEFFEN SILVIS
ssilvis@wweek.com
In his coverage
of Seattle's Fringe Fest, Bryan Markovitz
makes an argument for the wealth of theatrical invention that exists
in Portland. Indeed, any city that could boast of such performers
and companies as Sowelu, Imago, Catamount, Heidi Carlsen, Miranda
July and Liminal is clearly on to something, and the excitement of
watching these artists' work mercilessly whipping mediocrity out through
the city's gates is pronounced.
But some artists
from this core group have recently produced work that is far from
finished, though even these "failures" have moments that are worth
more than other theaters' entire seasons.
Miranda July's
latest multidisciplined piece, The Swan Tool, contains moments
of near genius. Surrounded by Zac Love's excellent soundscape, July's
"live movie" is as close to formal narrative as anything the artist
has created.
The piece follows
a character, Lisa, who has "buried" her life in a bag underground,
while she continues to "live" above ground, working as an unlocker
of cars. July performs on a catwalk between two film screens, the
lower one representing the buried life, while the quotidian real
world is projected upon the upper screen. Yet the lower screen--the
piece's subconscious--seems strangely underdeveloped, so it's difficult
to believe that what little lies beneath can inform the action above.
There are problems
with July's script as well. July has a faultless ear for the twisted
poetry and unexamined anxieties that underscore mundane speech.
But some of July's dialogue strikes one as filler, as if July the
writer were depending on the strength of July the performer to carry
the text. Still, there are absurdist gems studding her narrative:
the Unlocker Trainer's directives, the fear of water that tastes
like pennies, and a brief subterranean tour of grade-school time
capsules and cigar-box coffins packed with gerbils.
Finally, what
is startling in The Swan Tool is July's ability to interact
with film in such a way that you often forget that she's three-dimensional.
If only the rest of the piece were as deceptive.
In Carol Triffle's
new piece at Imago, No Can Do, an actor is actively driven
insane by his subconscious, which is crammed in a backstage Tannoy.
As the actor, Jerry Mouawad is confined to a small square center
stage that contains a single chair. His performance anxieties spill
out of him at an alarming rate as the loudspeaker baits each dread
with fresh fears. Though Mouawad is an expert clown, there's little
here that's innovative. Triffle's script is a rehash of every "Actor's
Nightmare" scenario since Durang, while Mouawad's performance is
hardly a stretch of his talent.
Yet the piece
starts brilliantly, with Triffle emerging from the shadows, singing
the chorus lines from Oedipus Rex, superbly scored by Katie
Griesar. But then Triffle vanishes for 45 minutes, leaving Mouawad
on stage battling his own voice.
Why Oedipus?
No Can Do could be an interesting exploration of the actor's
craft, with all its attendant doubts and sufferings courtesy of
Fate. As it stands, it's only a confused vehicle for Mouawad's ventriloquism.
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