On the Verge
Meandering through time and around meaning
By: Ray Conlogue
January 5, 1989
By Eric Overmyer
Directed by JoAnn Mcintyre
Starring Susan Coyne, Catherine Disher and Deborah Kipp
ON THE VERGE opened, very uncomfortable with itself,
at Toronto's Tarragon Theatre on Tuesday night.
Eric Overmyer's play is a relentlessly post-modern, pop-and-fizz essay
on time travel. It concerns three lady explorers from 1888 who start out
overland and somehow begin to move forward through time. Their path begins
to be encumbered with delightful flotsam and jetsam of the future -
eggbeaters, giant inflatable plastic crayons, electric irons - and they
begin to forget who they were and to change into something else. In fact,
they find themselves "going native" in 1955.
"Really," says explorer Fanny, in one of the play's many self-
referential jokes, "modern theatre is becoming little more than an
anthropological field study on the stage."
This does not mean, by the way, that Overmyer is trying to say anything
about anthropology, feminism or rock 'n' roll. It is amazing, in fact, how
craftily he manoeuvres to avoid the reefs and shoals of meaning. Nothing,
including the personal dilemmas of his three heroines, is permitted to
have the slightest dramatic weight. What remains is Overmyer's disembodied
intellectual wit, and his flair for language. "The tarnish of the past
dissolving in a solvent of iridescent light" is a fairly typical
utterance.
The play begins with the departure of the explorers, kitted out in long
gowns. Mary (the martinettish leader, played by Deborah Kipp) ticks off a
checklist that absurdly includes a tea service and a small carpet.
Alexandra (Catherine Disher), the youngest of the group, frets about not
being able to wear trousers. Fanny (Susan Coyne), the most elegant and
ladylike, delights in the recherche foods they are likely to discover on
their journey. "Moose mousse!" she exhales.
The first half of the production is somewhat hokey, a lot of lunging of
the actresses around the stage. "Ladies, let us bushwhack!" Mary is wont
to say, leading to yet another clomp up or down the rather silly ramps
designed by Graeme S. Thomson.
One repeatedly had the impression, during this act, that director JoAnn
McIntyre had erred grievously in not casting the play with Second City or
Theatre Columbus clowns rather than dramatic actresses. It seemed to cry
out for some physical clowning and exuberance, which one is very unlikely
to get from Susan Coyne or Deborah Kipp.
Only Catherine Disher, from time to time, seemed to hit on a loopiness
and goofiness, all eyes and mouth, that corresponded to the weirdness of
the script. Coyne insisted on playing her dramatic moments quite intently,
however silly they might be, enunciating her fusty Victorianisms with
precision and class. Kipp settled for a parade-marshal energy, often not
being able really to handle the deliberately tongue-twisting language the
script handed her.
Stuart Hughes, as a variety of male creatures encountered en route (a
dashing rake, an abominable snowman) was perfectly casual and laid back
about the whole thing, and very funny. But one felt anyway that performers
and director alike were so much at sea in this first half that it ended up
pretentious, like charades being played by show-offs.
Fortunately the second half has a specific locale - Nicky's Paradise
Night Club, in 1955 - where director and performers alike can get a fix on
the play. Here young Alexandra, who has a knack for word play and thought
she might be a poetess, finds her true metier: writing lyrics for rock 'n'
roll. Fanny, who has discovered that her husband jumped off a building in
the stock crash of '29 ("a gentle rain of financiers descended on the
city" says she, gently parodying Shakespeare) is at liberty to fall in
love with Nick and learn, with uncritical wonder, about dancing the hand
jive, eating Cool Whip, and wearing crinoline pink party dresses with
musical notes embroidered on them.
Here at last the performers loosen up and enjoy themselves, as does the
director. There are some very pretty and funny choreographed reactions
with the three moving in unison or talking polyphonically all over one
another. Coyne in particular does some delightful detailing of her
performance (learning a dance step, for instance, she glances down at her
feet with the greatest curiosity, as if they belonged to somebody else).
In this sequence Halyna Kuzmyn's wacky costumes and Marsha Coffey's
clever musical score really come into their own, meshing perfectly with
the play.
Post-modernism in the theatre can excuse a multitude of sins, not a few
of which Eric Overmyer commits in this play. Random dab-quoting from the
classics to set up your scenes (Alexandra as Miranda from The Tempest, for
instance), or failing to resist dreadful puns that millions have resisted
before you (moose mousse, for instance) will not always be forgiven.
However, the play generally lives up to its conceits. The production
doesn't - it is far from definitive - but it is mostly charming
nonetheless.
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