LESSON IN FORGETTING by Emma Haché, translated by Taliesin McEnaney with John Van Burek (Pleiades Theatre). Runs to May 22 at the Young Centre for the Performing Arts (50 Tank House). $25, stu/srs/arts workers $20. pleiadestheatre.org. Rating: NN
Kudos to Pleiades Theatre for presenting the English-language premiere of Emma Haché‘s Lesson In Forgetting, which was nominated for a Governor General’s Award for Drama in 2017 under the title Exercice de l’oubli. Unfortunately, something has been lost in translation in this thin production.
On the surface, the story couldn’t be simpler. A man, named simply He (Andrew Moodie), has suffered a brain injury after being involved in a car crash. His wife, named She (Ma-Anne Dionisio), visits him regularly in what is perhaps a hospital or long-term care facility. He knows little more than who She is, and that he loves her. He doesn’t know his name, where he is, or why; even after She explains the accident to him, sometimes he’ll forget about it in the middle of a conversation.
Time passes, and gradually we learn more about the couple’s situation, although the wife’s words can’t always be trusted.
Haché layers lots of poetic language onto this story, especially at the beginning, which makes it hard to orient oneself. And although the play was written as a two-hander, director Ash Knight has added a third role, played by Reese Cowley, who acts as a narrator and at times stands in for He and She’s daughter, who, we’re told by She, is studying dance.
I’m not sure Knight’s decision works. In a play in which our feelings towards the characters shift, depending on what we know, it would have been fascinating to see She presenting her case, setting things up, taking control. As for Haché’s poetic language, it is often dense and overwhelming. I’m also not sure why translators Taliesin McEnaney and John Van Burek have the two characters address each other continually as “My love,” a rather antiquated expression that makes them seem like they’re from the 19th century.
Perhaps to evoke the disorientation that He feels, Haché has left many things vague and unclear, yet none of them are addressed in any significant way by Knight. When given a slideshow to test his memory, He calls many things “chicken” – why? We later learn that in his pre-injury life, He was a professional cellist, and yet the music She instructs him to listen to isn’t cello music. We know so little about their history, in fact, that the entire production becomes a cerebral, intellectual exercise.
Jackie Chau‘s set, which consists largely of several bone-white platforms and various screens upon which are projected often abstract or fuzzy imagery (projection designer is Denyse Karn), doesn’t contribute much to the show. And some of Marissa Orjalo‘s sound designs feel obvious.
Which leaves us with the performances. Dionisio is a marvellous musical theatre performer, but here she fails to suggest She’s years of guilt and pain. Cowley delivers her lines – and Nicola Pantin‘s choreography – with considerable grace. Moodie, often tasked with saying the same lines, finds new ways of delivering his words and hinting at hidden depths. If only the production had done the same.
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