ORPHAN SONG by Sean Dixon (Tarragon). Runs to April 24 at the Tarragon Mainspace (30 Bridgman). $15-$50. tarragontheatre.com. Rating: NN
I confused. Little bored. But puppets good. And maybe kids like.
If I were living in 40,027 BCE, which is the setting for Sean Dixon’s new play Orphan Song, my review might read something like that. But I likely wouldn’t be at a theatre, and I doubt there’d be a word for puppet. At any rate, I wouldn’t have the language to properly express what I thought.
Which seems to be the point of the show.
In prehistoric times, a Homo-Sapien couple named Gorse (Beau Dixon) and Mo (Sophie Goulet) have recently lost a child during childbirth. When they encounter an orphaned Neanderthal girl who speaks in a bird-like gibberish, they don’t know what to do. The feral girl, whom they call Chicky, doesn’t want their help. But are they supposed to let her fend for herself?
The couple try to protect her, but she keeps running away. She foils Gorse’s attempts to hunt for food and keeps upsetting the twigs he sets up to start a fire. For some reason, Chicky warms to Gorse’s mother, Gran (Terry Tweed). But the still-grieving Mo feels upset that she and Chicky don’t form a bond.
The bare bones of the tale suggest a play for young people, complete with important lessons. At a time when society seems more fractured than ever, how can we truly listen to each other and work together? Please discuss, class.
But at more than two hours, the play is a slog. Even the rudimentary language Dixon employs feels monotonous and at times inconsistent. One character’s line about “fog in head” stands out as a fairly sophisticated bit of diction and imagery. And some scenes, such as Chicky ruining Gorse’s attempts to build fires, feel repetitive.
You can sense Dixon struggling with the limitations of his script in a few monologues in which he allows his characters to drop their monosyllabic grunting, walk downstage and speak in proper English, supposedly to tell us what they can’t otherwise express. He even has the moon, up until now represented visually by a prop, speak up in an awkward attempt at poetry that, alas, reminded me more of the Pyramus and Thisbe scene from A Midsummer Night’s Dream.
What saves the show is the production design and performances. Graeme S. Thomson’s set, in particular, is spare yet suggestive. During key moments, sections of the set are manipulated by the chorus to produce some truly magical effects. Juliet Palmer’s musical direction and sound design add a key element, particularly in the otherworldly language spoken by Chicky and her people, called the Pipers.
Speaking of the Pipers, they are represented by a series of life-sized cloth puppets handled by black-clad figures. Kaitlin Morrow is credited as puppet master and also manipulates/voices Chicky. These puppets, with their prominent brows and thick features, are beautifully expressive.
The multi-talented Morrow, familiar to Fringe audiences as part of the brilliant Sex T-Rex team, is astonishing in capturing Chicky’s shifting, quicksilver moods. Dixon and Goulet also deliver committed, deeply felt performances.
I wonder if the production, directed by Richard Rose, would have worked better if the actors had all spoken in made-up languages – perhaps Palmer could have invented one for the Homo-Sapiens as well. Me don’t know.
