The Plank Panel Thinks Marie Brassard Should Know Better
*Maryse Zeidler* who stares bravely into the void every morning while the coffee brews
*Andrew Templeton* who stares in the mirror and wonders "who the hell is that?"
Who experienced *The Invisible*, part of this year's "PuSh Festival":http://pushfestival.ca/index.php?mpage=home
*Maryse:* Maybe I should have done more drugs in high school.
God I feel dumb.
Am I… missing something?
I should know more about conceptual theatre before reviewing shows like this.
What time is it?
These were the thoughts running through my head about 20 minutes into Marie Brassard's *The Invisible* (part of the ongoing PuSh Festival), an abstract performance essay about otherness, ectoplasms and the relationship between an artist and its creation.
To call it theatre would be bold. To call it intelligent would be a mistake.
Why?
Because tripping isn’t exciting unless you’re the person doing it, and someone recounting their drug-induced dreamscape is, well… boring. Even if it’s Art. Apart from people who are truly able to take their experience and turn it into something meaningful, the simple act of recounting a few psychedelic ruminations is not enough to sustain a 70 minute show.
*The Invisible* is a one-woman performance featuring Marie Brassard and a host of special effects. Reflective surfaces, smoke machines and strobe lights accentuate Brassard’s haunting, digitally altered voice that cradles the audience into a dream-like state. To punctuate her superficial ponderings concerning the relationship between a creator and his or her product, Brassard places particular significance on JT Leroy, a persona created by writer Laura Albert. I would go into this in more depth, but it’s just not worth it.
Andrew, what did you think? Am I being too harsh?
*Andrew:* Well, Maryse, I'd put it like this:
I'm standing in a field. Behind me is this world, in front of me is dark oblivion. What should I do? Where should I go? A rabbit appears, he stands up on his hind legs. He speaks to me in a voice I recognize but have forgotten. "Follow me, follow me," says the rabbit. "Follow me, follow me." I hesitate, what will happen if I follow? The rabbit is gone - only his fluffy tail is visible to me now - down the dark hole. I step into the hole, only too late to realize it is made of the same darkness as the dark oblivion. I grope through the darkness until I come to a mirror. I look in the mirror but there is no reflection! I hear a mocking voice, "you did this, you did this". I look in desperation in the mirror but can't find myself. Then I realize. The rabbit, I made him up. He spoke with my voice, a voice I'd forgotten. And if the rabbit is not real, if I made up the rabbit, then am I real?
If you found the above remotely compelling, run - don't walk - to the Freddy Wood and see Marie Bassard.
In my opinion, Maryse, you weren't too harsh. I found *The Invisible* to be self-indulgent and juvenile. Strangely, as you were having your thoughts the following occurred to me: "I shouldn't have taken this assignment". Last year, as part of the "RealTime":http://realtimearts.net/ workshop, I reviewed "Romeo Castellucci's":http://www.raffaellosanzio.org/ _Hey Girl_. Alone amongst my RealTime cohort, I loathed that show. The others loved it, many of them on the verge of tears during the performance. Keith Gallasch, who ran the workshop, pointed out that as a playwright I look for text-based narratives and decode shows accordingly. He was right, I do. With Castellucci you have to read the symbols and visuals in a different, non-textual manner. With that show my objection was to a narrative that I identified with a specific, objectionable theme. In fairness to myself, I did say that _Hey Girl_ was (and remains) one of the most visually stunning things I've ever seen. I also, despite grave reservations about the show, had faith that Castaulluci was a smart man. That care had gone into the work and that there was a lot going on that I was unable to "see".
I'm afraid I can't give Bassard the same sort of licence (or how I described to someone this evening, as "trust"). I don't believe there was anything going on that I couldn't "see". Maybe I'm wrong, but I have no faith that there was anything going on beyond half-baked musing that were somewhere well below Pink Floyd in profundity.
*Maryse:* Absolutely. At one point I heard the sentence "In the desert of my thoughts..." and at that moment I was done.
I tend to be a more linear minded person myself, but as a contemporary dance fan I've certainly taught myself to simply be immersed in a piece and observe it from a non-text point of view. *The Invisible* left me with nothing to grasp at - it simply made me think that it's this type of narcissitic performance that gives Art a bad name.
*Andrew:* But we haven't mentioned the Laurie Anderson vocal stylings yet. Maybe we've been unkind. But I don't think so. Suddenly, I feel very tired and a little sad.
_The Invisible, writer, director, performer Marie Brassard; Live Music & Sound Design Alexander MacSween; Lighting Design & Sound Design Mikko Hynninen; Dramaturg Daniel Canty; Set Design Simon Guilbault; 16mm Film Karl Lemieux; Assistant to the Set Designer Julie Measroch. Performed at the Frederic Wood Theatre at UBC and part of the ongoing PuSh Festival. For more information go vaguely "here":http://pushfestival.ca/index.php?mpage=shows&spage=main&id=78#show. Trust us, we're artists._