Written by CE Gatchalian, Directed by Alex Wilson, Staring Abby Howells, Trubie-Dylan Smith and Jacob McDowell, (4/5).
Hands, by Canadian playwright CE Gatchalian, depicts a couple - Phillip and Mary - who are confronted with the banality of their black-and-white lives. Their conversation centres on things like wallpaper, newspapers, anniversaries and mittens until their little world unravels. Enter Junior, Phillip and Mary’s only son, a prodigy since the age of six, a concert pianist and a degenerate.
Gatchalian is a young, complex and engaging writer, although his repetitive and at times chillingly mundane writing can prove quite the challenge for a director. Wilson tackled this piece with gusto, and his strong directorial choices were complemented by equally engaging lighting, design, and immaculate costuming (save perhaps Jacob McDowell’s attire, which made him look like a GI Joe).
The care Wilson took in assembling the simple but very effective set was noticeable. He framed the square performance space on two sides and covered the floor in large checkerboard tiles. This contrasted dramatically with Mary’s dreams of covering the walls in burgundy wallpaper exploding with azaleas. Poor Mary.
The sterility of these characters’ lives was reinforced further by Martyn Roberts’ use of lighting, and the lights were even hung to mirror the checkerboard flooring, a treat for observant viewers (or those who had to write on the play for their THEA122 or THEA351 assignments). Stark neon-esque lights also contrasted with warm household light bulbs sheltered by clean metal shades (ironically, these lights actually contain a neon centre, not the usual filament that your living-room light probably holds).
The boldest choice that Wilson made was seating Phillip at the very back of the space, facing the back corner. This stylised staging decision was daring, but really worked, helping to emphasis the disconnect between Phillip and his wife and align the audience with Mary, framing Phillip as the orchestrator of Mary’s torturous life.
The acting started strong but quickly lost intensity. Although the location of McDowell (as Junior) within the stage space was clearly thought out, his presence seemed forced. The tension hadn’t built enough to justify his entrance and I wasn’t quite convinced that he ‘owned’ his presence. Neither Smith nor Howells pushed themselves through the dialogue, ripping and screaming right up to the finale. They were apt, they were engaging, they were present, but they just weren’t quite there. Howell lacked the vocal ability to really grasp me by the throat and pull me down with her. The music (which was fabulous and played throughout – was it Edith Piaf?) swallowed her right at the point I wanted her to lose control, fall apart and, miraculously, pull it all together.
The final sequence just didn’t satisfy me either, I left feeling slightly underwhelmed. But don’t worry! The good definitely outweighed the bad and I was incredibly happy to see such brave and accomplished work from Mr. Wilson. I really enjoyed this play, and I would love to see another Wilson/Gatchalian collaboration - possibly with the addition of Aitken. Call me?
Hands
