Theater Mitu
reflects on war and death in their new stunning multimedia production based on
documentary material.
“Every day millions of people
die, yet we live as if death will never touch us.”
St. Vyasa, The Mahābhārata
Rubén Polendo, founding
artistic director of Theater Mitu, quotes the ancient Indian poem as a prologue
to the director’s note in the program. With poetical delicacy that doesn’t
cloud the pain of grief and loss, Remnant reminds
us of the fragility of mental and physical bodies. The production is a result
of interviewing people over the course of three years whose lives were shadowed
by death. Testimonies of current and former members of military forces,
patients diagnosed with terminal illness, and doctors and nurses become the
basis of a collaborative multimedia piece playing at the company’s brand-new
home, MITU580.
 |
| Michael Littig and Corey Sullivan in Remnant. Photo by Theater Mitu. |
Remnant is an assemblage of three
parts labeled A, B, and C that unfold simultaneously. As audience members
enter, they sit in front of one of three “boxes” (cross-shaped rooms with walls
made of mesh) and put on a headset. It doesn’t matter where you start—the
narrative is nonlinear, reminiscent of Milorad Pavić’s prose with its
unconventional principles of text organization. There is a multitude of
narrators, the mixing of documentary and author’s material, and inter-textual
allusions reaching back to antiquity.
The company members, uniformly dressed in heavy-duty coveralls,
function as conductors to other people's testimonies, moving somberly inside
their designated “aquariums.” Wires dangling from the ceiling connect to
microphones, screens, and lights, making the three-part set look like a
futuristic spaceship/lab. The sterile minimalism of the visual design is
supplemented with a three-dimensional soundscape, fed through the headphones.
The opening scene from Box C recreates a hospital's hustle and bustle so well
that I couldn’t help but look around, thinking there were some noisy
latecomers—the transition between “reality” and the “theatrical experience” is
brilliant.
Softly hugging your ears, headphones not only allow for three
parts of the show to unfold simultaneously, but also create an intimate form of
communication. It is as though the interviewees tell you, and you only, their
deeply personal stories of what if feels like to kill somebody in combat, or
how it is to suffer from chronic pain while waiting for death. The fragmented
narrative is interwoven with original songs, most of them written, produced,
and performed by the incredibly talented musician Ada
Westfall.
At the end of each cycle a cheery announcement set to carnival
music instructs you where to go next. “Hurry-hurry-hurry! One minute left”
rushes the voice, as if you are in a game of musical chairs. And this is after
spending a full minute in silence next to the hospital bed of a dying woman.
This contrasting shower of emotions disorientates, surprisingly fitting in a
conversation about war and death. It also heightens the awareness, in a sense
“cleansing” your emotional pallet.
Haunting personal stories from parts A and C are countered by
the bizarre part B. Set up as a TV studio, this section includes an explanation
of the meaning of “remnant,” retro commercials, and gloomy songs, all introduced
by an overly enthusiastic narrator. The program also features the musical
portrait of J. Robert Oppenheimer, an excursion into the Ancient Egyptians’
view of the afterlife, and a demonstration of the “body mic,” which amplifies
memories stored in your body. The obscure and puzzling Box B, with its
disharmony between the media and the message, is also the most successful one
in creating a near-transcendental experience.
For a short moment, different boxes connect—via a phone
conversation, or through Mahābhāratareferences. Otherwise, except where the
sound from a neighboring box leaks into your ears, the three narratives are
isolated. The architecture of this theatrical experience is flawlessly executed
in both writing and production, with just the right degree of detachment
allowing you to connect to the fragmented and distilled stories. Remnant allows
you to levitate outside of material aspects of death, enveloped by soothing
voices, divine music, and flickering screens.
__________
Remnant plays at MITU580, 580 Sackett
Street, Brooklyn, through September 21, 2018. Running time is 80 minutes
with no intermission. Performances are Tuesdays through Saturdays at 7:30,
Sundays at 3. Tickets are $25, $15 for students and artists, and are available
at theatermitu.org or by calling 646-543-6488.
Remnant is conceived and created by Theater Mitu: Kayla Asbell, Denis Butkus,
Alex Hawthorn, Michael Littig, Justin Nestor, Rubén Polendo, Xiao Quan, Attilio
Rigotti, Scott Spahr, Corey Sullivan and Ada Westfall. Directed by Rubén
Polendo. Associate Director is Scott Spahr. Architectural Install by Alex
Hawthorn, Justin Nestor, Rubén Polendo, Scott Spahr, and Corey Sullivan. Music
and Orchestration by Ada Westfall. Lighting Design by Alex Hawthorn, Rubén
Polendo, Attilio Rigotti, and Scott Spahr. Sound Design by Alex Hawthorn.
The cast is Kayla Asbell,
Denis Butkus, Alex Hawthorn, Michael Littig, Justin Nestor, Xiao Quan, Attilio
Rigotti, Scott Spahr, Corey Sullivan, and Ada Westfall.
