Review: “Behind the Sheet”

Charly Evon Simpson exposes the origins of modern gynecology in her play honoring enslaved women used as medical research subjects.

On the opening night of the new play Behind the Sheet, after the cast received a well-deserved standing ovation, the actors signaled us to quiet down. In an epilogue, they tell us that Dr. George Barry, one of the characters in the play that we just saw, is based on a real historical figure, J. Marion Sims. In 1840s Alabama he performed medical experiments on some eleven enslaved black women, looking for a cure for post-childbirth fistulas. Dr. Sims eventually became known as the "father of modern gynecology," with a statue erected in New York's Central Park (later moved to Brooklyn's Greenwood Cemetery, where he is buried). But no statues commemorate the women whose bodies were used in multiple experimental surgical procedures without their consent. Playwright Charly Evon Simpson has attempted to correct that injustice.

Cristina Pitter, Naomi Lorrain, and Nia Calloway in Behind the Sheet. Photo by Jeremy Daniel.

Produced by the EST/Sloan Science & Technology Project, Behind the Sheet is a double-punch in the gut, equally disturbing as an account of medical history and a portrait of life on antebellum Southern plantation. Colette Robert subtly directs a production characterized by earth tones and bathed in warm light. Considering its subject, the show is surprisingly gentle and easy on the audience’s psyche. Eschewing visual shocks and focusing on human connection, Robert does justice to Simpson’s play and leaves a lot of room for the actors to shine.        

The fictional George (Joel Ripka), a failed physician, is onto a new ambitious mission. He wants to figure out the way to close an obstetric fistula, a condition that can occur after a difficult childbirth, causing uncontrollable urine and fecal leakage. Infections, painful inflammations and stigma due to strong odors plague women with this condition for the rest of their lives. Dr. George acquires a few of these women in order to perform his research.

Philomena (Naomi Lorrain), a calm, quick-witted and very pregnant enslaved woman, assists the doctor. At first, her calm demeanor, and the enthusiasm of the doctor, showing the tools of his invention to the neighboring plantation owner, are somewhat reassuring. But soon enough this medical practice reveals its rotten core. George sees his patients as his property, using them basically as living mannequins. He implies that due to their race, they are naturally more tolerant to pain and don’t need anesthetic; moreover, he believes that post-surgical pain relief (courtesy of opium) only causes distress in women. Away from their families and in pain, the "patients" can only rely on each other, but even that is made difficult because life has scarred them too many times.

The scenes between women simply talking are the most successful—even more gripping than a forceful kiss, an invasive medical exam, attending the plantation mistress and other instances of abuse that make us hold our breaths in the audience. Their conversations about their pasts, their everyday worries and their future hopes are filled with pain, poise, and sass when you least expect it, allowing us to exhale with relief. Betty (Nia Calloway), Philomena (Naomi Lorrain), Sally (Cristina Pitter), Mary (Amber Reauchean Williams) and Dinah (Jehan O. Young) stand strong despite their miserable condition, even when their voluptuous skirts (costume design by Sarah Woodham) are stained with their own and each others' blood.             

After the curtain call, the five actresses remained standing on the Curt Dempster Theatre's small stage as monuments for the enslaved women, who never received any credit for their contribution to science. Audience members were standing as one, some wiping tears from their faces. Those few brief moments in silence before the lights went out felt sacramental and righteous. And although the horrors of the history of medicine haunted me for quite a long time after seeing Behind the Sheet, I felt order was restored, the heroines too long in the shadows honored.

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Behind the Sheet plays at Ensemble Studio Theatre, 549 West 52nd Street, through February 3, 2019. The running time is 1 hour 30 minutes with no intermission. Performances are Mondays at 7; Wednesdays through Fridays at 7; Saturdays at 2 and 7; and Sundays at 5. Tickets are $30, $25 for students and seniors, and are available at ensemblestudiotheatre.org.

Behind the Sheet is by Charly Evon Simpson. Directed by Colette Robert. Part of the EST/Sloan Science & Technology Project. Set Design by Caitlyn Murphy. Costume Design by Sarah Woodham. Lighting Design by Adam Honoré. Sound Design by Fan Zhang. Stage Manager is Fran Acuña-Almiron.

The cast is Stephen James Anthony, Nia Calloway, Naomi Lorrain, Cristina Pitter, Shawn Randall, Joel Ripka, Megan Tusing, Amber Reauchean Williams, and Jehan O. Young.

(This review was published on theasy.com)

Dance, Drink, and Fall In and Out of Love in ‘Duet-ed’ (Review)

A series of one-on-one performances prompts participants to reflect on the nature of intimacy in personal life and immersive theatre

“Who was the last lover you danced with? When you were dancing, was there music playing? Do they smell like me?”

A woman asks me these questions as we slow dance on a small landing draped in fabric so it feels like an isolated room. The scene is illuminated only by Christmas lights. Quiet music is playing and the woman’s hands are warm and soft. This was the beginning of my journey through Duet-ed, a  series of five, one-on-one experiences set in multiple, dimly lit rooms and nooks of Vital Joint in Brooklyn. It is a site-specific, interactive performance by What Holds Heat, a collaboration between Nic Adams and Cori Marquis, reflecting  upon intimacy, fidelity and trust.

Photo by Lee Rayment

Some of the scenes are conversational pieces, where a character leads you into dialogue, while others occur  in complete silence. One of the rules of Duet-ed is  that you shouldn’t speak unless a performer addresses you, so it’s easy to know what to do. I chat with the barmen about open relationships and our preferences regarding being a big spoon or a little spoon. Lit by the giant moon behind his back, he pours me some red wine and explains the concept of “compersion,” the joy experienced while watching or thinking about your partner being with someone else. But then he shows me something that creeps me out a little, ruining a newly developed trust.

How far can we stretch our acceptance of a loved one’s choices? I find myself reflecting, while listening to a woman as she completes  the finishing touches of her makeup before embarking on a night out. Being in such intimate proximity with a character intensifies the involvement in their life drama, but also turns the reflection inwards. What would I do? Are my relationships anything like that? The small bathroom has a bluish glow and is filled with the smell of nail polish. She asks me to type a text for her, and, as she changes her mind about the wording, she tells about her experiences with open relationships and marriage. As soon as the text is sent, I am asked out as abruptly as I was accepted into this circle of trust. I move on to the next encounter.

We often look for a specific virtue in a partner, something to fulfill our own shortfallings, perhaps.  Before the show starts, audience members are asked to write their preferred trait on a piece of golden ribbon and tie it around their wrists. This bracelet acts as sort of a charm and each performer leaves a mark on it with a Sharpie throughout the performance. At first I thought that it was designed to keep track of which one-on-ones you’ve experienced. But since the maximum number of audience members is five, it is relatively easy to rotate them. Later on, I thought of the symbolic meaning of the bracelet: each encounter, however brief it was, leaves an impact in you. The Sharpie threw me off, making me feel like I was participating in a bureaucratic process rather than a personalized experience. It’s incredible how the smallest detail in the design of an immersive show can transform the perception of it.     

Whether it was the smell of essential oil (which reminded me of a yoga studio) or the “waiting area” filled with books (a little like at a doctor’s office), I immediately felt like I was in some kind of therapy. Verbal interactions were done in low, soothing voices and gentle, physical contact of variable length and intensity had a soothing effect. The rules are established from the beginning and performers guide the participants with verbal and non-verbal cues but it took me a while to get used to the amount of tactile interaction.  Yet managing expectations isn’t always easy when it comes to physical contact. I felt extremely vulnerable in a couple of instances, like when I was spooning with a performer and just breathing. But I can only imagine how vulnerable she must have also felt.

Duet-ed makes you reflect on emotional intimacy and uses touch as one of the narrative tools, along with dialogue, smell, and taste. To keep the interactions between the audience members and the performers within the frame of theatrical experience, the show borrows not only from therapy but also from ritual. One of the ritual-like experiences I went through was reminiscent of a session with a fortune-teller or a spiritual healer involving cards and matchstick cabins, silent directions and a sip of tea. The obscurity of it was a little puzzling and peculiar.

The other ritualistic practice I experienced was a group dance performed by the audience members and actors together. As two or three audience members met between the one-on-ones in a common area under a canopy made of ribbons, they began to teach each other an  unsophisticated but beautiful round dance. Learning and practicing each combination separately, we then put them together at the end of an hour-long show. (I personally have a soft spot for communal dances.) These simple patterns are accessible for nearly everyone, as there was  no judgment of your performing abilities and everybody goes through the learning together. Throughout the night each audience member was all experiencing one-one-one performances, sharing their thoughts, secrets and regrets. But as it turns out, there is another type of intimacy that can be achieved through a group dance. No matter what kind of moves we perform in our individual duets, in the end we are all parts of a bigger circle.

(This review was published on noproscenium.com)

Review: “The Mortality Machine”

An immersive and interactive piece that prompts you to investigate a tragic incident in an illegal medical lab, and reflect on the afterlife.

Immersive and interactive theatre has become increasingly popular, with audience experiences ranging from following the actors and observing them interact with the environment through dance (Sleep No More, Then She Fell), looking for clues and solving puzzles (Paradiso, This Is Real), becoming characters themselves to confront personal drama (This Is When We Rest), or working on a mission together (Escape from Marseilles). With their newest show, Sinking Ship Creations (who did Escape from Marseilles) brings all of these elements together. The Mortality Machine ambitiously combines live-action role-playing (LARP) with site-specific dance and investigation/puzzle solving.

Participants in The Mortality Machine. Photo by Zach Filkoff.

The premise goes like this. Five years ago, a fatal incident occurred in an illegal medical research facility, resulting in the deaths of Dr. Kevin Schumacher, the head of the laboratory, along with five young volunteers. The tragedy was quickly covered up, the basement lab on Canal Street sealed, and not even family members were allowed inside to pick up the personal belongings of the deceased.

Fast forward to 2019—through a class-action lawsuit, a group of up to 20 survivors get the right to enter the lab in search for answers and emotional closure. You guessed it: these are the parts for the audience. As we gather before the show, we are each given a badge with the name of our character. On the back is information about who we came for, the nature of our relationship, and which other friends and family members of this person are also present. Hats off to the successful design of the visitor’s badge, which allows you to address people and have your backstory handy at all times.

The characters are written with enough room to fill with your imagination if you wish to explore an inner life of another person. Early on, one participant confronted me with a confession regarding our mutual past, which affected my attitude towards them and contributed to the emotional distress of my character. The group investigation became a means of personal revenge for me for the first part of the show.

Author Ryan Hart is inventive when it comes to triggering emotional responses and seamlessly intertwining them into the process of the underground lab search. The paperwork that our lawyer (Isaac Conner) asks us to sign prompts us to think of our dead loved ones. The reporter (Rita McCann), who is covering the story but is not allowed into the lab, tries to catch people in the lobby to get an insider scoop. McCann’s performance is one of the best I’ve seen in interactive theatre. Radiating an equal measure of charm and annoyance, she cleverly directs our thoughts towards possible solutions and self-reflection.    

The Mortality Machine promises something for everybody. Those who wish to collaboratively work on an investigation of laboratory operations are provided with plentiful material. Photographs, notes, documents, personal items, and even video content can be found around the lab, courtesy of designers Tommy Honton and Orli Native. And of course the centerpiece of it all, the queen of the props, is the Mortality Machine herself. Can it provide all answers?

Without revealing too much, I will only say that there is more to The Mortality Machine than first meets the eye. Though a choreographer (Lara Marcin) is credited, to say too much about the dance might give away too much. This part actually was the most troubling for me. Designed to provide emotional catharsis through physical movement, it was difficult to suddenly switch modes from being an active agent who makes choices, to becoming a passive observer. 

The experience ended somewhat abruptly, leaving more questions than answers; the story still had a lot of loose ends. Going through the meticulously assembled paraphernalia in the lab provides aesthetic satisfaction, but is intellectually disappointing. The newly found information largely confirms what we already knew from the beginning. Sure, the personal emotional track of my character was somewhat amusing. But I find it difficult to truly indulge in feelings when puzzles are involved. All I could think about was solving the mystery. 

With some bumps and imbalances, The Mortality Machine is still a notable experiment in the field of interactive theatre. The employment of multiple storytelling devices is a daring task; perhaps for somebody else, it will be a more rounded experience. And just as no two audience members’ journeys are the same, neither are the durations of any two shows—it can run anywhere between 90 minutes (on the night that I attended) to 2 hours 15 minutes (as announced in the press release). So wear comfortable shoes and don’t make post-show dinner reservations, as you have no idea where The Mortality Machine will take you.

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The Mortality Machine plays at Wildrence, 59 Canal Street, through February 24, 2018. The running time varies between 90 minutes and 2 hours 15 minutes with no intermission. Performances are Tuesdays through Sundays at 7. Tickets are $125. To book tickets and for more information visit themortalitymachine.com.

The Mortality Machine is by Ryan Hart. Produced by Sinking Ship Creations. Choreography by Lara Marcin. Design by Tommy Honton. Production Design by Orli Native. Fabrication by Alex Young. Technical Design by Sergey Kasich. Original Music by Terra Warman. Physical Computing by Weston Harper. 

The cast is Daan Bootsma, Isaac Conner, Julia Jurgilewicz, Elizabeth Law, Rita McCann, Kelsey Rondeau, Jessy Smith, Jennifer Suter, and Rafael Svarin.

(This review was published on theasy.com on 1/15/19)

‘Space Explorers: Taking Flight’ and ‘Beethoven’s Fifth’ (VR Review)

The ups and downs of documentary virtual reality

A 50-second clip of a train arriving at La Ciotat Station was first shown by the Lumière brothers in 1896. For the generations to follow, this train signified the arrival of not only a  new medium, but also the field of cinematography and the genre of documentary film. Indigenous to modernity is the desire to document the highest achievement of technological progress with the state of the art equipment.

‘Space Explorers: Taking Flight’

So a I sink into a chair with a virtual reality headset on, I think of the audience of the first Lumière films. There is a persistent myth that people fled in fear from the train approaching onscreen. After some 123 years, I now am about to witness a space shuttle launch in VR, completely surrounded by the environment in my headset. But technological novelty aside, how efficient is VR when it comes to documentaries? This question is top of mind as I take in Space Explorers: Taking Flight and Beethoven’s Fifth, both of which use 360-degree documentary footage; the former to bring its audiences to places not usually available for the general public, the latter one to show a familiar situation in a new and exciting way.       

Space Explorers: Taking Flight is the second of two parts of Space Explorers, a documentary by Montreal-based Felix & Paul Studios. It is currently a part of the Phi Centre’s exhibition Echo: The Sound of Space. Space Explorers: Taking Flight invites the viewer to travel to the US and Russian astronauts’ training bases, launch pad, and to the International Space Station, all without leaving the comfort of one’s chair. This 20-minute film gives a glimpse into what it takes to be a space explorer, while conveying an important political message: when nations collaborate instead of competing and when the state works hand in hand with the private sector, humanity is able to accomplish so much more.

It feels grand to be confronted with the scale of the operations. As I watch a NASA rocket slowly rolled out on a track, my heart is filled with excitement. When the camera is placed inside Soyuz Spacecraft alongside two cosmonauts preparing for the launch, I can almost physically feel the tightness of the space. I am there! And like a schoolgirl on a class trip to a cool facility, I am only listening to the “tour guide” half-heartedly, devouring the surroundings with wide eyes.

With every VR piece, I ask myself, does this have to be a 360-degree experience? What would it lose if translated to a flat screen? And although the medium of VR doesn’t seem essential to Taking Flight on the first glance, I find myself enjoying the film more because it is in VR. Firstly, the specifics of this technology affect the way Taking Flight is shot and composed. Each scene is a long static shot fading to black in the beginning and end, which minimizes any distraction from the film’s editing.

Editing in live action VR doesn’t abide by the same rules as a two-dimensional film. Unfortunately,  Beethoven’s Fifth (directed by Jessica Brillhart) presented at the same program at Phi Centre, ignores this. This nine-minute “contemplative work” (as described by the exhibit curators) is a tribute to 1977 Voyager launches, twin spacecraft carrying records with music and imagery, intended to represent the pinnacle of human culture. The piece features the footage of London Philharmonia Orchestra playing First Movement of the Fifth Symphony. Shots of the orchestra are filmed from several angles of the rehearsal room and are intercut with signals received from Voyager, visualized as moving blue, plasma-like matter.

In Beethoven’s Fifth, the cuts are made in sync to music, presumably to create a plausible rhythm of documentary footage and video art, but, in actuality, the editing feels like a helpless attempt to make the experience more entertaining. The effect is sometimes annoying, when there is a jump cut from a wide shot to a medium shot through cross-dissolve. With the hands of the conductor and the musicians moving, this kind of transition looks messy and takes the viewer out of the immersed state. Sometime the transition even creates an unintended comical effect. One of the cuts came as I was looking towards the back of the orchestra while standing in the middle of it. One moment I was looking at the musicians, and the next, I was staring at a wall with some microphones stored in the corner—a less than flattering part of the rehearsal room. I was clearly meant to face the other direction, but viewer agency does not seem to have been taken into account.

Facing the “wrong” way is one of the biggest pleasures in Taking Flight. I feel like an explorer in environments and situations where I wouldn’t normally be present. The slow “reveal” of a scene as I look around can be satisfying and give you new visual information. For example, as a  cosmonaut, Alexander Misurkin, narrates about the importance of protecting the crewmembers from viruses before launching into space, I turn my head and notice that he is actually sitting behind glass. It is natural to look at a person during a sit-down interview but occasionally my gaze is prompted to “wander” during the experience, like during an “establishing shot” prior to the interview with cosmonaut Misurkin. All of a sudden I found myself amidst camels munching on a prairie and helplessly looking around for clues. Only the caption “Baikonur, Kazakhstan” appearing a few moments later, clarified the location.

Viewer curiosity is rewarded in Taking Flight. The events, faces, and interior details on the periphery of the main action contain layers of information. Theoretically, you are at risk to find yourself facing a blank wall when transitioning into the next shot, like in Beethoven’s Fifth. But since Taking Flight is narrated, you are unlikely to get lost. Your gaze can follow the voice, which is a less intrusive form of guidance than abrupt unmotivated cuts. I was even tempted to close my eyes during Beethoven’s Fifth and give in to the music, enhanced by a vibrating backpack.

As VR technology develops, it must devise its own language, utilizing advances in theatre, film, animation, and games. Will it become a new world in documentary storytelling? It’s hard to tell. The effect of the presence has leapt forward since the debut of The Arrival of a Train at La Ciotat Station. But funnily enough, the operational method of documentary VR seems

borrowed from Lumière brothers: simply place your 360-degree camera rig in the middle of the action and hit “record.” I am excited to see the visual language of live action VR evolve. Just as space exploration sparks the imagination, the development of this kind of emerging media promises  new modes of perception and interaction. VR has a unique capability of literally putting a viewer in the middle of the action. It would be great to see it used for putting her inside somebody else’s shoes by making her a character, actively interacting or even symply observing. The viewer already has some degree of agency through just being able to look in the direction that she wishes. It is up to the creators of these experiences to collaborate artfully and efficiently with a new creative force: the audience.

(This review was published on NoProscenium.com)   

Conduct An Orchestra of Celestial Bodies with ‘Spheres: Songs of Spacetime’ (VR Review)

The award-winning interactive VR trilogy marries scientific documentary video art

The Canadian premiere of the VR trilogy SPHERES takes place in a cathedral. At least it seems so when I enter the dedicated room at Montreal’s Phi Centre. The award-winning trio of documentaries about the sound of deep space, written and directed by Eliza McNitt and executive produced by Darren Aronofsky, is presented in a truly spectacular way: two rows of suspended glowing hoops meet at the far end of the high-ceilinged room and continue in the reflection of a dark disk which serves as altar. Astonished by this monumental view, I stop a conversation with my companion mid-sentence and step quietly inside a room draped in heavy, black fabric. After my eyes adjust to the darkness, I notice that there is a VR headset descending from the middle of each hoop. A friendly assistant dressed in all black approaches and leads me to one of the available stations, explaining what I am about to encounter.   

   

The three parts of SPHERES, each just under 15 minutes, can be watched in any order as a triptych or separately. The spectacular visual style is artful yet clear enough for the films to be used as an educational tool. The scientific, documentary-style narrative is made poetic by mystic voices and a transcendental soundtrack. The experience is enhanced by interactive elements. The viewer is able to hear the “songs” of planets and stars by pointing at them when prompted using the controllers in their hands. The pointing doesn’t change any of the cosmic events, but I still feel a little bit god-like seeing the trace of my actions on the fabric of the universe.

Chapter I: Chorus of the Cosmos, narrated by Millie Bobby Brown, is the most interactive of the three. Using the canvas of the deep space, I draw auroras and I listen to the electromagnetic waves pulsing between my hands. The central event of Chorus of the Cosmos, the parade of planets in our solar system, is brought into motion by controllers. I am prompted to tap planets to activate and listen to their magnetospheres and then to push them as if starting a giant cosmic watch. As the planets fly around me, I can stick my head in any of them to hear the inner hums of the celestial bodies. The experience of “dancing” with the planets is truly mesmerizing but can have  some tracking issues. In my inspired chase I was constantly hitting the blue grid of the VR border, meanwhile my tall companion had to bend over in order to put his head inside the planets.

Chapter II: Songs of Spacetime, narrated by Jessica Chastain, explains the concept of the black holes and gives a viewer a chance to look inside one of them. The experience is nearly psychedelic. Scientific facts turn esoteric with remarks like “The atoms of our bodies were forged in the heart of stars; we too are made of stardust.” Hearing something like this while being inside the star, and literarily a part of its matter, has a very dramatic effect. Not only does the viewer become a star, but also a black hole, swallowing other stars and “banging on the surface of time” with other black holes. There is even a scene where I was able to  visualize gravitational waves using the sound of my own voice.

Chapter III: Pale Blue Dot (narrated by Patti Smith) is about, you guessed it, the Earth. The viewer travels through time from the Big Bang to the birth of the first stars and formation of galaxies. By pointing two golden “needles” coming out of my hands at glowing stars, I hear their siren songs as they drift by. This part has a slower pace and requires more observance than playfulness from the viewer. I felt a little dizzy as the rings of Saturn were spinning underneath my feet. But this experience feels like  just a pleasant walk in comparison to the wild ride of Chorus of the Cosmos. And since Pale Blue Dot is less dynamic visually compared to Chapters I and II, I found I could can pay more attention to the haunting soundtrack, which is magnificent throughout the trilogy.

In SPHERES, the combination of electronic ambient chords with the imagined sounds of physical interactions of objects in space is seemingly  completely fictional. The meteors swooshing by and crashing into each other couldn’t be heard, because there is no atmosphere in space to carry sound. Or, at least there is no “sound” that we humans can hear. SPHERES invites the viewer to imagine new ways to perceive what we can’t yet grasp.

The interactivity in SPHERES also decreases from part one to three, so watching the trilogy in reverse (as I did) might be perfect for somebody who is new to VR and is looking for a gradual rise of participation. Viewing the parts in reverse order enabled me to start as a human, become a star and a black hole, and then, essentially, God. It is refreshing to take part in this VR adventure, not as a mere human, but as a celestial body or some kind of cosmic energy.

SPHERES invites the viewer to the journey through millions of light years, encouraging the thirst for knowledge and creativity much like space itself, which has long been a source of questions and inspiration for humanity ever since we first acknowledged the skies above us.     

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SPHERES runs at Rockefeller Center in New York City from January 18 through March 3, 2019. Tickets are $50.

[This review was published on noproscenium.com on 1.04.19]