I like to make sense of the things around me. Like any other human being, I believe every effect has a cause, and by the principle of cause and effect I can understand what is going on in the world. This sort of thinking—it works well in real life—but how about in fiction, or in theatre? Fondly, Collette Richland asked me to give up everything I thought I knew about, well, everything. It asked me to enjoy myself even if I had no idea what it was that I was meant to be enjoying; it implored me not to ask questions but rather accept what is shown to me. Surprisingly, I let go of my impulses to dig for meaning, for a narrative. And I did let myself enjoy the show.
Fondly, Collette Richland was written by Sibyl Kempson and directed by John Collins. The production, created and performed by the known collective The Elevator Repair Service, is staged at the New York Theatre Workshop. My retelling of the events on stage may not do the production justice, for even though I observed every moment on stage, I still have no solid idea what the plot was. Yet it’s okay, because I was entertained.
I’m still going to try, though, to at least tie a loose thread through the arrangement of events. The play begins with a radio personality, Collette Richland, speaking into a microphone, presumably airing her broadcast. That scene segues into a couple, Mabel and Fritz Fitzhubert, having dinner. This is perhaps the most “normal” (read: understandable), part of the play. From there, the production begins to shift ceaselessly, like the audience is at sea and the waves just keep coming. Everything changes: scenery, plot, use of language, even identity. It is bewildering in the best sort of way.
So, here’s what happens as things get wonky, as far as I can tell: a door-to-door representative comes to the Fitzhubert’s during dinner. They show him the door in their home, which appears to be an inter-dimensional portal. The representative passes out. The following day, Mabrel’s sister arrives, and the cast makes way to a ski lodge. At the ski lodge, all of the staff are ancient gods and goddesses, and their goal is to induce a past-life regression in one of the tourists to keep the Krampus from wreaking havoc everywhere. The Krampus does appear, and deflowers a young socialite. The play ends with the Krampus smoking a cigarette, his young conquest looking bashful, and the entire cast staring out, silently, toward the audience.
The funny thing about this play is it forces you to accept that even if you, a fully conscious, thinking human, watch and pay attention to the production, it still may not make sense. In that sense, the play imitates real life. Who can truly say they look at the world and understand it? That they can fully comprehend human motives, actions or inactions?
One reason the absurdity of this play works for me is because it is so well acted. I do not have to be convinced of whatever preposterous situation is taking place on stage because I am too busy being entertained by the characters. A cat turns into an ancient goddess on stage because a voice from the radio told her to? That’s all right with me, as long as I get to see it happen. A vacationer grows scales on her legs and remembers her past life as a Roman, at the insistence of the aforementioned ancient goddess? Sure, bring on the scales. Let’s see ‘em.
As absurd as what I’m writing seems, I assure you that the experience is fully immersive and—dare I say it?—believable. Susie Sokol, who plays both the house cat and Clotilde, the goddess, is utterly hilarious and captivating on stage even if I still have no idea who or what she really is. Vin Knight, as Peggy Gladys the teenage socialite and deflowered virgin, sheds away any indication that he’s a middle-aged man, and completely adopts the persona of a young woman. Even if the audience has no idea what’s going on, the cast certainly seem as if they do.
The set, too, was a visual feast. The use of color, both in the physical set and lighting, kept me fully focused on the production even when I was puzzled about what I was seeing. I think having such a vibrant set helps keep a confused audience engaged, so I applaud David Zinn, who is in charge of scene design, and Mark Barton, who handled lighting design.
Prior to the production, I did not consider myself a fan of the “theatre of the absurd,” nor did I believe I would enjoy experimental theatre following my experience with Richard Maxwell’s Isolde. However, The Elevator Repair Service has proved me wrong and caused me to reconsider my stance with their performance of Fondly, Collette Richland.
