Review

Deep Trance Behaviour in Potatoland

Ontological-Hysterical Theater

March 9, 1008

VanLoan

vanloan@nyconstage.org

For his 40th anniversary production, avant-garde iconoclast Richard Foreman decided to return to his "roots", Potatoland. The location for an early masterwork ('Rhoda in Potatoland' with the incomparable Kate Manheim as Rhoda), Potatoland is an otherworldly dreamscape, hypnotic in its overall effect. Through this séance-like atmosphere, Foreman plunges ever deeper into a state of altered consciousness. In recent years, the auteur has started using video in his work to achieve this end result (or as he puts it in his production notes: "theater dissolving itself in the "acid-bath" of film"). Using footage shot in Japan and England, Deep Trance has a more integrated feel than the previous attempts.

Entering the theater, the video screens bid us to "Go To Japan" with an ominous tick-tocking sounding throughout the house. The stage is set with the usual Forman-esque abstractions: clocks whose hands spin out of control, strings darting across the playing area, two baby grand pianos, bejeweled fish which are treated like the Holy Grail and two very large cisterns. Two actresses enter and take some pills marked XO. As hurdy-gurdy music begins to play, we begin on another philosophical three ring circus known as a Foreman play.

There is no plexi-glass scrim that typically separates the audience and the stage; the tableau staging feels more intimate than usual. The beginning of the piece is a little low-keyed with the video screens taking precedent; the English and Japanese actors often hiding their faces with paper. Slipping into a drugged consciousness, the often silent live actors seem to yield to their visual counterparts. A caped vampire scurries about periodically agitating everyone while the Kabbalah sign for life appears on screen. It's simultaneously cryptic and bizarre with the live actors projecting the feeling of having no feelings; or maybe they're awaiting a sign from another medium. With the entire set slightly askew, we are urged to view the proceedings with a new consciousness.

Or maybe not. The beauty of a Foreman play is that we are never quite on firm ground. When the "royal" hummingbird enters and descends on the actors, we have no choice but to give ourselves over to another reality. When the piece is over, a projection on the screen says "You May Go Now" with no curtain call. It's just another jarring, mind-expanding evening in Potatoland.

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