Linnea Swan in Appetite. Photo by John Lauener.
Appetite
Directed by Sarah Sanford
Co-created and performed by Claire Calnan, Adam Lazarus, and Linnea Swan
Runs until April 26 @ Theatre Passe Muraille Mainspace
By Daina Valiulis
Lasting long enough for a small meal at a nice restaurant, Appetite is a delicious little treat of a piece that satisfies fully without leaving a bad taste in your mouth. Performed at Passe Muraille in association with Volcano and the Exchange Rate Collective, the artists Linnea Swan, Adam Lazarus, and Claire Calnan jaunt about the stage and — gleefully, disgustingly, sensuously — explore the human appetite for food, sex, love, and attention.
A project four years in the making, Appetite was inspired by watching people interact with their food and each other at a bar in Edinburgh. The play grew out of the collaborative effort by the artists to dialogue and the mash-up of movement, clown, dance. Set in a meat processing plant with stark fluorescent lighting, an industrial sink in one corner and a table in the middle of the stage, the constant sound of machines droning reminds the audience of the ugly and violent side of food — an idea that pervades much of the scenes, as the characters’ relationships are all excitingly violent and sexual.
All three performers were incredible. Seamless movements transformed them from dead animal carcasses to two regular people breaking up in a restaurant, to clowns throwing themselves about the stage, to graceful and bendy dancers making every scene flow naturally into the next. They used every inch of the stage and were all committed, invested, and hysterically funny.
Naturally, “appetite” has one thinking of food, which was actually used in different ways throughout the show (not so fun for the person who has to clean up every night after the show). A stand-out hilarious scene: immediately following an intense encounter, the actors threw pies in each others’ faces, sprayed the back wall with mustard, and danced around with chickens and lettuce. It was a celebration and a war, and was followed by a serious vignette. The actors did an amazing job balancing the darkness and light of appetite (and of food), mirroring the way we can be disgusted by it or enraptured by it, though we need it all the same.
So many shows characterized by vignettes lack cohesiveness, but Appetite was effectively organized. There was nothing extraneous; it was focussed and concise. The artists presented strong, consistent characters that carried the idea of appetite in relation to food, sex, violence, and love through to the end. Appetite is short, sweet, hysterically funny, sexy, disgusting and smart — if you feel like going out for a big steak afterwards, I would completely understand.
