Aftershock
By Evan Tsitsias
Directed by Rod Ceballos
Presented by Theatre on the Verge
Set Design: Glen Davidson
Dramaturge: Lisa O’Connell
Featuring Patrick Garrow, Lynne Griffin, Allana Harkin, David Mackett, Catherine Rainville, Amy Rutherford
Runs until August 15 @ Factory Theatre Studio
By Jen Handley
Theatre On the Verge’s Aftershock manages to critique reality TV while borrowing some of its voyeuristic appeal. After Annabel (Amy Rutherford), a tall, thin blonde woman in a white dress and heels is ushered into a scrappy kitchen by her adoring family, it’s revealed that she’s just returned from a week-long reality show makeover. She’s had her nose straightened, her teeth filed, her birthmarks removed, and her hair fixed, and everyone around her is now shabby by comparison. Also, she can’t move her feet at all, and is stuck on the same kitchen tile for almost the entire play.
Annabel’s main problem, however, is not her new immobility; it’s Gary, her husband (Patrick Garrow), a compulsive gambler, wife-beater, and stereotypical bad person. He’s always telling Annabel to “just stand there” so he can look at her. Why Annabel hasn’t gotten rid of him before is never really explored, but Garrow does everything he can to make Gary as creepy as possible, and make everyone in the audience want Annabel to hurry up and throw him out already.
All this is pretty straightforward, but a big selling point for Aftershock is how it sets up one character’s self-mutilation as an attack on the constructed ideal of female beauty. The escalating violence doesn’t come as a surprise after the first bit of it, but the fact that we know what’s coming heightens the anticipation. The audience I viewed it with audibly gasped each time they realized how she was going to hurt herself next. While Aftershock implicitly criticizes the kind of reality shows that bring Annabel to her breaking point, the way it sets up its audience as oglers of her innermost pain seems like a an acknowledgment of what makes them appealing.
There’s a sitcom-ish feel to this show, and that works in its favour. The brisk pace, brightly-coloured set, and goofy supporting characters are all safe and familiar characteristics that make Annabel, in her awkward white dress and steadily growing set of mutilations, seem exaggeratedly foreign and creepy. The Full House vibe also gives the unexplainable stuff, like Annabel’s immobility, more emotional impact, as in a scene where she has to physically help her daughter, a (justifiably) angsty Catherine Rainville.
Rutherford is able to channel a lot of emotion while rooted to the tile. While she looks way too young for the part, that just ads to the confusion of her transformation, particularly in her scenes with Rainville: daughter and mother, post-surgery, look almost the same age.
Allana Harkin and Lynne Griffin turn out terrific performances as Annabel’s weirdo, patently un-makeovered family. Harkin, as Becky’s narcoleptic, sexually stunted sister, makes her character fun rather than pathetic. As her overly-critical, insensitive mother Griffin is an ever-present reminder of how imperfect even good people are.
