Boy in the Moon. An epic family portrait that rises above the stage production of this world premier.
Photo. Andrew Alexanderé. On stage- Manon St-Jules and Peter James Haworth
The acting space is nearly empty except for some carpets spread out in the middle of the floor. A series of beautifully lit rectangles suspended from the ceiling hang upstage, like fragmented screens where fractured drawings and rapid sketches of Walker, born with Cardiofaciocutaneous syndrome, appear and disappear at various moments. Downstage, actors perform the inner and outer journey of the parents, Ian Brown (Peter James Haworth) and Johanna Schneller (Manon St-Jules), telling their story of a severely handicapped son who has dominated their lives and given rise to Emil Sher’s play, adapted from the book by Ian Brown The Boy in the Moon. The story is moving, the dialogue is amazingly frank and honest. The question of abortion is raised at the moment of his birth while the most difficult moments of their early life with the son who has “deprived us of our privacy” and has exhausted them emotionally and physically, are portrayed with great precision and courage. The result is an extremely intimate portrait of a couple confronting a whole life of struggle with a child they love but whose needs devour their very existence.
This is a family portrait of truly epic proportions which has such strength in its own right that it tends to override the qualities of the production by sweeping you away in a torrent of empathy.
The appearance of Olga who looks after Walker is played out behind the rectangles with voices echoing from the back. Marion Day also plays the doctors who examine the baby , as well as the older sister Hayley who adapts so beautifully to her younger brother. The presence of that actress in these multiple roles is delicate, and kept minimal, shifting in and out, disappearing behind the screens, perfectly proportioned to these roles, suggesting a symbolist aesthetic which is suited to the vision of the text. Samuel Sholdice’s music is haunting and contributes immensely to the atmosphere of other worldliness that hovers over this production, as though they were all living in an eerie parallel reality that is constantly subjecting them to the most excruciatingly difficult ordeals. And yet there is a gnawing discomfort in relation to the performance that does not go away and that has nothing to do with Walker or with the situation.
Actor Peter James Haworth conveys a constant discomfort, not as a father who was disturbed but as an actor who is not at ease in his role. His movements appear awkward, his presence keeps reminding me he is in fact telling us how he relates to the experience of this father whose sense of existence the actor has not yet truly made his own. Some lines were fluffed but that is opening night nerves which will certainly disappear but there was something else underlying Haworth’s performance that did not feel right and it extended to his interaction with Manon St-Jules, playing his wife Johanna. The actress showed how the mother evolved throughout the evening as the performance covered all of Walker’s young life until they found a residence for him where he could live with other handicapped children. Johanna told us and showed us how she collapsed into moments of exhaustion while maintaining a narrative that suggested a sense of subtle irony. . She avoided unnecessary sentimentality and she created a subtext that suggested she was dealing with the events with much more strength than her husband but, there was very little sense of closeness between the two. Eric Coates’ staging did much to create a close physical dynamic between the two of them ( purposely, the son is never present), but Haworth’s performance has trouble portraying that closeness. The tension between the staging, the actor and the text has not yet been resolved. But it still might work out during the run of the play.
The text itself seems to move from moments of stark descriptions of daily reality to the father’s more abstract reflections on the way he feels/hopes his son might see the world. Ian’s life is a continuing search for some sign of recognition from his son, seeking a sense that he has a relationship with Walker. It purposely avoids over sentimentality which is a wise thing but it does not erase the fact that the situation causes much anguish because the boy cannot talk. That back and forth shifting from their daily difficulties to their efforts to grasp the boy’s sense of his own identity, are what structure the dialogue. It all appears to move forward at the end when they eventually realize that Walker’s communication with the world is actually revealed by the enormous impact he has made on his parents’ lives and how they themselves have learned a new way to relate to reality as a result of their life with him. This is an intellectual argument which is discussed and beautifully written but it is extremely difficult to bring this forward in theatrical language and the final image of the play appears to be in total contradiction with the playwright’s efforts in this sense.
Obviously, projecting a photo of Walker against those fragmented surfaces upstage could be seen as a tribute to the boy. However, the dialogue seems to tell us that the entire evening has been a desperate attempt on the part of the parents to construct a relationship of understanding, a special form of communication with their son. Who is he, what is the nature of his personal world? How does he relate to himself or us? Such existential questions are always present. Not once does the question of his physical appearance have any great importance in their relationship except perhaps at the very beginning. In fact they say they don’t care how people react any more when they see him on the street. There is even a funny episode with a slightly shocked new babysitter which makes that very clear. Mostly, however, the title of the play tells it all. The expression “man in the moon”, expresses the idea that people think they see a face in the moon but they cannot know what the substance of that face is because it is really an illusion.
In a similar way, the face of Walker, the “boy” in the moon, is of no consequence. It is the substance below that face, the internal world, the “pure being” of this human existence , as they say early in the play, that they try to grasp and convey to us. That is most important for the parents and it is that substance which has made the greatest impact on them. One could say then that the projection of Walker’s photo at the end , is the image of an outer shell that deflects from the deeper meaning of the play. Much more powerful would have been a less realistic and more symbolic effect: lighting, sound, or even the ultimate removal of that fractured surface of screens which would suggest the boy has at last become a whole person? It is after all, the director’s choice of course.
This is a powerful story that was certainly extremely difficult to bring to the stage. However, the story itself leaves us thinking about the situation of that family and their child and in that case it has succeeded. That is no doubt the best result one would want.
The Boy in the Moon, based on the book by Ian Brown
Written by Emil Sher
Directed by Eric Coates
Lighting: Jock Monroe
Set and costumes: Robin Fisher
Composer and sound: Samuel Sholdice
Cast
Marion Day Olga, voices, Hayley, doctors etc
Ian Brown Peter James Haworth
Johanna Schneller Manon St-Jules.
Plays until October 5th at the Irving Greenberg Theatre Centre. Tel 613-236-5196 for tickets.