Curtains Up Winnipeg

By Christopher Douglas

In a second floor room without windows in downtown Winnipeg grows a tree. This tree’s deep roots remember Ovid’s ancient stories and, at the centre of a gallery in Artspace, its trunk can be located. Trees are a central image within Rafaella Marcus’ debut script, Sap, presented in this fluid staging by Elio Zarrillo. The audience seating is divided into quadrants spaced around a cylindrical shaft of translucent fabric – the tree’s trunk – at the core of the playing area. Actors move in and around the audience, creating a sense of intimacy (especially with a capacity of fewer than forty people) that echoes the script’s themes. 

The sap flowing through the veins of this tree are the spoken words. In a steady stream  addressed to the audience, the play’s nameless protagonist (Hera Nalam) guides us through her leafy hallucinations, her everyday life working at a women’s charity, and a lunch that introduces her to a lawyer referred to as ‘that guy’. The script’s humour shines through when that guy is described as being just what you imagine when you think of ‘that guy’ who would wink at you while scrolling Tinder, Bumble and Hinge simultaneously. Nalam lands these punchlines with aplomb before steering bravely back to the story. 

Sex and danger and vulnerability crack through the tree’s bark when the pair meet again. The edgy sexuality of the show is discussed and frequently abstracted in the staging, but its visceral nature merits the warning the company offers.

The ground shifts when our protagonist then mentions her bisexuality. She seems content with it but not confident enough to tell everyone. Post-interaction with ‘that guy’, the lead sets out to a club and locks eyes with her ‘wonder woman’. A new relationship is forged, where our lead does not speak of her history with men. Of course, secrets come with consequences and inhibit growth. 

The other characters in our protagonist’s greenhouse are played by Liz Whitbread, using swagger for ‘that guy’ and a sensual nonchalance for ‘wonder woman’ or a great bit of vocal fry for a receptionist at work. The playwright cleverly suggests this multitasking for the second actor and it pays off. Sap’s twists are logical in hindsight and can sometimes be anticipated as the script unfolds, but you will be kept wondering if they’re really going to go there before your jaw hits the forest floor when they do. The folks around me demonstrated the shock value of the show as they leaned forward, shifted, and gasped leading up to each reveal. 

The heart of the tree resides in that fabric sheath where Grace Morningstar, dressed in shades of green, takes a seat with her gleaming red wooden cello. This production adds the element of live music, and borrows the very human sound of the cello to underscore our narrator’s thoughts and provide punctuational screeches or blats during conversational scenes. Also credited as composer, Morningstar uses a loop pedal to layer pulsating rhythms and melody to create its own commentary on the action.

At 100 minutes, the production could use some pruning, but the gentleness behind the major set change justifiably offers breathing room during a chaotic moment. However, when both actors speak while prone on the floor, they can be hard to see across the room. That said, in this verbose, modern script, the words are the Sap holding together the ideas and they can always be clearly heard.

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Christopher Douglas (he/him) has primarily been a producer or stage manager. He has worked on 40+ productions in a variety of venues including parks, a bed-and-breakfast, a former coffin factory, and on a literal island. His short plays and adaptations have been performed in academic and festival settings and he is currently exploring poetry and libretti. He has (very) occasionally been convinced to act. As a reader, he devours award-nominated scripts and, as a critic, he has a history of being outspoken. A Torontonian by birth and a graduate of York University, he now lives in Winnipeg.