THEATER
Almost, Maine
Repertory Philippines
Feb. 19 to March 13
8 p.m. on Fridays and Saturdays;
and 3:30 p.m. on Saturdays and Sundays
Onstage Theater, Greenbelt 1, Ayala Center, Makati City
ALMOST, MAINE is not the kind of play that one can comfortably like, but give it a chance and it’s almost… not terrible. (If you think that’s a backhanded compliment, read Fast Company’s “How A Complete Flop Became The Most Popular Play In America”). The material is borderline mawkish — it is, after all, about love and loss, and seeking connections in a cold, noncommittal town, with its unorganized residents inexplicably drawn (so it says in the notes) to each other. But the treatment is good-natured, lightly humorous, and even clever. You might even find yourself involuntarily whispering “aww,” and stealthily blinking to keep from tearing up (if this happens, blame the faux snowy drifts blowing your way — just one of the minimal effects with maximum impact employed by set designers Coco Anne and Baby Imperial).
Yes, the touches of magic realism are really quite literal: a tourist whose heart has hardened into slate and broken into 19 pieces that she protectively shields from a smitten repairman; a local woman who knocks on her boyfriend’s door, hauling bags filled with all the love he gave her, and demanding all the love that she gave him returned; two bros who “fall” accidentally in love with each other; and a squabbling married couple who nearly get blindsided when the shoe, er, drops… with a bang. But thankfully, these magical moments are made whimsical rather than cutesy.
It helps that director Bart Guingona is allergic to schmaltz — looking downright pained whenever he utters the word — and so treated Almost, Maine as a sort of actor’s exercise. The fact that only four REP actors play all of 19 characters (20, if you count a voice-over) in nine vignettes within two acts, one after the other, predisposes you to awe. “It’s cheaper,” Mr. Guingona quipped, adding that it would be a waste of talent if Caisa Borromeo (Sandrine, Marvalyn, Gayle, Hope), Natalie Everett (Ginette, Glory, Marci, Rhonda, and a waitress), Reb Atadero (East, Jimmy, Lendall, Randy, Daniel), and Jamie Wilson (Pete, Steve, Chad, Phil, Dave) were limited to a mere 10-minute scene.
“Give them a challenge! And challenge the audience. Make things harder for everyone… so we work together, it’s a communal effort,” said an almost gleeful Mr. Guingona. His actors, all veterans, only have seconds to spare for costume changes (adding or shedding layers of clothing in a darkened set), as well as mentally adopting a totally new set of hang-ups and mannerisms that come with peeling on another character. But the audience are given the opportunity to marvel at the seamless transitions, and remarkably natural portrayals. It is fun, figuring out each new persona, and the drama or comedy they’re embroiled in.
The timing of the action, and the delivery of dialogue, is also a marvel of direction — Mr. Guingona is faithful to the playwright’s intention that certain lines overlap, creating what one audience member referred to as “musicality.” There’s a wonderful rhythm to the words, a choreography of speech that resonates with the audience. You’re beguiled, and you almost don’t wince when, for example, one character decides to move on from a tragic love affair by saying goodbye to her not-so-dearly-departed ex, Wes (the cheat!), and saying hello to her promising new swain, East. (Get it? Hey, it worked for 500 Days of Summer, which came way after this pun.)
Awkward stolen kisses from both genders (to which a seven-year-old audience member reacted with a loud “Yuk!”), numbered three. One could argue that the play is deliberately putting the audience on edge to thwart expectations and create a heightened sense of drama — for example, a persuasive (potentially coercive) ex is later defanged as a harmless, lovesick man. One could also argue that despite this being the age of consent, there will be moments between lovers and would-be lovers that aren’t politically correct — because love is messy, and unpredictable, and all shades of awkward. And we muddle along as best we can.
The most poignant scenes, at least for me, are not of love newly discovered, but old love lost — “Story of Hope” where a woman travels back to her hometown to give her belated answer to a marriage proposal, and “Where It Went,” about a marriage grown cold from neglect. There’s something very tidy about these scenes, but despite the limited time allotted, the emotional punch leaves you reeling. On the other hand, even comic relief, such as “They Fell,” where a drinking session leads to shaky declarations of love between buds, provokes sighs and not just laughs. (Speaking of which, there’s an awful lot of Budweiser in this play.)
It takes some doing, but Almost, Maine taps into that inherent loneliness inside each person that creates a craving for human connection, even while suspecting it will give him or her grief. The jokes aren’t cheap shots designed to garner cheap laughs, nor are the sob stories purely depressing — they’re nuanced. Playwright John Cariani makes very deliberate choices, including portraying ordinary folk who are to be taken as real characters and not caricatures. “‘Cute will kill this play… there is no need to sentimentalize the material. Just… let it be what it is — a play about real people who are really, truly, honestly dealing with the toughest thing there is to deal with in life: love.”
Originally published on 26 February 2016 in BusinessWorld. Photos courtesy of Repertory Philippines.