S.O.S.
Reviewed by Stephen Fife
The Wallis Studio Ensemble
Through February 10
For those of us who have attended college or training school, the early 20s can be a time of confusion and dislocation. Most of our lives we have been part of a class, a group, a community — but now we’re out in the world alone, searching for a path to pursue, a sense of where we belong. This state of mind is captured affectingly and with great sensitivity by the Wallis Studio Ensemble in S.O.S., the performance piece running for one more weekend at Circle X at Atwater Village Theatre.
Under the direction of Madeleine Dahm, eleven actors from diverse backgrounds present a collage of sketches, monologues and stage images. This collage features group activities — such as exercise classes or being in line for a concert — and then contrast these scenes with depictions of individuals on their own, clutching battered suitcases or isolated in a corner of the space, reciting words of guarded hope or despair.
Dahm’s program notes state that “recent studies by the World Health Organization and the United Nations have revealed that loneliness is reaching global epidemic proportions, and more people feel a sense of alienation from each other, and the rhythms of the natural world than ever before… We wanted to create a narrative rooted in love, specifically queer love, and love that reveals great resilience as it reaches across racial and cultural divides.”
While the 80-minute multimedia performance does indeed feature scenes of gay love, these are mostly monologues about longing and disappointment, and (to the best of my memory) are spoken exclusively by young women. Surprisingly, these sentiments are adapted from letters by Vita Sackville-West and Radclyffe Hall, both of whom wrote in the early years of the 20th century about “the love that dare not speak its name.” There are no monologues or scenes that contrast these sad outbursts with the new complexities that come with the contemporary freedoms offered to gay women and men (as there are, say, in Caryl Churchill’s play, Cloud 9).
In general, the sense of melancholy that pervades this evening is characterized by a yearning for a deeper and more significant interaction between people, one specifically identified with the late 19th and early 20th century. The performance opens with all the actors looking at their cell phones — linked by a common focus but alienated from each other. Soon these young men and women are sitting at typewriters, pouring out their souls to the accompaniment of clacking typewriter keys, or else reading expressions of longing off tear-drenched pieces of paper. (As a person of a certain age who actually composed on typewriters [and not the electric kind] because that’s all we had available, and who quickly adapted from penning letters to sending emails [much more direct and efficient], I found this amusing. But I suppose it’s the nature of youth to be disaffected with the world as it is, and to romanticize other times that seem to contain elements that they find missing.)
This evening of “original multimedia physical theatre” features some lovely videos. Unfortunately, these are so visually lush and captivating that they distract from the action on stage and subvert the actors’ search for meaning in their work. Similarly, the images and scenarios presented here are too scattershot, and fail to build towards any crescendo or climax. Nevertheless, these young performers are to be applauded for putting their hopes and aspirations before us in such a vulnerable way. The Wallis Annenberg Center should also be congratulated for promoting such a valuable program and giving us the chance to experience these budding artists’ view of the world.
Circle X at The Atwater Village Theatre, 3269 Casitas Ave., Atwater Village; Fri.-Sat., 8 p.m.; Sun., 3 p.m.; through Feb. 10. (310) 746-4000 or tickets@thewallis.org. Running time: 80 minutes with no intermission.
