The Isabel Bader Theatre wasn’t exactly all abuzz on opening night for the Victoria College Drama Society’s rendition of Sam Shepard’s Buried Child. But by the intermission, the audience had responded with cries of shock and giddy laughter, and by the end of play, the applause was loud and appreciative.
Shepard’s 25-year-old story set in the American Midwest that unfolds the shocking secrets of a broken family is terrific material, but without already knowing the story, a virgin theatregoer would be at their wit’s end with bewilderment.
At the core of the story is the incestuous affair between Tilden and his mother Halie-she bore a baby boy who was drowned by her husband Dodge.
This destroys the family: Dodge stops planting crops and takes to smoking, drinking, and television. Halie, seemingly seeking salvation, turns to religion with fervour. Tilden, insane with guilt and grief, spends time in jail in New Mexico, and has only recently returned to the farmstead. The secret is drawn out into the light of day (and the family curse apparently lifted) with the arrival of Vince, Tilden’s estranged son, and his girlfriend Shelly.
Director Hamid Nuri and producer Tara Bradford are to be credited for a simple but effective production. The costumes and set were basic but fitting for the storyline-the entire play takes place in the living room, its walls deteriorating and falling apart much like the characters.
The best performance was that of Rouzbeh Fard as Dodge-his old-man cough and cackle was brilliant. Definitely the crowd favourite, he made the audience laugh with delight, swallow with anticipation, and stare wide-eyed in shock. Alex Paxton-Beesley played the religiously engaged Halie with a Jodie Foster-esque appeal. Richard Rotter took Tilden’s lost and confused character and brought it to life, making him seem childlike and innocent despite the character’s unpleasant past.
Vince and Shelley, played by Jonathan Soja and Heather Burns-Shillington, were forceful and direct though somewhat overdone. Shelley’s heaving cleavage and constant histrionic battle scenes were distracting, and Vince seemed to be playing a stock version of a really awful drunk. Arlen Mighton was also a weak link in the part of Bradley Tilden’s younger brother. His inability to grasp the character came across through his crude raspy voice and forced acting skills.
Though at times the production reached odd extremes-certain segments were overly slow to the point of exhausting a motif, then were contrasted by fast-paced screaming and brawling scenes-it managed to keep the audience buzzing throughout. Much of that has to be credited to Shepard’s play itself, with its many dimensions of destruction, hate and pitiable personalities. But in staging this American masterwork almost like a Greek tragedy by drawing out the elements of incest, deceit, murder, and rebirth, Vic’s production by and large did the playwright proud.
