`Volume XII,” Plasticene’s newest outing, is like a Harold Pinter play, only without words.
Like in Pinter’s work, there’s dark, interpersonal tension, undercurrents of violence and a fragile, possibly cruel, sexuality. Here, words–as a concept–are both meaningful and meaningless, weapons of aggression and shields of defense.
Formed in 1995, Plasticene is a performance/movement ensemble designed to develop non-text pieces that focus on the plastic end of theater: the notion of movement and weight, the use of objects and light, sound and noise. Its premiere piece, “doorslam,” was a delightful bit of whimsy, full of promise, but also hinting at the group’s more tenebrous possibilities. A second piece, called “Refuge,” had a short run last year.
“Volume XII,” like its predecessors, was developed by its performers under the direction of Dexter Bullard, one of the group’s founders. Created by Lookingglass Theater’s Shirley Anderson, Plasticene co-founder Brian Shaw and the remarkable Julia Fabris, who has worked with numerous different local companies, “Volume XII” employs a table, a few steps, a hand-held lamp, lots of music and sound effects by the Experimental Sound Studio’s Eric Leonardson–one of the busiest musicians in town–and a set of Encyclopaedia Britannica, which gets quite a workout.
As in the prior pieces, the movements and gestures are designed more to create images rather than actions. While there’s plenty of movement–sometimes absolutely manic movement, in fact–it’s disconnected, as if each mode of conduct were a separate film frame.
In “Volume XII,” Plasticene continues to resist the ideas of dance, yet more than once the performers echoed dance images, usually rather romantic ones that played ironically against the work’s more somber themes of attraction and rejection, guilt and comeuppance.
Of the three players, Shaw is the more athletic, more acrobatic, often performing taxing physical feats that appear effortless. But it is Fabris who shines–and it is less because of how she’s pushing herself bodily than the sheer power of her personality.
It is Fabris who humanizes every encounter, every possible communication, as both Shaw and Anderson click in and out of scenes, often affectless, barely registering their own breathing. But Fabris, with her huge expressive eyes, brings emotion to every scene.
Still, even with the occasionally sublime moments, “Volume XII” seemed more like a series of exercises than a coherent piece. What should have been a collage effect came off more like randomness. And the final image, which could have been quite stunning, was marred by a certain carelessness and hastiness.
