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Crossed lines >> Cocteau's lovelorn monologue doesn't quite ring true by AMY BARRATT
And it almost works. Ever since its creation in 1930, this one-woman play has been considered a plum by actresses, particularly in the French-speaking world where it is very well known. As Sylvie Drapeau is probably the most admired actress of her generation in Quebec, it was only a matter of time before she tackled the character known only as "La Femme." Drapeau is directed in this endeavour by Alice Ronfard, whom I have yet to forgive for 1997's Quai Ouest (also at GO). If I am inclined to praise Ronfard's work on La Voix Humaine, it is only because I have seen her do so much worse. It was apparently Ronfard's idea to do away with the telephone and to turn the piece into a sort of internal monologue. The woman is having the final conversation, not with her lover but with herself. In theory, I like the idea: it opens up the part to suggest a woman trying to heal herself, rather than a victim dying for love. It also frees the performer to move around without getting tangled in, or coming to the end of, her phone cord. The trouble with this interpretation is Cocteau's text itself. The phone is not merely there in the text, it's practically a character. There are constant references in the play to not being able to hear the other person on the line, to getting cut off and to strangers trying to break in on the line. Indeed, La Femme has long, heated arguments with some of these intruders. If there's no actual phone, nor even a mimed one onstage, what are we supposed to make of these elaborate digressions? She begins to sound just paranoid, making up tormentors on all sides. For the text to work without the telephone, you'd have to cut out all of that stuff. But if you cut out that stuff, you lose Cocteau's idea of the phone as a concrete symbol of misunderstanding and botched communication. Ronfard's production may not have a telephone, but it does have a tiled platform with a raised bench suggestive of a Roman bath, surrounded by, well, the bath. When La Femme decides to go for a dip, we discover that a deep pool of water stretches all the way to the wings. I can only take my hat off to the direction of Espace GO for giving the okay to such a logistical nightmare--the designer, Gabriel Tsampalieros, is straight out of the National Theatre School and clearly eager to show off what he can do. His backdrop is a concave bubble, etched with circles and lines radiating out like the spokes of a wheel; the nucleus is a black hole making the whole thing resemble the inside of an eye. The enlarging circles also suggest sound waves. I only worry that Tsampalieros has shot his wad on this design and will have nothing left for the next. As for Sylvie Drapeau, anyone who has ever acted has probably heard a director say, "Do it big. I'll let you know if it's too much." Here, it's as if Ronfard has told Drapeau to play the role as big as she wants, without ever once reining her in. Drapeau acts with her whole body, externalizing each emotion. The result is a lot like an acting class--albeit one featuring a great actress. It's fascinating to watch, but you're always aware of the process, and so can never feel deeply moved.
La Voix Humaine, to Feb. 13 at Espace GO, 4890 St-Laurent; 845-4890
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Have you heard the one about the theatre company that put on a play about a telephone conversation... and left out the telephone? That's exactly what's going on at Espace GO with their production of Jean Cocteau's La Voix Humaine.