Cold ground

>> Bare terrain, bared souls in Antarktikos

by AMY BARRATT

 As I write this, it's -20o Celsius outside, and I'm very happy to be inside, with my heating system chugging away and my fuzzy slippers on.

 In Antarctica, during the eight months of winter, the average temperature is about -50o C. And in 1912, when Antarktikos (the French version of David Young's Inexpressible Island) is set, temperatures around the South Pole may have fallen as low as -80o C. Oh yes, and the continent is prey to constant winds, sometimes of hurricane force.

 All this to try to set the scene for Antarktikos, the story of six English explorers who were surveying a portion of the vast desert of ice that is Antarctica at the same time that the ill-fated Scott expedition was searching for the South Pole. This team, composed of three officers and three enlisted men of the Royal Navy, was supposed to spend only a few weeks on the frozen continent, but instead were stranded there for seven months in a sort of bunker hollowed out of the ice. Their provisions dwindling to a few handfuls of raisins and some dry biscuits, they survived on the raw flesh of seals they were able to kill.

 This tale of physical misery, compelling as it is, is not the main focus of Young's play. As this author of Fire and Love is Strange writes in his notes, "this work of fiction attempts to shed light on emotions, and not on facts."

 It is a story of human beings attempting to remain human when every external touchstone has disappeared. In the long night of Antarctic winter, there is no physical way to distinguish time of day. Still, the commander, who is in possession of the group's only timepiece, insists that they all maintain a strict military-type schedule. Nor is there any question of relaxing the chain of command. He tells the men with a straight face that there will be an invisible wall between officer's and enlisted men's quarters which will prevent conversations from being heard by the other side. He seems absurd in keeping up his British sense of propriety (telling a man to watch his language, for instance) in a situation that couldn't be more removed from normal society, and yet you come to understand that this imposed structure is probably helping stave off madness.

 Theatre de la Manufacture's production at La Licorne brings up the question of how far a mise-en-scene should go in making the audience identify with the suffering of the characters onstage. Production elements are obviously there to help us experience the world in which a play is set, but if they went too far, especially with a play like Antarktikos, we would resent it and end up hating the play. Director Michel Monty and his team have gone just far enough. When the first scene was played out with actors screaming to be heard over wailing winds, I was afraid this would continue for two hours. In fact, although the wind is never entirely forgotten, its whistling is much more subdued for the remainder of the play, most of which takes place within the ice shelter.

 Similarly, the temperature in the theatre is slightly lower than usual for this production, I suspect more in deference to the poor actors, bundled up in skins and mukluks, than in an attempt to inflict suffering on the audience. Unlike the chilly exercise of infinitheatre's Endgame last fall, wearing a sweater into the house at La Licorne will suffice. :

 

 

Antarktikos runs to Feb. 12 at La Licorne, 8pm (7pm on Wed.), $10-22; 523-2246