by AMY BARRATT

"At the end of Tremblay's career one will likely be able to sew together all his plays and novels and discover that we have been privileged to read the works of a veritable Québécois Marcel Proust." - Canadian Book Review

The above quote appears on the book jacket of Michel Tremblay's novel A Thing of Beauty (Un objet de beauté), which also describes that book as "a coda to his great Chronicles of Plateau Mont-Royal cycle of novels." Unfortunately, just about everything Tremblay has written in the last decade could be described as a coda, an addendum or an aside.

Past Perfect, the English version of Le Passé antérieur, now playing at the Centaur, is annoyingly referred to in the publicity as a "prequel" to the masterwork Albertine, in Five Times. It's as if Tremblay is deliberately filling in the gaps between his major works, instead of abandoning himself to a new major work. If it can't be penned in the space of a few weeks in Key West and brought in under 100 minutes, the playwright doesn't seem to want to know about it.

This is not to say that Past Perfect isn't a welcome addition to the Tremblay oeuvre. Set in the 1930s, the play shows us the high-strung Albertine - modelled on Tremblay's aunt - as a frighteningly intense 20 year old. (The "five times" of the earlier Albertine play span the decades from age 30 to 70.)

Past Perfect is an interesting study of this manic-depressive character who obviously haunts Tremblay in much the same way that Tennessee Williams was haunted by his mad sister. The play shows us not the origin of her chronic misery and self-pity - because that, according to her family members, dates pretty much from birth - but the event that she will latch on to for the rest of her life to justify her outlook.

The play takes place several months after Albertine (Catherine Allard) has been dumped by her one true love, Alex (Sasha Roiz). Although many of us have loved obsessively at 20 and believed we would never recover from the heartbreak, most of us do. The tragedy in Past Perfect is that although her family members urge her to just get over it, they all seem to know that she never will, and that she will use this incident to justify her misery forever. Her tragic flaw, depending on who you talk to in the family, is either stubbornness, selfishness or a love of suffering. But I'd have to go with an undiagnosed chemical imbalance.

The Centaur production of the piece is one of the most drab and uninspired I have ever seen. Tremblay is not one for stage directions; he writes the dialogue and it's up to the director and company to do something with the words. Although this production is well-acted, Jackie Maxwell's direction is singularly uninspired. Although she's commissioned a beautifully realistic set from Patrick Clark and lighting from Spike Lyne, they do virtually nothing to illuminate the text.

Centaur is justifiably proud that Tremblay has entrusted them with the English-language premieres of several recent plays, but if they want to deserve the honour, next time they should get a young Quebec director on board, someone with ideas that go beyond the kitchen sink.

Past Perfect, to March 7 at the Centaur, $20-$38, 288-3161