I lost my notebook over the weekend and sort of freaked out. I kept everything in that notebook: homework deadlines, poetic thoughts, Hoot assignments. As it happens, all of my notes for “Love and Information” were in there. I tore through my memory trying to recall every detail of the production, so I could provide the most informative, the most sublime, the most photorealistic review of this production. Alas, what horror I experienced. Is it not my duty as an arts journalist to depict with mechanical precision the ephemeral experience of watching college students act live? How else would the Brandeis community survive Spingold FOMO? But through the frantic motions of my desperation, I was reliving the very essence of “Love and Information.”
“Love and Information” is more of a compilation of thematically cohesive sketches than a traditional play, but this was not unexpected. As somebody that has been following Brandeis theater consistently for three years now, I have finally learned one important detail: The mainstage is for the famous, big budget productions while the smaller Laurie theater is reserved for the less traditional art shows. First-year purveyors would do well to note this dichotomy and adjust their expectations accordingly.
Issues of love and information are disorienting in the 21st century. In presenting its titular themes in the most contemporary way possible, the production is bent on overloading the senses. Scenes representing everything from awkward hookups to discussions of the philosophy terrorism are violently cloven from one another by sudden sound cues and shifts in lighting. During sketches, the actors more or less succeeded in representing human beings (more on that later), but when a scene transition began, everything changes. The lights would dim, or else become blinding, and synthetic ambience or indie pop would blare. The actors were immediately jarred from character, their faces dimming and shoulders stiffening as their lockstep bodies were propelled, like puppets pulled taut or animatronics upon a track, contorted by some unseen force. A fresh pair of automatons would arrive to replace the old, and the next scene would begin like nothing strange had happened at all.
The set design was equally alienating, at least initially. It possessed the detached aspect of a modern art museum, with grey metal latticework juxtaposing an array of disconnected objects: an old piano, a table covered in party hats, a small CRT, a worn couch. The sheer quantity and diversity of this play’s scenes necessitated the development of a versatile stage, and it was evident that a ton of effort went into ensuring that the set could be easily compartmentalized. The two tiered scaffolding was capable of becoming anything it was required it to be, whether that was the dimly lit living room of an apartment or an observation deck in an industrial poultry farm. By switching a row of white LEDs beneath the upper floor of the scaffold, the lower floor of the structure convincingly emulated an office space. When one scene demanded children in a playground, giant fluorescent spotlights allowed the structure to fade into the background entirely and created the impression that the actors had moved outside. The ease with which I could repeatedly suspend my disbelief and buy into the shifting locations is a testament to the play’s thoughtful construction. It must have been a pain to strike.
A considerable amount of credit is due to the director, Brandeis alumnus Caley Chase ’16. Caryl Churchill, the playwright behind “Love and Information,” wrote the show to provide as much creative agency to directors as possible. This means the official script is sparse, and I mean really sparse. There are almost no named characters, lines are completely unlabeled by character and only divided up by line breaks, and the number of italic stage directions throughout the entire document could probably be counted on one hand.
Even the order of the scenes is only vaguely prescribed by the script. The script itself often reads more like a compilation of poetry than a real play. This means that almost every aspect of the show beyond the dialogue itself is a product of the director and her staff. Incredible moments like the slow dance memory sequence in “Piano” have no basis in the script at all. Laudable work! The costume designer, Chelsea Kerl, must have had a field day with this thing.
Of course, a production is nothing without talented actors, and this show’s cast was stacked with strong senior performances. Do remember that I lost my notes, so if I forget any particularly glamorous moments, please feel free to contact me by email, and we can try to schedule some time for me to dote over you.
Haia Bchiri ’20 was great as always. She is so consistently great, in fact, that I think on some subconscious level the audience wanted to see her break. That’s a lie; we all just wish we could be hugged the way she hugged Zack Garrity ’20 during “Grass.”
Rachel Greene’s ’20 performance of a poultry brain scientist was particularly memorable. The terrifying glee that she perceptibly contained while she describes the process of beheading chicks and slicing their brains into slides was really something else. Later, she sort of forms herself into the unspoken protagonist of the play when she comes loose from her robot track and begins to wander the theater between scene changes. The concern and eventual horror with which she begins to address the audience makes one feel a bit guilty for playing the voyeur to so many private scenes.
The representation of children in this production was surprisingly satisfying. Maryam Chishti ’20 made a powerful first impression in her monologue of “The Child Who Didn’t Know Fear.” The frightful convulsions that wracked her body between calm orations were just unhinged enough to elicit concern. Later, she would cement herself in the minds of audience goers forever by staring at a prop baby and basking in the glow of a snail. To compliment Chishti’s childlike persona was Alaysia Penso ’23. Her overalls and spunky dialogue were brimming with expression, but she took on some more mature scenes as well, especially near the end. Hopefully future productions will allow her to explore this less comedic side of her acting ability.
Noa Laden ’20 seemed to be in a perpetual state of confusion and despair throughout the show, but she displayed a lot of tact in her ex-reunion scene. Despite appearing to dominate her scene partner in “EX”, she ended the show with Garrity on a positive note. It was very cute. Kat Lawrence ’20 played an older women well (she was the pianist in “Piano”), but her highlight was the punky meditation on terrorism that she delivered while wearing an edgy green coat. She was a strong choice for these harder themes, and the nun outfit was great. Caitlin Crane-Moscowitz’s ’20 reveal that she was actually Alaysia’s mother during one of the couch scenes had an unreal, slap-in-the-face quality to it, and I think she of all the actors carried the “Twilight Zone” vibe of the show the strongest.
Maia Cataldo ’20 impressed the audience during the scene “Memory House,” in which she had to memorize imaginary objects in an imaginary house and recite them in order twice. Her acting here was more complex than a lot of viewers might have realized: There is a real art to acting like you are about to forget something (Shakespeare himself plays with this idea in “Hamlet” with Polonius). Her sense of pacing should not go unrecognized.
My main criticism of “Love and Information” is its harsh aphoristic style––it is, afterall, very British. The scenes are relatable, yes, but they lack a certain sentimentality that us Americans crave. After being forced to observe scene after scene of mania and broken relationships, I began to feel just as trapped as the inter-scene actors. Zack Garrity was the escape hatch. Whether he was frantically trying to avoid a recently fired employee, gazing at stars millions of lightyears away or reciting genetic sequences with a smile, Garrity had the uncanny power to reinvigorate the audience after the most dismal scenes. We hated to see those kids steal his stone. Garrity has been honing the awkward tall guy act for years now, and this show serves as a wonderful addition to this final chapter of his Brandeis theater career.
“Love and Information” was claustrophobic. It was scary and alien, and it often made me feel a bit bad. But behind the strange lights and the museum exhibition exterior is a kind of optimism that can only be forged in the most ruthless cultural critiques. It is a good reminder to loosen up sometimes and just love somebody. This is all just information anyway, right?
