THE NATURE OF TIME
At its heart, Infinity tells a love story
Loving someone who is obsessed with their work is a challenge, as we see in Infinity, the compelling drama by Ottawa playwright Hannah Moscovitch that combines music, science, choreography and theatre.
Although it sets out to explore the nature of time, at its heart the play tells a love story between Elliott, a brilliant theoretical physicist played by Paul Braunstein, and his wife, Carmen, a violinist and composer played by Amy Rutherford. Their daughter, Sarah Jean (Vivien EndicottDouglas), is the third speaking member of the cast.
The fourth member is violinist Andrea Tyniec, who plays the bracing, evocative score composed by Njo Kong Kie, music director of the Montreal dance company, La La La Human Steps. In an elegant, cream-coloured floor-length gown, Tyniec and her 300-year-old Stradivari violin open the show at centre stage. Most of the rest of the time, she performs behind a semitransparent backdrop, the music serving to underscore the emotional tension and provide an occasional well-placed sound effect.
The 80-minute play with no intermission shifts between past and present, beginning with a epithet-laced monologue by a grown-up Sarah Jean, who insists she’s “very normal,” and not at all messed up about love. The sordid relationships she details throughout the play tell a different story.
Flash back to the history of Carmen and Elliott, who meet at a university party. Braunstein does a great job of capturing the stiff demeanour of a socially awkward science nerd who isn’t shy about telling Carmen she’s the prettiest girl in the room. He notices that she must be a musician by the tapping of her fingers, and quickly deduces that she knows about time, the topic that fascinates and eludes him.
Carmen, we learn, has just broken up with a longtime boyfriend. She’s distraught and he makes her (and the audience) laugh. They rush into a kiss, and soon, a relationship, spurred on by the results of a pregnancy test.
Motherhood compels Carmen to put her career on hold, deferring to Elliott’s PhD ambitions. It’s a decision that leaves her frustrated and often resentful as she struggles to get his attention when he’s hyper-focused on his research. She finds him shuffling through his papers at 4 a.m., and wonders if he loves her, while he accuses her of romanticizing being ordinary.
There is nothing ordinary about either of them, except, perhaps, the unsatisfying relationships both have with their mothers. They are intense characters: Elliott is consumed by the illusion of time, spouting theoretical physics as if it’s poetry. Carmen, on the other hand, tends to the emotional, almost always upset or crying. The product of their union, Sarah Jean, reflects both of her parents — she’s a PhDbound math student prone to outbursts.
Endicott-Douglas, by the way, is fabulous as Sarah Jean. It’s a challenging role, requiring the actor to play an eight-year-old child and an adult, without any change of makeup or costume. One of her finest moments is the child’s tantrum — a full-throttle performance that involves rolling on the floor, legs kicking, screaming at the top of her lungs. In another scene, she transforms into daddy’s sweet little girl, snuggling up to her father on his sickbed.
Director Ross Manson, who’s the founding director of Toronto’s Volcano Company, ties together the various elements of the production seamlessly, including a wordless movement scene involving the three characters at a table. It’s an effective segment that illustrates their dysfunctional family relationship; each one moves separately but they never seem to click.
As for the question of whether or not time is real, the script draws from the work of physicist Lee Smolin, who consulted with Moscovitch to ensure the accuracy of Elliott’s technical passages. The conclusion? Without giving away the plot twist that leads to this epiphany, it’s as real as love.