A VIRTUAL REALITY THAT CAN’T BLOCK THE REAL THING
Tetsuro Shigematsu’s playwriting has rocketed him to success so far. His highly original first two plays, performed solo, drew sold-out houses. Empire of the Son deservedly received multiple Jessie Award nominations and a national tour. 1 Hour Photo was shortlisted for the Governor General’s Award.
His third play, Kuroko, now premiering at The Cultch, is an ensemble family drama with five actors. A Vancouver Asian Canadian Theatre production directed by Amiel Gladstone, it features strong central performances, a postmodern look and unconventional start, but runs into trouble in both its development and conclusion.
Set in Tokyo, where salaryman Hiroshi (John Ng) has just lost his job, the play focuses on his 23-year-old daughter Maya (Kanon Hewitt), who has rarely left her room in six years. Maya is hikikomori, suffering from the Japanese phenomenon of extreme reclusiveness. Desperate, Hiroshi has decided to kill himself to leave Maya and wife Naomi (Manami Hara) with his life insurance, but not before bringing Maya out of her shell. He goes for help to Miss Asa (Donna Soares) and her Better Than Real Life agency.
Intercut with those scenes are forays into virtual reality, where Maya spends her time playing video games. Her avatar in that world, a victorious warrior woman, meets the klutzy avatar of Kenzo (Lou Ticzon). Gradually, she teaches him to refine his gamesmanship, they bond and work together in VR, and she slowly begins to emerge from her room and interact with her parents. Eventually, she leaves the house and learns to ride the subway.
All of this takes place in and around Sophie Tang’s handsome transparent cube set, with sliding panels on which Remy Siu’s projections establish the settings.
Within the cube the actors rearrange modular pieces between the short scenes, creating walls, a table, a desk, and seats.
Maya’s and Kenzo’s avatars, in VR goggles and sometimes bizarre animal heads, are funny and sweet. Ticzon’s Kenzo is adorable in his goofy ineptitude and Hewitt does a nice job establishing the contrast between Maya’s hikikomori paranoia and her confidence online.
Those gamer scenes start to feel repetitious after a while, though, as do the rearrangements of the modular pieces. Even a clever riff on characters descending a subway escalator, an audience favourite, gets repeated once too often. It’s almost as if playwright and director were padding out a thin story.
But the story isn’t thin at all. The budding relationship between Maya and Kenzo, who finally meet in person, is fascinating, and Ng makes Hiroshi’s concern for his daughter moving. (The mother’s character is just unpleasant, a role Hara gets stuck with too often.)
Then the script takes a turn away from them. Maya had a teenage brother who disappeared, an offstage character we never meet. The final scenes of the play revolve around his absence, resolving in what should be an emotionally cathartic climax that doesn’t quite work.
At only 90 minutes without intermission, the play is short, but feels longer. I wanted more of Maya and Kenzo in real life and some exploration of why neither brother nor sister could function in that family. This promising new play remains a work in progress.