Selfie streams of self-consciousness

FIVE FACES FOR EVELYN FROST Berkeley Street Theatre

There are five actors in Five Faces for Evelyn Frost — two male, three female — and they hardly ever make contact, even though the people they’re playing would describe themselves as friends. For a while two of them are even lovers, or at least sex partners. This is not a mistake on the play’s part; it’s the point. What they do is talk, ostensibly to the world in general but really to themselves, in what I would call streams of self-consciousness.

In other words, they’re social-media freaks. They start by describing themselves, their bodies (common denominator: brown hair), their interests, their hobbies, their likes and dislikes — with the accent on the likes. They reel off long lists of these, each list constantly expanding in a never-ending game of pop-cultural oneupmanship. This is one occasion when it’s reasonable to wonder how the actors learned their lines, since most are just catalogues of names with no obvious connective tissue. What’s more, the cast — Laurence Dauphinais, Steffi Didomenicantonio, Tara Nicodemo, Nico Racicot, Alex Weiner — have to deliver in two languages, since some shows are being given in English, some in French. At the English performance I saw, they were flawless. And I’m sure they are equally adept in French, since Montreal is where the show originated.

It’s the work of Guillaume Corbeil, author, and Claude Poissant, director. The English translation is by Steven McCarthy, whose main task must have been to come up with local cultural references to replace the originals; the words between are minimal. The characters introduce themselves like ambulant profiles from Facebook or from dating sites. You would think that this, the play’s long opening section, would get monotonous, but the fun of wondering which name will be dropped next is compelling in itself. There’s also the element of competition, though it’s clear that the person each really wants to impress is him or herself.

Eventually some story happens. Four of the quintet go out on the town; the fifth prefers to stay home and indulge in purer forms of self-adoration. The format changes somewhat. Now every speech begins with the words “this is me” and is illustrated by a selfie — projected of course. They’re still dropping names, now of people they actually know, or claim to know. These include the eponymous Evelyn Frost of whom we learn nothing except that she’s very attractive — just the kind of person you would like to be photographed with. Our heroes progress to showing themselves in situations which would normally deter the most fanatical selfie-takers: on an operating table, in the act of suicide, after the act of suicide. About here, we may reasonably conclude, the show has burst the bounds of realism.

Also of motivation: which character decides to end it all seems purely arbitrary. This too is probably the point, but it seems an empty one. Two program notes — one by the playwright, the other by the artistic director of the hosting Canadian Stage company — emphasize that the play is not meant as a generalization about a generation.

That’s good to know: we hear far too much blanket talk about “millennials” who in reality are as various as anyone else. Narcissism is an ancient human characteristic, as proved by the myth of Narcissus himself. Only the technology has changed. But, in denying its characters individuality, the show generalizes by default. Its own technology is excellent: kudos to Martin Labrecque (lighting), Max-Otto Fauteux (sets) and Janicke Morisette (photography). Five Faces for Evelyn Frost runs in English until March 5, then in French until March 25.

Laurence Dauphinais