Exploring life’s journey
Gigante expressive in ‘Way Things Go’
We’re barely under way in “The Way Things Go” — being presented by Theatre Gigante in collaboration with Alverno College — before it’s clear that there’s more than one way to read this title.
An 80-minute piece written decades ago by Mark Anderson and now being dramatized by director Isabelle Kralj for 10 performers, “The Way Things Go” begins by reminding us that we’re all going to die — all by way of exhorting us to more fully live.
Are we going to “go” — purposefully moving forward rather than inertly letting life pass us by? When we “go” — die — will we be able to say we’ve lived?
Those questions are first suggested by the comparatively young Ben Yela, in a piece also being performed by some still younger as well as several much older artists; the cast is also evenly divided between men and women. It’s an apt reminder that our customized view during any given moment on life’s journey is just one of many possible ways of seeing.
Voicing Anderson’s monologue and backed by musical interludes involving Frank Pahl as a one-man band, Kralj’s cast offers reflections taking us from cradle to grave, with an emphasis on the middle years. As some actors share Anderson’s lines — often with rapid shifts involving gender and age — others embody the words being spoken.
Many of Anderson’s ruminations reflect the gap between all we dream and what we actually experience, emphasizing our flawed efforts to connect with a world beyond ourselves.
Language holds forth the promise of such connection, while frequently falling short; trying to impart sense to one’s offspring is described as “speaking Kerouac in a Lady Gaga world.”
Sex, as presented by a rolling and tumbling Ron Scot Fry and Melissa Matson, veers between frantic efforts to meld one’s body with another and a wrestling contest for domination.
Procreation mixes selfless love with an egoistic quest for immortality.
In one of the night’s most moving vignettes, Yela presents as a cello-playing street performer, ignored by most busily passing pedestrians. Alverno student Jordan Mackin — impressive all night, including as a backup vocalist to Pahl — looks to be one of them. Then she stops and turns back, drawn by the music to meditate on the ineffable quality — call it soul — within each of us.
Moments like these make up for occasionally wordy stretches that can feel like information dumps — or passages where what’s meant to be revelatory and profound instead sounds generic and sentimental.
Anderson is always best when his frequently wry and quirky writing is immersed in a particular, minutely observed moment rather than connecting the dots to tell us what it all means. As this piece makes clear, such connections are most likely to emerge when they involve give-andtake rather than being imposed.