Berkeley Rep's jolting `Octet' probes our internet obsessions
Myths and monsters loom large in the works of Dave Malloy, best known for his hit “Natasha, Pierre & the Great Comet of 1812,” which comes to Shotgun Players soon.
In his rock musical “Beowulf: A Thousand Years of Baggage,” the title character goes on a heroic quest to slay the beast Grendel. Now, in the haunting chamber musical “Octet,” in its West Coast premiere at Berkeley Repertory Theatre, the monsters have burrowed into the core of our collective unconscious, holding us in thrall through our glowing screens.
One of most intellectually and emotionally provocative pieces in recent memory, “Octet,” astutely directed by Annie Tippe, doesn't just capture the angst and anomie of an Internet-addicted society. With its siren song of hypnotic and rich choral harmonies, it actually lures us into pondering our own intimacy with screens, making this reviewer feel both fully seen and rather aghast all at once.
The music lulls us into a reflective state where dulcet tones hold dire warnings about where our obsession with technology is leading us. The action unfolds at a church basement Internet support group gathering where a cappella singing is the path to redemption, pitting the power of the human voice against the Sturm and Drang of the social media abyss.
Members of the group can't control themselves when it comes to tech. The horrified Jessica (Margo Seibert), caught on video during an embarrassing interlude, can't stop “multitasking all the tabs of my humiliation,” while the mind-mannered Henry (Alex Gibson) feels compelled to play Candy Crush so fervently that he doesn't have time to bathe or brush his teeth, staying in bed, living off chips and soda, day after brain-rotting day.
Each character shares their shame in a tidal wave of confessions that touch on grotesque porn, paranoid science chat rooms and tarot card devotees. If the characters seem a little blank, the addictions emerge in sharp relief.
Benumbed by a stressful world, left alone too long with their phones, these eight people have fallen so far down the rabbit hole of online community that they can't connect in real life. Satisfaction only exists in the realm of clicks and swipes.
Velma (the captivating Kuhoo Verma), a lonely young woman who is new to the group, sings of finally finding her tribe online after years of alienation. The joy of this awakening is marred by the dawning realization that she's now a hard-core junkie, responding to every ping with Pavlovian zeal.
No matter if you've ever played “Roblox” or gotten sucked into the giddiness of TikTok, it's hard not see your own reflection here. If the characters lack a certain specificity, it's all the better to throw us back on our own personal relationship with screens.
The show's haunting clarity only dims when it reaches too far into the realm of the supernatural with a scientist (J.D. Mollison) staging an epic tugof-war with god. These religious overtones and conspiracy theories feel a little tacked on.
The most compelling mystery here stems from the fantasies that flicker endlessly from our palms. This is theater as a therapy, a play with the power of a ritual that makes a deep emotional impact that transcends mere entertainment. The thoughts and feelings the show triggers hit hard.
In fact, leaving the theater you may find yourself resisting the deep-seated impulse to check your phone. You may ultimately give in, even as I did, but that hesitation still feels like a good first step.