| The theatrical adaptation of Irvine Welsh’s Trainspotting begins as its protagonist, Mark Renton, screams a prolonged, agonized "fuck!" The irony is that this moment, this explicit outburst of frustration, may be the play’s least effective line. An episodic journey through the lives of lower-class heroin addicts in Leif, Scotland, Trainspotting is a uniquely articulate emotional portrait that doesn’t need a screaming address to blast its message home.
With its ensemble cast, Sage Theatre’s production of Harry Gibson’s 1994 adaptation is as powerful and intimate a production as Calgary audiences can hope for. Set against the brick wall of the Pumphouse’s Joyce Doolittle Theatre, the playing area invading the space of the audience’s semicircular seating, the production’s physical space is as arresting as the considerable talents of its cast and crew.
In the thick Scottish accents that characterize Welsh’s novels, Mark (Geoffrey Ewart) and his friends muddle through a world where their poverty and lack of opportunities have driven them into self-destructive cycles that include domestic and drug abuse. Though its vignettes are not driven by a traditional plot, the play still manages to create a complete, emotional picture touching on poverty, AIDS and addiction.
A heroin addict, Mark’s graphic accounts of his addiction – including an episode that sees him accidentally flinging a bed sheet full of his waste onto a kitchen table – are some of the play’s most shocking moments, and certainly those that are most associated with the play. And yet, as Ewart pointed out in an interview last week, the play’s real dramatic thrust is not simply in the depravity of Mark’s addiction.
Though often darkly funny, the play’s treatment of its characters shows a cycle from which its victims never really escape. Finding their moments of release in their addictions or in attacking others – whether in petty revenges like dipping a tampon in soup or even in physical violence – the play’s many characters are all united by their inability to emerge from the world that has brought them to these outbursts.
Taking full advantage of the already potent humanity that Welsh affords his characters, the production’s cast navigates the thickly rendered language of the play with an acumen no doubt owed to the production’s dialect coach, Jane MacFarlane. Ironically, the only actor whose speech seems off is perennial favourite David Trimble, speaking with a rasping, almost Gollum-like mashup of all the accents the veteran character actor has showcased before.
So, while Trimble remains a strong presence, the salt of the earth that permeates the play’s working class characters, Ewart and Christopher Austman, bring the production’s strongest performances. As Mark, Ewart’s desperate lucidity provides the play with its momentum – a simultaneous understanding and impotence indicated by his play-opening scream. Austman, playing the heroin-addicted Sickboy and the initially naïve Tommy, proves himself a diverse character actor, capable of endearing vulnerability and pathetic desperation. Rounding out the ensemble, Jennie Esdale ably assumes the roles of Trainspotting’s female characters, from a horrified mother finding her infant dead, to a waitress conducting biological class warfare.
As stark and uncomfortable as the reality of its characters, Ian Martens’ lighting design casts the production’s cast in spotlight and creeping red. Over Michael Gesy’s period soundscape, opening with the house that Welsh himself loves so well, Sage artistic director Kelly Reay’s production is a lean but robust spectacle.
Combined with its powerful performances and the visceral subject matter of Welsh’s novel, Trainspotting is certainly as powerful as a screamed expletive. Thank goodness audiences will be given more than that single word to enjoy.
Trainspotting plays in the Joyce Doolittle Theatre (Pumphouse Theatres) until October 21. |
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