It’s happened to almost everyone. You’re out with some friends, they’ve been together for awhile, you know they’ve been having some trouble, but they seem to be doing all right now. Then, one takes a veiled jab at the other, everyone uncomfortably laughs it off and, against all odds, you’re having a good time again. You figure it’s safe to nip off to the restroom for a minute, but when you get back, it’s all name-calling and hair-pulling. Then you have a choice: try to find something sturdy and get it between them, or just sit back and enjoy it like the filthy emotional churl you are.
Maureen Labonte’s translation of Jean Marc Dalpe’s August taps into exactly this twisted fascination. An apparently normal family spends a day together in their country home, but beneath their wholesome veneer curdles the horrible truths of their transgressions. A quaint discussion on the declining importance of the handshake gives way to accusations of adultery, an abusive future gestates subtly in the actions of a newly betrothed couple and, all the while, the house in the backdrop collapses into disrepair.
Though its dialogue and outward characterization are excellent, August is much more concerned with what isn’t said. Its use of silence is impeccable — conversations slowly drop to a lull as one of those hidden things bursts through the spaces between words. Trevor Leigh, as always, is particularly excellent, his animation devolving into sickly jerks as he’s forced to finally share his feelings with those around him. Though every performance in the piece is of the highest calibre, Leigh seems to have the unique understanding that the silence hanging over the characters is a physical force, and so it causes his character physical pain to break through it.
The criticisms of August are negligible. It’s extremely good in every respect, from performance to choreography to set design. For anyone in the mood for a realistic break from the somewhat expressionist-slanted playRites Festival, August is a breath of fresh country air.
