Those library late fees are deadly — ATP’s Rabbit Hole is a genuine and affecting reminder of the reality of grief
DETAILS
When did grief become as familiar as a commercial jingle? We can all sing along to the seven stages of grief over the beats we’ve seen over and over and over again. Obsessively watching videos of happier times in the dark. The anti-climactic confrontation with the killers. And of course, the copious tears. We roll our eyes at grief, slapping together a narrative we’ve all seen from just the barest details of a death. The power of Alberta Theatre Projects’ production of David Lindsay-Abaire’s 2007 Pulitzer Prize-winning play, Rabbit Hole, doesn’t come from reinventing grief as something fresh and edgy. There are no metaphors or gimmicks to hide behind. It’s a genuine and affecting reminder of the reality of grief.
Howie (Curt McKinstry) and Becca (Anette Loiselle) lose their four-year-old child Danny when he’s hit by a car while chasing the dog outside their home. Eight months later, the family tries to struggle past their grief to some semblance of a normal life. From there, the narrative hits those beats you’ve come to expect until its inevitable conclusion, but the power of Lindsay-Abaire’s play comes from the details. Rabbit Hole is not beholden to the seven stages of grief and the other dogmatic self-help ideologies — at times, it’s quite funny. Director Glenda Stirling is careful to steer her magnificent cast away from those clichés, leaving the grief cluttered and imperfect.
Calling Rabbit Hole a tearjerker would be a disservice to Stirling’s measured approach. In lesser hands, all of the nuance on the page would disintegrate into desperate pandering for tears. It’s a testament to Stirling’s directorial prowess, then, that she never lets the play falter in that direction. The lack of urgency makes for more immediacy, allowing the audience to enter into the grief. The humour of the play is allowed the room it needs, never feeling guilty or obtrusive. Of course, all of this would be moot if not for the finely tuned cast. They have the rhythms of a real family, sharing knowing looks and that exasperation only family can bring about. Rabbit Hole is at its best when Vanessa Holmes as Izzy and Nicola Lipman as Becca’s mother, Nat, join McKinstry and Loiselle onstage. The cast has a naturalness and comfort with each other, allowing them to shape a family dynamic for the grief to shift upon. As the play moves on, you see the subtle shifts in the grief McKinstry and Loiselle carry for their characters. When Howie confronts Becca about removing all traces of Danny from their home, the actors bring a startling authenticity to the turmoil that’s twisted itself up since Danny’s death.
There’s a sadness in being stripped of somebody’s presence, and set and lighting designer Narda McCarroll captures it beautifully. At first, the replica of a suburban home onstage seems extravagant for such an intimate play — at times it resembles the set of Everybody Loves Raymond. As Danny’s death moves into the forefront, though, the home becomes this pervading entity, a constant reminder of the death. You notice the immense size of the set, how it dwarfs these people who scuttle about its floors. As a scene takes place in one room, the emptiness of the other rooms is accentuated.
Rabbit Hole has lived with grief, understanding how it moves from room to room and settles in the corners. This isn’t the grief we’re all familiar with. Sure, we can recognize the shape of it, but in ATP’s Canadian première of Rabbit Hole, we experience it. Grief here may be familiar, but its authenticity and integrity cannot be ignored.
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