Istvan Dugalin ➤

Silvae Mercedes and Sebastian Marziali in “Quartet”, Photo by Michael Cooper

VideoCabaret’s venue—an open-concept, industrial space with bohemian vibes—is nestled away in a quiet side street just off Queen East. It provides a versatile site for intimate, experimental antics. Other Hearts kinky production of Heiner Müller’s Quartet, with its sprawling and grotesque abstractions, is just the sort of weird and wonderful shenanigans you could hope for.

Or maybe not, depending on your hang-ups.

Müller’s play (with English translation by Marc Von Henning) is a dense avalanche of text that takes the two main characters of its source story—Marquise de Merteuil (M) and the Vicomte de Valmont (V) from Pierre Choderlos de Laclos’ epistolary novel “Les Liaisons dangereuses”—and sets them in an abstracted place that exists between times. I haven’t read the novel, but have seen the 1988 film “Dangerous Liaisons,” penned by Christopher Hampton from his theatrical adaptation. Those familiar with that story will recognize in the dialogue a series of increasingly high-stakes seductions amongst a handful of French nobles.

Ambition, vengeance and amorality fuelled the manipulative games in the original story. Here though—in a dystopian wasteland, the aftermath of global catastrophe—M and V cling desperately to these games, commit fully to their role-playing, because the world outside is a toxic void and disease is devouring them from the inside.

Director Harri Thomas has ratcheted up the abstraction with a heady blend of installation and performance art. Collaborating with artist Eija Loponen-Stephenson, the company has devised set and costume elements that echo each other, blurring the lines between the two, making the discarded remnants of this collapsed world into decoration, clothing, sex toys and a barricade against—well, inevitable catastrophe.

The environment, which gives the impression of a bunker, is full of disparate paraphernalia—mannequin torsos, superhero dolls clad in bondage gear, ornate lampshades and myriad other forsaken objects. The abundance of plastic sheeting draped around them suggests quarantine and construction. Projected imagery from a set of live-feed cameras intensifies the sense of voyeurism and the immersive, queer aesthetic.

From the moment M (Silvae Mercedes) emerges from a bathtub, covered in plastic and clutching an oxygen mask, we can tell she’s not ok. Her movements are disjointed, arduous and pained. V (Sebastian Marziali) seems to have fallen into the role of caregiver, though their dynamic is often obscured by all the games. As they interact—inhabiting various genders and personae, slipping in and out of innovative outfits fashioned from repurposed materials—their intense bond becomes a focal point. Though you’re likely to be overwhelmed and dissociate from the relentless text, the chemistry between Mercedes and Marziali draws you fully into their fraught delirium.

Especially intriguing is the multiplicity of their relationship. They are obsessed with, yet dissociated from, the tokens of a lost lifestyle. They entice, goad and console each other. Their mostly exposed flesh adds a palpable warmth to the alienating clutter of their existence. Through the gestalt of garish colour and intrusive technology, their bodies demand attention. The exhilarating eroticism is offset by the oppressive discomfort of their environment. Of the many deliberately cumbersome elements, M’s oxygen tank, clumsily lugged about on a hand truck, is particularly memorable.

An innovative soundscape heightens the immersion. With a loop pedal, the actors create their own eerie, auditory backdrop. The on-stage microphones and video cameras help establish these characters as actively manufacturing the surreal atmosphere—a haunting fusion of carnal frenzy and death.

Returning to my earlier comment about hang-ups: This show won’t be everyone’s jam. The provocative content warnings for the show will likely dissuade the squeamish—Explicit Images, Simulated Sex and Kink, Violent and Sexually Explicit Language, Simulated Blood, Flashing Lights, References to Death/Sickness/Suicide. I quote them in their entirety because I, for one, found them immensely exciting. My anticipation was great and I was not the least disappointed.

Quartet
running January 12 to 21, 2024
VideoCabaret (10 Busy St.)
running time: 1 hour, 40 minutes (no intermission)

Silvae Mercedes and Sebastian Marziali in “Quartet”, Photo by Michael Cooper