Frosina Pejcinovska in “Gulp”, Photo by Barry McCluskey
Presented by Lady Luck
Gulp, a psychologically goading solo show, traps us with a woman who may not be an entirely reliable narrator of her own story. At the outset, Sunday (Frosina Pejcinovska) seems to have a handle on her situation. Her Friend has died. And that’s rough. There’s some unresolved trauma there, which is why she’s in therapy. Sort of. She’s clearly in denial about the legitimacy of Dr. Champion’s counsel. He’s off the clock with her and undeniably sketchy.
And so the red flags begin to flap.
The design team confirm that things are… off. Brad Gira’s set places her on a centred chair flanked by two whiteboards on easels—a small tape player is mounted to one, a phone on the other with its receiver off the hook and dangling ominously. Matt Lalonde surrounds us with an eerie soundscape of disquieting drones and breath. Matthew Ivanoff shifts the quality and temperature of the light to sell the jarring rifts in Sunday’s experience as her confessions become increasingly distraught. The barely perceptible strobe effects and a faint, drifting spotlight are a portentous abstraction. A spectral presence? A beacon?
As Sunday delves into their shared history, she’s continually cut off mid-thought by her Friend’s manic and intrusive voicemails. Her paranoia and demands for attention, money and devotion are stifling. The circumstances of her death fester and ooze to the surface of the story as Sunday, ill equipped for the burden, becomes agitated and frantic. The hypnotic finger snap she uses to calm herself in moments of psychological distress is eventually rendered futile. Pejcinovska modulates her vocal patterns and body language throughout for peak visceral impact. She’s endearing and pathetic and terrifying.
Pejcinovska’s script is a labyrinthine mediation on guilt, responsibility, systems of communication and the precarity of mental health. Sunday’s plight raises thorny questions about our duty of care. With thorough attention to resonant details, director William Dao conducts the elements to suggest the very environment enclosing Sunday (and us) is under the influence of her tormented psyche. It’s a riveting, deeply disquieting experience.
Gulp
@ Toronto Fringe Festival
running July 3 to 14, 2024
Theatre Passe Muraille Backspace (16 Ryerson Ave)
running time: 60 minutes
