Nancy Palk and Christine Horne in “Infinite Life”, Photo by Elana Emer
There are no heightened moments of drama, no murder or pivotal deception, nobody raises a fist or even a voice. Infinite Life is persistently mundane and yet it’s also, paradoxically, consistently compelling. Annie Baker’s play is a meditative stream of naturalistic, impulsive, sometimes strained conversation punctuated by sporadic time jumps. Director Jackie Maxwell’s production, opening Coal Mine Theatre’s tenth season, invites us to settle in and gradually get a read on these beautifully average people and their subjective realities.
Almost as an accident of circumstance, Sofi (Christine Horne) is our anchor point. Breaking the fourth wall in her narration of time passing, she is the first character we meet as she tentatively makes herself comfortable at one of the six lounge chairs lined up along Joyce Padua’s pink stucco set—depicting a generic yet comfy Northern California terrace. As the other four women, and one man, drift in and out, we discover their individual, very specific ailments and watch as each day at this water-therapy fasting retreat causes shifts in their condition and demeanour.
As Jean Yoon’s Ginnie, Brenda Bazinet’s Elaine, and Kyra Harper’s Yvette help acclimatize Sofi to retreat life, we discover their colourful quirks through seemingly random anecdotes. Frequently humdrum, sometimes poignant, often very funny, the conversations fixate on pain. Their discussions fluctuate between the blunt, distressing and philosophical. They explore pain as a theoretical phenomenon and a lived fact. The litany of physical traumas—from minor to nearly catastrophic—creates a cumulative, sonorous backdrop of human frailty.
Though each performance feels vital, the story ultimately focuses our attention most intimately on Sofi, the youngest (though, at middle age, she keeps insisting she isn’t “that much younger”) and Eileen (Nancy Palk), the eldest. After Sofi blurts out a profanity that offends Eileen, we assume religious beliefs and clashing social conventions may cause a permanent rift between the two, but the tension eventually gives way to an understated, deep connection. Empathetic touch—simple, physical gestures of kindness conveyed with gentle potency by Horne and Palk—become a mutual salve that resonates long after the lights go down.
And then there is Ari Cohen’s Nelson. Though he, at first, seems like a scruffy and incongruous interloper, he and Sofi eventually bond during her very late night, early morning private time. Cohen and Horne navigate the awkwardness, intrigue and sexual tension with a charismatic breeziness. The whole thing with the, uh, colon photos—you kind of have to be there—are a grotesquely funny bit and, eventually, a strangely touching memento.
The play primes us to interpret nuanced body language, feel the weight and texture of pauses. Its impact relies on our investment in behavioural minutiae. A prolonged silence, the turning of a head, a sudden shift in posture—these are meaningful. Nobody feels the need to fill the space with noise. Communication, often elliptical, feels deliberate. And there are even some mysteries that prod our imaginations before the specifics are revealed. Who is the person—or people—Sofi keeps leaving desperate voice messages for in the wee hours of the morning? Why does she seem so simultaneously giddy and guilty?
The production is predominately naturalistic with lighting that indicates the passage of time throughout the day, but designer Steve Lucas establishes one particularly stylistic flourish that feels eerily theatrical: some scene transitions are marked by an ominous red that envelops the space before landing on a new day. An intense sunset? An abstract representation of pain?
With mindfulness and wit, Infinite Life gives rigorous attention to authentic conversational meandering and the aching truths the most ordinary, low-key interactions can reveal.
Infinite Life
running September 6 to 29, 2024
The Coal Mine Theatre (2076 Danforth Ave.)
running time: 1 hour, 45 minutes (no intermission)
Brenda Bazinet, Kyra Harper, and Jean Yoon in “Infinite Life”, Photo by Elana Emer