Edmond Clark and Louco St. Fleur from “The Noose”, Photo by Trinity Lloyd
Presented by Abigail Whitney
Polydor (Edmond Clark) and Pyram (Louco St. Fleur) are strange bedfellows. Holed up together in a cramped New York basement apartment in the early 1980s, these two Haitian immigrants seem doomed to be forever at odds—with each other and the callous city. As The Noose unfolds, their combative dynamic gradually exposes a singular, common experience—an empowering revelation to them both.
Dr. Asselin Charles’ English translation of Pèlen Tèt, a resonant text by esteemed Haitian artist and activist Frankétienne, is dense and deceptively bouncy. Both of these characters love to talk. We begin with Pyram’s shaggy dog tale in which he tries to convince his incredulous roommate that a recent stroll through Union Station ended in an epic tryst with a high class woman just off the train. St. Fleur’s giddy bravado is playful and endearing, yet we fully recognize how the flamboyant bragging and fancy footwork are irksome in such tight quarters. Interpreting his friend’s boastful anecdote, Polydor unpacks his story to reveal the mundane, dejected truth underneath. Clark’s studied air of sophistication establishes that he too has a protective facade.
We wonder at their domestic pairing as every subject they land upon is a point of contention. Complimenting and contrasting each other, they squabble over each and every aspect of their meagre existence. (A grotesquely funny little episode occurs over a can of meat.) Though overworked at a menial job, Pyram valiantly maintains a cheerful spirit. He never seems to have any money to contribute to their situation which frustrates Polydor. Though he dutifully foots their shared bill with a pragmatic swagger, Polydor cruelly sucks the wind out of Pyram’s sails.
Director Abigail Whitney highlights the lyrical, performative quality of their relationship and the play as a whole. Matthew Hall’s set has a distinctly squalid charm. Wood panelling, rusty pipes and a cupboard door off its hinge—the bleak and muted walls seem too small, encroaching on them. It’s just realistic enough to not be cartoonish and vague enough to allow our imaginations to fill in the oppressive details. I was particularly stuck by Polydor’s evocatively abject speech in which the pipes become the intestines of some large creature and their own human bodies merely parasites.
As they poke relentlessly at each other, testing the durability of their defensive posturing, they come face to face with the systemic power that dehumanizes each of them as they struggle to prove their worth, removed from the place and people they know as home. As secrets are revealed, violence erupts and the mounting tension between them evolves into an episode of stirring vulnerability and mutual understanding.
This is a deft and heartfelt rendering of a witty, harrowing, poignant play.
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