Azaria Shams and Joseph Brown in “Machinal”, Photo by Alex Andrea
I read Sophie Treadwell’s play about ten years ago. I remember being disappointed that it wasn’t creepier. I was obsessed with Shirley Jackson at the time and sought out titles that popped up in reference to her work. I made a mental note to revisit it, but never did—until now. This production of Machinal, presented by The Flare at Red Sandcastle Theatre, conveys what I now recognize as the play’s essential sadness. It’s palpable. There’s a sinister edge too, an ominous portrait of an oppressive system maintained through collective complacency.
Written in 1928, and based loosely on a true account, it tells the story of a Young Woman (Azaria Shams) who is executed after murdering her Husband (Joseph Brown). The play tracks her drawn-out struggle with, for lack of a better term, neurosis. A monotonous job leads to coerced marriage, then pregnancy and a wall of obstinacy and condescension from the medical and legal establishments. A century later, the play holds up to contemporary scrutiny. Even the handful of outdated colloquialisms (“Hot Dog!”) could be interpreted as quaint.
Director Michelle Soicher intensifies this modern relevance through stylization, with mise en scène that sets the story across time rather than in it. The text of the play is expressionistic, fixating on repeated phrases and lyrical echoes; Carlyn Rahaussar-Routledge’s production design augments this with a classical aesthetic. It’s all very Greek Tragedy with scenic elements that suggest an amphitheatre—faux-marbled thrust, overhang and matching blocks. The location of each scene is established with minimal, well chosen props and set dressing. Everyone is clad in drab grayscale, an unbroken facade of arid sameness, broken only by some yellow flowers in hospital room and the scintillating appearance of red during a brief moment of passion in which she takes a Lover (Matthew Nadeau).
One of the most excruciating scenes depicts the first night together with her new Husband—an older man, formerly her boss. She shrinks away and deflects, desperately delaying the moment when she’ll have to “submit” to him, this man whose “fat hands” repel her. The scene is especially harrowing because we can’t just dismiss him as a bad guy, he’s not. He is gentle and accommodating, picking up on her distress, but trying to plow through it by infantilizing her rather than truly listening. Brown conveys the patient bewilderment of a man who was never raised to value a woman’s autonomy.
Though her instincts are maternal, the Mother (Ophilia Davis) is likewise intent upon having her daughter wrought into a functional cog for the machinery of society. Davis’ portrayal is persuasive and insistent, though she does weaken her grounding with some unfocused posturing, as if she fears stillness might not be compelling enough, though it absolutely would be. Her constant offering of an uncooked potato, the robotic instinct to feed her offspring, is the first of many absurdly comic elements which fell a little flat in their delivery. (Another scene with a doctor’s persistent and ludicrous instruction to “give her solids” is similarly funny to me, which Judah Parris seems aware of in his performance, though the humour didn’t quite catch in the audience.)
Shams is certainly sympathetic in the role. Her agonized pleas, agitation and sullenness can be exhausting to behold, and it’s not hard to understand the frustration of the people around her. Because she hasn’t been encouraged to unpack her malaise, all she can do is ask to be “let alone” while it festers and expands into full panic. Treadwell was aware this one note would be tedious; the brief episode with the lover gives us a glimpse into her desires and is the only time she has any agency. Nadeau is also very charismatic as a rugged yet sensitive bad boy. The gauzy draperies and delicate flower that depict his home seem incongruous at first until you realize they are a manifestation of his inherent empathy.
Aurora McClennan, Theodore McClennan, Sandy Ramdin and Parris portray a number of supporting characters. Though each has moments to shine, they never quite match their tight, perfectly cohesive dynamic from the opening scene. The rhythmic hustle and bustle of their office routine is sort of exhilarating at first until you realize the awful mechanized routine of a world that demands efficiency at the expense of life. Abbey Cruse‘s stark lighting and baleful sound design complete the chilling atmosphere. Though rough around the edges, this production honours the play’s gloomy trajectory towards a bleak conclusion.
Machinal
running November 11 to 24, 2024
Red Sandcastle Theatre (922 Queen St E.)
running time: 1 hour, 30 minutes (no intermission)
Sandy Ramdin, Theodore McClennan, Azaria Shams, Aurora McClennan and Juddah Parris in “Machinal”, Photo by Alex Andrea