Michelle Monteith and David Patrick Flemming in Red Like Fruit | Photo by Dahlia Katz
It takes a rather long time for the intentions of playwright Hannah Moscovitch and director Christian Barry to come into focus. Red Like Fruit, a 2b Theatre production presented by Soulpepper and Luminato Festival, is only 75 minutes, but the first hour is somewhat vexing. The characters, the themes, the events of the story—that’s all very clear; it’s the mode of presentation that frustrates, until, of course, the moment you understand why some man is telling this woman’s rather sensitive story—in front of her. Having taken their time with the revelation, it lands with significant emotive force.
Lauren (Michelle Monteith) and Luke (David Patrick Flemming) walk out through a side door and take their places on stage with no fanfare. He stands off to the side near a stand with some notes—her story. She takes a prominent seat centre stage on a raised platform—elevated, isolated, and awkwardly vulnerable to scrutiny.
I found myself consciously willing myself to look at her, especially since my impulse was to watch him. He’s the one talking and gesturing and being more obviously engaging. She’s just sitting there. Except she’s not just sitting there. Even before she speaks—to him, to us—well before she allows herself the space to contribute to this discussion—of her own story!—she’s involved. A slight smile, a grimace, often just watching us as her story unfolds in the third person, in his voice.
Lauren is a journalist. She’s researching a domestic abuse case involving a Liberal MP. He was arrested and did some time, but he’s back at work now. His boss has taken some heat for this, but after all, it was just a slap. We get fragments of information and revealing insights from her interviews with the perpetrator, the boss, the victim, her mother, the cops and an emergency room physician. There is a crime procedural quality to her interviews and it isn’t long before the slap is revealed to be a defensive euphemism for a significantly more severe violation. While intoxication and a history of mental instability cast doubt on the validity of the victim’s testimony, the situation triggers traumatic memories for Lauren.
Two distinct experiences with opportunistic, predatory males when she was a teenager cause the on-stage Lauren some obvious distress. Luke stops the recitation and checks in with her, but she is quick to dismiss his concern. Monteith’s Lauren seems uncomfortably timid, her diminutive posture a sort of apology for taking up any space at all. There is a great contradiction here—our understanding of her journalistic prowess would suggest a more assertive persona. Moscovitch has her address this very incongruity and it is one more puzzle piece set in place, gradually pulling this portrait into fuller view and reconciling it with the alienating theatrical device that frames it.
Flemming is a warm and affable presence. I trusted Luke—allowed myself to trust him—because she does. And that must be mean something, right? As she finally begins to engage with him more substantially, their dynamic becomes very touching. When the nuances of the situations she’s brought to the table overwhelm her, when the hot button topic of consent gets muddied by the details of circumstance—he acts as a benevolent and reasonable sounding board.
Barry’s staging is deceptively austere. There is only one overtly stylized flourish, its impact bolstered by the restraint that surrounds it. For the first time, Lauren acts out her side of a scene Luke describes. During dinner with a male colleague, he offers his glib two cents on the #MeToo phenomenon and she starts to yawn. The ambient sounds of the restaurant distort and she lapses into a brief, dissociative fugue where her yawn gradually evolves into a primal, silent scream. As her mouth widens, the sight of it becomes increasingly unsettling. You’ll recognize this pivotal moment as the main promotional image for the play: a tight close-up of Monteith with her mouth stretched wide.
I didn’t realize how fully invested I was until Lauren’s final line. It is to us. Without spoiling the specifics, I will say that the humble gratitude of it blindsided me. I hope to prove myself worthy of that appreciation… and trust.
Red Like Fruit
running May 28 to June 15, 2025
Young Centre for the Performing Arts (50 Tank House Lane)
running time: 75 minutes (no intermission)
Michelle Monteith in “Red Like Fruit” | Photo by Dahlia Katz