Simone Matheson and Sofie Jarvis in Talking to Dead Cats in the Night | Photo by Emily Dix
If there is only word I could use to describe the totality of Talking to Dead Cats in the Night it would be strained; which is, at least partially, a compliment. That strained quality is purposeful and resonant throughout many aspects of Kiera Publicover’s debut play, an Arrowwood Theatre production presented by Bygone Theatre, yet it also burdens a lot of the execution. The Bridge, a 4th floor industrial space at Adelaide and Queen, is an appropriately offbeat environment for this piece—a vast and welcoming space, once you’ve figured out how to navigate the partial stairway, tiny elevator and eerie hallway. It’s all very David Lynch—intriguing and disconcerting.
From Gretchen’s (Simone Matheson) excruciating voicemail messages to her sister to the tension that hangs between them once Nora (Sofie Jarvis) shows up, their dynamic is, yes, strained. A dead cat in a plastic food container (RIP, Mittens) is a suitably morbid and goofy emblem for their relationship as they dig a hole for its grave in the back garden of their family home. That awful box stuffed with mildewed newspaper is a quietly grotesque spectacle; I was convinced I could make out some abject, furry gore within yet it must have been my imagination. The ambiguity of this creature’s remains pays off in some more Lynchian weirdness.
As these women pry, console, tolerate and provoke each other during this late-night, raw reunion, we catch glimpses of the children they once were in this very yard. Their unhinged dirt fight, both nasty and ridiculous, feels like a moment that has been building for years. In her script, Publicover achieves an authentic rendering of the quirks of a deeply loving yet estranged sibling dynamic. She’s set up some intriguing mysteries—Who’s calling Nora so late at night and why is she being so secretive about it? What’s the deal with their mom and dad? What is the significance of this night in particular?—which drags on just long enough to feel fully satisfying when solved. To my delight, there are some that are never fully resolved—allowing our intuition room to breathe. The many artifacts from their family history buried in the garden is never explained, but we sort of know what it means—this digging up of the past.
The design and technical elements feel workshop-y. I get the sense that director Lizzie Song wants to play with both the grounded naturalism of the situation while also indulging some lyrical, dreamy visuals. Emily Dix’s backyard set features some astroturf greenery with a box of real dirt set into the stage to represent the garden the actors dig up during the performance. While it all feels a little clunky around the edges as elements don’t quite coalesce, the artifice has a certain charm. And that box of dirt has some genuine surprises up its sleeve! Abandoned clothes on the line add eerie texture. Franco Pang’s projections on the house door and hanging laundry add a cool visual representation of shared memory. While these are intriguing and their use during the finale is poignant, they seem a tad distracting as they occur sporadically throughout. Perhaps if they were a more consistent, fully integrated aspect of the storytelling, they’d feel less like an effect.
Matheson and Jarvis have ample chemistry, their tension and familiarity is palpable. Matheson’s manic energy is a persuasive contrast for Jarvis’s guarded exasperation. Each will sometimes telegraph their intentions a little too obviously. These stilted beats feel linked to the general awkwardness of the mise en scène, which never quite lands on the whimsy or realism firmly enough to do Publicover’s script full justice. Each choice here—in performance and production—is striking in their own right, they just need some recalibration and finessing.
Talking to Dead Cats in the Night
running June 5 to 14, 2025
The Bridge (379 Adelaide St. W.,4th floor)
running time: 70 minutes (no intermission)
Simone Matheson and Sofie Jarvis in “Talking to Dead Cats in the Night” | Photo by Emily Dix