Presented by Broken Yolk Theatre
Everything You Do is a Balloon is not at all what I imagined it was going to be. Reading the synopsis again, I can see both the show I imagined and the one that greeted me. Both are silly and serious, fun and disconcerting. Reanne Spitzer’s actual show, however, went the farthest to pull the rug out from under me. Even contemplating it after the fact, having recognized the intent of the jarring theatrical event that defines it, I still feel at a loss to identify the precise edges of sincerity and strategy. And that’s a very exciting place to be.
It’s Reanne’s birthday and her family is annoying her so she ditches them in favour of a fabulous night out with her twink-influencer friend. We only ever hear his voice, but it’s enough to know his deal. So there’s this hot new local celebrity, DJ Ceviche, they don’t want to miss. As she’s going through the intensely relatable frustration of registering to purchase tickets, she gets stuck on the simple, yet nebulous: “How do you identify?”
As she Spirals (with a capital S), she takes us with her to a fever dream world of balloons and DJ Ceviche’s relentless, disembodied voice as he guides her through the process of defining herself. These balloons represent who she is, she just has to find the right one, or the right combination. She wrestles with many random and disparate aspects of her selfhood, from dyslexia and artistry to Jewishness. Of the many surprising and hilarious bits, her unhinged twerking to Hava Nagila is an emblematic set piece.
The structure of the piece is designed around episodes in which she explores her various aspects with clever, performative antics, but then she gets snagged on being a Jew. I don’t want to spoil the impact of how Spitzer collapses the form of this show or the confessional details. I will warn you, though, that Gaza becomes a raw and urgent focal point. I’m still reeling from the vulnerable and deeply compelling form Spitzer employs here. The button she puts on the finale balances the vibes out—a kindness she affords herself and her audience.
The opening performance I caught was not the 60 minutes the show page suggests, but barely over half that. I don’t want to tell you to prepare for a 35 minutes, however, because I have a feeling Spitzer wants that full hour, that each performance might unfold differently. I’m not sure it—the version I saw, at least—is in its most ideal form. Regardless, it is a lot of fun… until it isn’t. And even when the playful artifice is suddenly abandoned, the whiplash, well, hurts so good. And yes, balloons will be popped. Though that isn’t, uh, the worst noise they make in the show.
Way to go Reanne. The review captures the fun and seriousness of the content of your play. Wish I could have seen it. Bonnie z.