THEATER - "Zarathustra Said Some Things, No?"

It’s true: Zarathustra said some things. In fact, I believe he even spake, if we’re going to split hairs about it. But Nietzsche’s philosophical opus is hardly digestible, and Trevor Ferguson’s obfuscating drama, Zarathustra Said Some Things, No? is hardly lucid. The play opens, mid-afternoon, with all the normalcy of heavy binging the night before. Ricky (Brett Watson) is passed out underneath the bed, and Adrienne (Lina Roessler) wakes up mid-scream (that we never learn why is the first of many disappointments). Once they’ve gone through the motions of breakfast (Fruit Loops and coffee), Ricky goes out on the balcony and announces that there is not a cloud in the sky. Today is perfect.

Now, unless you’ve read a plot synopsis, the two characters spend the rest of the play avoiding saying outright what they’re planning to do on this perfect day. When finally announced, a climax of fear and loathing in Paris, the effect is minimal; the audience thinks, well finally, at last, good, get on with it. It’s a death pact: Ricky and Adrienne, in addition to being half-siblings who first met (and fucked) across opposite ends of their mother’s coffin, are planning to leap from their balcony, any day now, really . . . maybe.

It’s hard to know, really, what is going on, because these two are twisted people who happen to be in a sadomasochistic relationship, former drug (and sex) addicts both, and rather than speaking lucidly, they like indulging in power plays and word games. Oh, and to tie things back to Nietzsche, Adrienne has the power to climax when Ricky quotes from Zarathustra. Given the level of fucked-up-ness here, it’s not surprising that Zarathustra Said Some Things, No? doesn’t make much sense, and if you’re looking for a deviant theatrical experience, these two actors are certainly committed enough to deliver. But wading through malicious and unexplained behavior for ninety minutes before reaching any sort of climax isn’t for the ordinary theatergoer, and in all honesty, the climax is a bit of a let down. It’s just one more sick game for the sadomasochists, and that means ultimately that nothing has happened.

Of all the things Zarathustra Said Some Things, No? wastes (talent and time), it’s also a misuse of Katka Hubacek’s brilliant set, a snug little apartment that at least forces the two actors to interact on a physical level, not to just mince words. The biggest risk is placing the balcony center-stage, so that the audience must look through a physical window to watch the action (some of which is occasionally obscured). It succeeds, making us voyeurs, and gives the show an ominous presence, one that director Robin A. Paterson does not shy away from during the play’s final act. Unfortunately, the problem with the set’s brilliance is that it exposes even further the shallowness of the script: all we see through that window is a lot of hyperactive, hyperbolic bullshit, and all we think is, keep the damn blinds down next time.