“The text asks a lot of the performers and needs someone at the helm with a clear vision. Jahjah is up to the task, so in the wide, Chippen space, Mouawad’s words ring out and resonate.”
“The cast, without exception, brings high energy and focus to every scene. “
Veronica Hannon
3.5 /5 stars
“I’m happy to keep him, the corpse, because the corpse of a father that still has a head on its shoulders is a real miracle.” Sabbé in Wajdi Mouawad’s Tideline.
Civil war, more common than other conflicts since World War Two, leaves deep scars. The disparate characters of Tideline, finding themselves thrown together and forming an accidental family, are either immediate witnesses to hostilities or recipients of trauma passed on by refugees in exile.
Lebanese Canadian playwright Wajdi Mouawad certainly does not flinch from examining wartime violence. I have somewhat of an ambivalent relationship with content warnings per se, but they are necessary here. While nothing is shown, the stories that find breath enough to be voiced by these survivors are shockingly graphic. In particular, Mouawad shines a light on sexual violence. His writing compels the audience to recognise rape as a devastating weapon and tactic of war. At the same time, he has crafted a poetic journey that beautifully combines emotional drama with wit and humour.
The story opens with Wilfred (Adeeb Razzouk) in a tight spot of light before an unseen judge. He relays how he learnt of his father’s death during a post-coital phone call. He is highly agitated and wrestling with terrible grief for a man he hardly knew. When we meet his squabbling immigrant family, you understand why Wilfred chooses to return his father’s body to his parent’s (unnamed) homeland. Still, when he gets there, he discovers the cemetery in their ancestral village is full. Overcrowded graveyards litter the countryside, so he begins a quest to find a final resting place for the body. Since it is a quest, Wilfred is fittingly assisted by an imaginary knight (Gerry Sont) and kept company by his dad’s chatty, if decaying, corpse (Neil Modra).
One by one, strangers join Wilfred as he navigates this post-war landscape. Amé (Antoine Razzouk) accidentally murdered his own father at the crossroads, and Simone (Cassady Booth), Sabbé (Anthony White) and Massi (Lucas Connolly) are also marked by harrowing experiences. Most poignantly, a disturbed Joséphine (Kirsty Jordan) drags phone books filled with names of her compatriots, names she memorises to keep them alive. These people are all damaged, but they also share a determination to overcome the loss and anger and forge new selves.
Director Anna Jahjah needed to be equally resolved to get this English translation of Tideline to the stage. Like many theatre makers, her efforts were thwarted by COVID-19. The text asks a lot of the performers and needs someone at the helm with a clear vision. Jahjah is up to the task, so in the wide, Chippen space, Mouawad’s words ring out and resonate. Some of the best moments take place in a kind of fevered dream state, and with the help of minimal set and costume changes, the action hurtles forward without distractions. The cast, without exception, brings high energy and focus to every scene. If a couple of actors were vocally strained and emotionally pinched at this performance, I put it down to opening night nerves.
Tideline is both cathartic and surprising. It also makes a case for Mouawad being one of the French-speaking world’s most-produced playwrights.
Veronica, Theatre Now
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