Resonant lesson in loving from theatremaker Tim Crouch
“Listen. Really listen,” says Toto the dog, as Effy lies hospitalised in a coma after a collision with a car. Her body may be motionless, but in writer and director Tim Crouch’s beautiful, logophilic new play for nine-year-olds and up, specially designed with headphones and binaural sound technology, 12-year-old Effy (Peyvand Sadeghian) and her beloved Toto (Felipe Pacheco) are in a strange no-place with a thick white square of carpet as fluffy as a cloud.
Truculent Effy has had to go and stay with her auntie after her single, nerve-shattered mum started a fire in their home. They don’t allow pets in her auntie’s block so, of course, the rebellious Effy smuggles Toto into her room – and it was after her secret was discovered that, distressed, she ended up in the middle of the road, pleading with her mum on a mobile phone to pick up.
Now mum (movingly voiced by Sinéad Matthews) attempts to talk Effy out of her comatose state via taped messages from a secure hospital unit. But it’s Toto who truly hears the world: the tunnelling of moles beneath the park, the vibrations of trees, love, a glimmer of light and – in a play on the word hertz – “hurts”. Aware that, in reality, he’s dying by the curb, Toto must teach Effy – whose “life is measured in hurts” – how to open up to a fellow human being.
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Thanks to sound designer and composer Helen Skiera, working with associate and operator Deanna H Choi, we, too, experience Toto’s aural universe via phantasmagoric, synthesised soundscapes. Meanwhile, Ingrid Mackinnon’s movement direction joyfully suggests the ebullient rough and tumble of a young girl and her adoring dog.
Sadeghian is a thoroughly engaging and believable ball of angry energy, while Pacheco, dressed in light tan human clothes (the costume supervisor is Katie Trevorrow) is by turns irrepressibly frantic and warmly wise as Toto. He also doubles as the sweet-hearted neighbouring youth Noah, whose continual questioning is mirrored by the persistent Toto.
Lily Arnold’s otherworldly, subtly soothing set is augmented by Will Monk’s imaginative use of suspended strip lighting, creating the impression of an outside world of ambulances and cars coming through in dimly perceived waves. The binaural sound itself heightens this sense of dislocation.
The piece revels in humorous wordplay, but Crouch’s gentle poeticism truly haunts. In an author’s note, he sums up his play in the words “despair, hope and love”. What resonates most is a deep sense of mystery surrounding the workings of the human mind and, above all, the heart.
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