Contrary to what it may seem, Fusion Theatre Company’s production of “Happy Days” is not part of a chain reaction of existentialism tearing through Albuquerque.
The writer, Samuel Beckett, is best known for writing “Waiting for Godot” and kicking it with Jean-Paul Sartre.
The coincidental recent production of “No Exit” is bound to draw comparisons, but Beckett does not function in the same way. “Absurdism” is often the word used to describe theater or any art where the subject matter is flat-out surreal. This is not necessarily accurate for “Happy Days.” Here, form is function, and function is form. It’s both pure and chaotic with only as much to take in as you allow.
After a cheerfully energetic curtain speech, you’re introduced to the screens that wrap around the space, wriggling about its imaginary boundaries. Double-mounted projectors near the back cast a green, otherworldly sky.
A woman is situated at the center, waist deep in a sort of anthill cake. The play doesn’t get much more structured from here.
The two characters technically have names, but the exact details are never important here.
To say Laurie Thomas’ role as the cake-covered woman is challenging is a gross understatement. She never leaves her anthill, which restricts her movement to the waist and up. Thomas talks the entire time, with only the most minor exception, and about what is difficult to say.
You are asked to take a ride on a stream of consciousness — a difficult, but enjoyable one. Thomas’ face dances with dynamic feeling, making robust use of her endless transitions from one bouncy thought to the next. Sometimes the thoughts string together to form little globules of emotion, and suddenly it’s a bit of monologue, but it could all be in your head.
John Hardman’s part is minuscule, but entertaining, and this is not simply because you wish for variety. You almost never see his face when he’s actually in view, and the bulk of his lines are delivered while he resides in a hole in the ground. No, really.
It seems impossible not to ask the fundamental questions of context and content, but even approaching these ideas seems fruitless. Outside space time, Beckett plants the expression of the play directly into you — both the characters and actual words spoken.
The images you’re asked to take in are freed from restraints or anything resembling a theatrical structure, though the characters are not as bleak as their existence appears to be.
This is not a play for everyone.
In one go, it’s a little hard to take. It’s best to let it waft over you as you consider it — not the supposed hidden meanings, but as a fractal of ideas you can stare into and take what you want and leave what you do not.
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