Joan MacLeodís newest play, Homechild, is inspired by the history of the 100,000 Home
Children who were sent to
MacLeod, an
award-winning playwright, sets her story in rural eastern
The urgency of
discovering an unknown past and identifying a connection that might give
comfort where none previously existed is compelling. And MacLeod manages to
suggest the daughterís yearning for family without resorting to awkward
sentiment. But the playwright has yet to find a dramatic way into this story.
The first act meanders between various charactersí conversations so much that
we lose sight of the play altogether. The second act, taken up with the search
for, and the appearance of, the missing sister, fails to refer back to so much
that was introduced in the first half.
MacLeod allows
too much chat and not enough purpose in the dialogue. We never gain much
insight into the backgrounds of any of the people onstage and so their several
dilemmas are of little weight. Just as the daughter flirts with the neighbourís
son, so does the playwright flirt with the lives of her assembled characters.
The result, finally, is hardly fascinating.
Furthermore,
the play is not helped by its current production, though the company of actors
does its level best to breathe life into what is often beyond saving. Once
again, the cavernous stage of the Bluma Appel Theatre sabotages the designer
and the director. Astrid Janson, whose designs rarely fail to tie themes and
characters into a visual landscape that elevate language to poetic imagery,
takes up far too much space with porches, interiors (and the interior is
utterly baffling with its onstage kitchen left untouched while so much action
is suggested somewhere upstage and out of sight) and a vista of highlands, a
hospital room and, well, whatever else counts as here-and-nowhere. The playís
demand for a naturalistic playing style and a cinematic shift in settings has
not been carefully enough considered.
Director Martha Henry compounds the problem by staging extended conversations on a porch that faces into the wings, or having a dinner scene played with the audience essentially abandoned in the process. The single scene that plays well and connects us to the characters is in the second act when Wesley (Randy Hughson), a neighbour, talks to Lorna, the daughter from
In the central roles of Lorna and Alistair, her father, Brenda Robins and Eric Peterson do what
they can with the little theyíve been handed. They work hard to suggest a
relationship in crisis, but the playwright lets them down with repeatedly
predictable dialogue. He is cantankerous and she is tired of his barking. They
are given nothing of value to say to each other, or to anyone else, and try as
they do, the actors repeat themselves again and again. Tom Rooney, Barbara Gordon, Patricia
Hamilton and Randy Hughson, among
others, are charming, engaging and everything you could ask for in a company of
actors. What a pity that they are used to such little advantage.