Almost, Maine

Set at about 9pm in an imaginary bunch of houses that’s not quite a town, sited on a rural frozen plain in the northernmost part of the US, John Cariani’s Almost, Maine takes the form of nine brief scenes, all occurring concurrently, all exploring LOVE. Not love as in the deep devotion and affection that exists within families, but LOVE, the hormonal cudgel that smashes out the brain leaving people idiots. The writing is utterly without pretention. If your tolerance for saturation-point sentimentality is low, you might find it difficult to watch. But although it is unselfconsciously romantic, it is rescued from total mawkishness by existing in the bisecting planes of metaphor and humour. Often described as magical realism, Almost, Maine probably has roots further back, via surrealism to the wordplay and humour of Alice in Wonderland. It’s full of absurdity, verbal and visual puns and puzzles of the sort that make you laugh with delight when you get them. The magic of the northern lights is itself a metaphor—the point at which the aurora appears in each of the vignettes precipitates a moment of clarity. Illusions fall away and the couples are left to deal with the consequences, be they good or bad.

As written by Cariani, each of the characters is something of a stereotype, with men being awkward and taciturn, and women tending to nervously babble, and all of them sweet and gormless. Director Zac Bridgman’s take hangs some flesh on these caricatures, while finessing the timing of the humour and absurdity. Each player takes on between five and seven parts, all of whom are well distinguished in spite of some economy in the costuming. Alexander Wilson brings a childlike quality to his characters, especially the overly literal Pete and painfully naïve Steve, while his Lendall is perpetually bewildered. Alastair McKenzie’s characters are older and more experienced, but no more worldly and with foibles exaggerated for laughs.

But it’s the women who steal each scene. Jayde Dowhy’s grieving Glory and returning Hope may have puns for names, but they have depth and poignance, each facing their fates with subtle resilience. Wendy Wakwella, meanwhile is a joy to watch, with a wonderful comic sensibility and the ability to switch the mood with the tiniest change of expression.

The simplicity of the set and sound design is effective and suits the unaffected nature the play. I would have liked to have seen a less washed out version of the northern lights but this didn’t detract from the great performances.

Mockingbird’s Almost, Maine is a gently surreal, unabashedly sentimental treat. If you’re wanting to get out of the headspace of all that’s going wrong in the world, it’s well worth being transported via this sweet fable to a place where everyone means well and it’s all going to end up okay.

Cathy Bannister

Photo credit: Chris Baldock & Zac Bridgman.