culture
Come In, Come In, Cosmonaut
Tony Nappo as the titular cosmonaut in The Cosmonaut’s Last Message to the Woman He Once Loved in the Former Soviet Union. Photo by Bruce Zinger.
The Cosmonaut’s Last Message to the Woman He Once Loved in the Former Soviet Union, a Canadian Stage Company production on now at the Bluma Appel Theatre, presents several tests of endurance. First, try to say the title in one breath. Second, and much harder to measure, it asks us to consider how long a person can possibly last without communicating with the outside world, and the lengths someone will go to in order to be heard.
In Cosmonaut, playwright David Greig creates characters trying desperately to hold onto human connections, much like an astronaut might try to gain control of his orbit in outer space. Keith (David Jansen) and Vivienne (Fiona Byrne) are a Scottish couple quietly ignoring their marriage’s breakdown; Eric (Raoul Bhaneja) is a mysterious Norwegian “diplomat” flitting off to capital cities around the world; Nastasja (Sarah Wilson) is a Russian stripper in London who lost her father as a child; and Bernard (Jansen again) is a former rocket scientist from France still obsessed with the secrets deep space holds. While the lives of these characters intersect throughout the play, miles and miles above them are Oleg (Tony Nappo) and Casimir (Tom Barnett), two Russian cosmonauts who for years have been floating alone through space (based on the true story of Russian astronaut Sergei Krikalev who spent a year in space while the Soviet Union collapsed and didn’t have the means to bring him home).
Each one of these lost souls are struggling in their own way to break through the static and come through clearly, in both obvious and more subtle ways: Casimir and Bernard literally try to establish a transmission between atmospheres while Nastasja, constantly seeks to speak with her father (supposedly orbiting overhead) indirectly, through whatever protector she can find on land. They live in fantasy worlds, they speak in circles, and eventually find that they can only express themselves non-verbally⎯through a tape of a woman breathing, a carefully folded tie, or an act of self-destruction. In terms of endurance, the characters of Cosmonaut will pursue their desire for contact past the shores of the ocean and the limits of space. They chase it until they physically can’t anymore.
So, no, it’s not a feel-good romp. But what makes Greig’s script and Jennifer Tarver’s directing all the more heartbreaking are the skillful way they draw parallels between the characters, stories, and places. The repetition of certain lines, lighting, sound, and images intricately link the simultaneous plots together. The misfortune is that the characters are completely unaware of this: only the audience, as an outside observer, is able to realize that these people are not so different from each other, that the connections between them are strong, and that they’re not alone.
The script itself doesn’t always come through all that clearly. While the first act succeeds in introducing these disjointed lives and hinting at the ties between them, when it’s time for the transmissive tension to peak, the impact usually fizzles. This is especially true for Nastasja, who we never really understand or feel for.
But something that Canadian Stage has really mastered this season are the visuals. What really unites this show is the physical space⎯Tarver’s staging and Julie Fox’s set. With scenes often only taking place in small sections of the large Bluma stage, the characters on Earth appear just as lost in space as their cosmonaut counterparts. The sparse set enhances that mood, especially when a revolve in the second act literally lets the actors and settings move in orbit around each other. A moonscape backdrop that changes from flat and childlike in the first half to 3D and ethereal in the second not only makes a thematic point, but is also stunning to see.
The marathon of a title refers to Oleg’s wish to leave a message to the love of his life, a woman with whom he spent a weekend, only to never to speak with again— simply because, you guessed it, he wasn’t able to express himself. Forever regretting it, he makes sure his last message to her speaks much louder than words. Unfortunately, there’s a large chance she never got it at all which, like the play, is beautiful and sad.
The Cosmonaut’s Last Message to the Woman He Once Loved in the Former Soviet Union runs until May 14 at Canadian Stage Company’s Bluma Appel Theatre (located in the St. Lawrence Centre for the Arts, 27 Front Street East), Monday–Saturday at 8 p.m. with matinees on Wednesdays at 1:30 p.m., and Saturdays at 2 p.m. Tickets are $22 to $99.