Help isn’t on its way

Written By Connor Bradshaw

A review of Meet Me at Dawn by Snails on a Bike Theatre Collective

POINT

An incomplete “SOS” sign, crafted with sticks, arranged atop the deck of a sinking boat.

PLOT

Devised in the early 20th century to indicate distress at sea, the SOS symbol became shorthand culturally, in short time, for seeking reprieve in any calamity. The SOS transmission in Snails on a Bike’s production, however, is literal. Robin (played with a near-righteous fervor by Jill Marlow) and Helen (complexly rendered in her laissez faire heartbreak by Magdalena Dalzell) are shipwrecked, cast away from their intended path. 

Resolute and determined to find salvation, Dalzell’s Helen begins to make an SOS symbol on the deck of their ship. But she never finishes. We’re left with an “SO–” for much of the remainder of the play. Which is to say: We’re left with incompleteness.

So much of Harris’s play concerns itself with grief; the resulting strangulation of one’s insides, the whiplash of having something one moment and not having it the next. And in many ways, this motif is present in the theatre collective’s other works.

This is the second production the site-specific/found-space theatre company has mounted at the Wild Mile. Their first, Eurydice, was, too, both concerned with grief and directed by the ambitious Faith Hart. So when I sat down on the dock, ever-so-slightly rocked by the waves, I couldn’t help but wonder how similar the two productions would be. Very, I would discover.

To that end, there’s something clearly mythological in Harris’s work. As the play persists, it becomes clearer and clearer the Orphean tragedy has been reinvented, refracted. What if Orpheus and Eurydice had just one more day? What if they knew their fate?

In this production, elements of that mythological undercurrent are made tangible via the inclusion of a moth woman. This moth woman (played by Izzy Valdes and Ava Calabrese in alternating weeks) communicates in a series of taps — much like the Morse code “SOS” signal. Her imperative: Wrest Robin’s subconscious to the forefront. Make her remember the wish she made. Show her what happened to Helen.

The degree to which this inclusion – note: Harris’s original script does not feature the “moth woman” as a character; she exists perpetually on the periphery and is never seen by the audience — works is complicated. The aesthetic flourish is welcome, and prop master Saskia Bakker’s moth-mask-creating talents are a sight to behold, but it (like the “SO–” sign) feels incomplete.

The moth woman communicating in Morse-code rhythm is, on paper, a direct extension of the play's central metaphor — an SOS within an SOS. But in person, there’s something missing.

When we look at incompleteness in this play, then, we don’t just look at the grief journey between our two leads. We also look at the incompleteness that comes with artistic risk-taking.

LEAP

What does incompleteness connote? Is an incomplete “SOS” itself a sign that nobody came in time? Or is it evidence of not needing to finish the transmission?

When theatrical productions hinge on actors being (word-) perfect, what role does rawness – unvarnished attempt – play?

Disclaimer: I’ve been a fan of Snails on a Bike for years now. It’s rare to see a theatre company, a group of artists, so willing to take big swings. In a ~ system ~ that disincentivizes divergence from the norm, that rewards known commodities and comfortable retreads, incompleteness is a rallying cry of a certain sort.

But what does incompleteness feel like? To the spectator? To the actor? Is it any less sumptuous than completeness? The moth woman felt incomplete, yes. But…so what?

Completeness doesn’t promise satisfaction. Thematically, the moth woman fulfills her end of the bargain. The deal works perfectly. It’s complete and it still isn't enough — because you cannot wish for one more day without the day ending. The tragedy here isn't in the transaction's “incompleteness.” The SOS was sent, received, answered. Everything technically checked out. The proverbial ship still sank.

An incomplete SOS sign is as much a sign as a complete one.

And an incomplete theatrical world is as capable of evoking emotion as a complete one. In this case, perhaps more.

Connor Bradshaw