THEATRE REVIEW:
PENNY PLAIN

JOHN COULBOURN,
QMI Agency
25 JAN 2012
R: 4.5/5

Pictured:
Geoffrey, Penny Plain


TORONTO - For all of mankind’s accomplishments, it is pure hubris to assume that the end of the world and the end of mankind will occur simultaneously. And if you’re still in enough of a snit over David Suzuki’s Santa musings that you refuse to take his word for it, you might want to lend an ear to Ronnie Burkett.

Or more specifically, to Ronnie Burkett’s marionettes, for as anyone who has been following the Ronnie Burkett Theatre of Marionettes for the past quarter century will tell you, Burkett’s creations may often be off-the-wall, but when it comes to telling universal truths, they are rarely off the mark. And the way they tell it in PENNY PLAIN, a remarkable new show that opened a Toronto run on the Factory Theatre mainstage Tuesday, the end of mankind and the attendant end of civilization might be just the tonic the world needs — sort of a toxin cleanse for planets, if you will.

Penny Plain of title is a dear old blind lady who, despite her disability, runs a boarding house in an unnamed Canadian city — a city that like the rest of the world is threatened by the apocalyptic happenings reported, news-reel fashion, at the outset of the show. In their wake, we meet Penny, sharing biscuits with her faithful companion Geoffrey, a dog whose duties have, over the years, expanded considerably from your average guide dog. But in the face of a looming apocalypse, Geoffrey hungers for a chance to spread his wings in the broader world and explore his human side.

His departure launches a search for a new dog for Ms. Plain, and after a few unsuccessful-but-very-funny auditions, that position is filled by a young girl, orphaned when the rest of her family beats the clock in a round of murder/suicides. But where everyone around them fears the end of the world, Penny and her new companion embrace its rebirth, despite the madness that surrounds them.

And that’s a lot of madness: a serial killer, driven to distraction by overheard cell-phone conversations, a pair of American survivalists who can’t seem to make up their mind between rapture here ’n’ now and rapture in the hereafter, a profane old woman with an unhealthy obsession with bodily functions, a depressed but still world-famous puppeteer and a tragic woman who doesn’t want to face death with a biological clock ticking like a time bomb.

For those familiar with Burkett’s work, it will come as no surprise to learn that the show is beautifully designed and executed, with Burkett receiving flawless assists from Kevin Humphrey’s exquisite lighting and John Alcorn’s deeply affecting music and sound design. What may surprise however is the limited role Burkett himself plays in the show, refusing in the main to mix and mingle with his creations and instead concerning himself with their animation.

They might also be surprised at the hidden depth here, for while “dark and apocalyptic” is certainly familiar turf for this artist, he uses his puppets this time out to go deeper into the human psyche than is his wont, underscoring the fact that when it becomes a dog-eat-dog world, anthropomorphism might prove to be a two-way street. Mind you, this is still Ronnie Burkett, full of irreverent humour and more inclined to go over the top than Nicholas Cage in a prison break movie, whenever he gets the chance, finally demonstrating his full contempt for editors in this show. But its also a new Ronnie Burkett, stepping out of the limelight on occasion and offering a pensive, pretty PENNY for your thoughts.