"The Keening," the latest offering from Zero Arrow Theater in Harvard Square, tells its story through a series of flashbacks. In homage, this review will start with the end: the play's solitary performer, Marissa Chibas, deserved every decibel of her thunderous standing ovation and enthusiastic "Bravos!" as she took her final bows Sunday afternoon.
Yes, "The Keening" is a one-woman show. It features no scene changes, no elaborate set dressings, no intermission and certainly no music or sound effects. Although one is initially shocked by the realization that Chibas will be the sole performer for this two hour stretch, her dynamic performance more than makes up for the empty stage.
Set in modern Colombia, the play follows the daily rituals of a professional mourner (planidera) as she prepares the morgue for another body for whom she will be paid to weep. Chibas' movements unfold on the stage with poignant simplicity, yet still manage to create shockingly emotional moments.
Whether she is violently pulling apart a bouquet of roses or tearfully circling the stage with incense, her body reveals what mere words cannot. The actress's charm is her ability to glide from moments of supreme ecstasy to disturbing fits of grief, all the while maintaining an aura of believability.
The Woman, as the playbill refers to her, experiences a dizzying array of emotions as she recalls her personal history. Her memories build a picture for the audience of personal suffering interwoven with the national crisis of Colombia in the later half of the twentieth century, culminating in an unthinkable massacre at the village of Chengue. While our narrator's personal history, as heartfelt as it may be, is a work of fiction, this civilian bloodshed, sanctioned by the military itself, was very much a reality.
The theater makes a point to supplement the massacre's presence in the play with real-life evidence of the tragedy mounted on the walls of the lobby. The dark passageway into the theater is lit only by 26 electric candles, which in turn illuminate 26 untranslated death certificates whose significance the theatergoer comes to understand only after having seen the show.
The modern, recently-renovated lobby of the Arrow Zero Theater, the American Reparatory Theater's second stage, has artwork by Colombian school children enlivening its stark white walls. The poignancy of these actual drawings blurs the line between fictional theater and real-life history.
However, the real power of "The Keening," by Chilean playwright Humberto Dorado, isn't its connection to reality, but the tour-de-force journey of remembrance on which the narration of the planidera takes the audience. Her fictional story is deeply layered and full of tragedy, sensuality, betrayal, and triumph; all the hallmarks of a hypnotically intriguing tale.
Chibas makes full use of her monumental stage presence to breathe real life into The Woman's story. It also serves to keep the audience on its toes. One moment she writhes on an operating table in ecstasy while describing a past sexual romp, and in the next she emits screams of intense emotional release at the memory of a death.
Unfortunately, this ability sometimes works a bit too well - at times the story is swept along too rapidly, presenting the next memory without leaving enough time for the audience to fully absorb the last. Just as the viewers' tears begin to mount, Chibas will belt out her distinctive, whole-body laugh and break the spell completely.
Despite her full-body immersion in the role, one can't help but think that some relief might be welcome. Towards the end of the second hour, the audience begins to feel the strain that this sole performer must be under.
"The Keening" is well worth the investment, but be forewarned - the play will leave you emotionally exhausted. One can only imagine how tired Chibas must be as she appears to genuinely experience the catharsis of her character. Fittingly, The Woman opens and closes the show by asking, "I have to do everything on my own, isn't that true?" It is true, and she succeeds admirably.
