Review: Täti ja minä
VALKAMA AND KLEMETTILÄ KNOW HOW TO TAKE THEIR AUDIENCE
Black humour bites firmly in the City Theatre’s two-person play
Canadian Morris Panych’s play Aunt and Me (1995) is an exciting case.
As the name suggests, there are only two people in the play: an elderly man who lives alone at home and a younger man who is eager for an inheritance. We don’t get to know much about the first, the second one unravels his strange life even more.
Despite the strange setting, the characters feel close from the start, even if the viewer does not find any direct connections between them and their own lives.
Panych’s play begins in a cartoonish manner with short aphoristic scenes. The man who came to care for the elderly person performs a series of actions, to which the aunt reacts with her gestures and facial expressions. Loose pieces still develop into a coherent and comprehensive play.
The expressions of emotion between the characters are hidden, but the audience remains to read the play’s emotional map like an open book. At least more directly and boldly than the characters themselves.
Humour is again a powerful weapon. The humour of Panych’s play is so black that it penetrates even a strong protective wall. Loneliness and lovelessness are tough topics. I’m sure we all have at least a fear of being abandoned and forgotten.
The exciting feature of black humour is that sentimentality is alien to the way it is presented in every way, no matter how much the characters in the story itself unravel their own emotional tangles.
The end result can be a very layered experience, as in this case of Panych, where the viewer may get lost from one level to another without realizing it. To distance yourself and empathize. Part of the fun lies in the fact that the viewer can also make corrections in secret.
In addition, Panych effectively turns around the basic situation of his play, which is simple in itself. Therefore, there is no need to reveal more about the actual plot of the play. It is also part of the dramatist’s strategy that in the end the audience is no wiser than the characters in the play, and not even a hint above them
But what would I reveal about the actors?
In the case of Ritva Valkama, all the praising adjectives have already been used so many times that the actress’s name itself has become a quality word. And Valkama doesn’t disappoint this time either.
Valkama lies – as if placed on a touchstone – on a bed for almost the entire two-hour performance in a half-sitting position with the blanket pulled tightly up to her chin. However, the expression is precise and clear, even though Valkama doesn’t even have that many lines.
Jouko Klemettilä throws himself fully into his tragicomic role as a hospice nurse. Like his co-star, Klemettilä is able to skilfully lead the audience, which makes it easy to buy a bizarre character. Laughter and crying are definitely not far from each other.
A close connection is formed between Valkama and Klemettilä, even though both mostly act far from each other and in the front line to the audience. However, strong contact with the audience is the thing on which the performance directed by Raila Leppäkoski ultimately lives and finds its goal.
I’m impressed.