Every once in a while, if we are lucky, we stumble upon a work of art so staggering that it whirls about our memories long after our initial encounter. Something about it, even if we can’t pinpoint what that “something” is (which, of course, only adds to its intrigue), resonates. A most curious kabuki-based play, ironically named Forgotten, just happens to be one of those works.
Thanks to its host, the Irish Arts Center, New Yorkers now have the opportunity of experiencing Forgotten at the Donaghy Theatre in Hell’s Kitchen. Directed by Jim Culleton, and written and performed by Pat Kinevane, this Dublin-born play has been touring Europe since 2006. A Japanese-inspired, one-man-show about two men and two women, Forgotten defies all genres; it is, perhaps, inimitable. Its production, with all of its intricacy, is a challenge of Everest proportions. Yet, Culleton and Kinevane have mastered their craft. Kinevane is impossibly entertaining. He is a sprite, nimbly slipping out of one character’s skin and into the next, his seamless morphology an indication of the time-nurtured harmony that has grown between director and actor.
Essentially a story on rotation, Forgotten shuffles the personal histories of four elderly individuals, who, for various reasons, have been admitted into retirement homes (or, as they see them: geriatric asylums). Each life is brilliantly realized through monologues of pieced reminiscences, with role changes signaled by interludes of dance, onstage accessorizing and self-applied cosmetics. Desperately lonely, the characters look to the audience for companionship. They prattle on, uncovering hole-riddled narratives, all of them scattershot by heartbreak and regret, dementia and a preoccupation with looming death. Each person is scraping to remember, with the hope of sculpting some sort of legacy—a little known truth about his or her existence. And it is us with whom they entrust their secrets.
An absolute delight to watch, Forgotten is, nonetheless, a thought-twisting, puzzle of a play. At first, the characters seem to share nothing more than a social stigma: “senior citizen.” But, as the tales spins, common threads are revealed, and the patches of yesteryear are carefully stitched whole. There is Flor, the grumbler, a former manor-hand who knew no Irish luck; around to build a free Ireland from the rubble of its Civil War, only to be left with “fuck all” in the end. Dora, a woman of privilege, recalls an “experimental,” promiscuous romp, her voice conveying the perfect smattering of cheekiness and guilt. Augustus has endured a stroke, and although he cannot speak, his confessional thoughts stream through the house speakers; he doesn’t believe that he has ever loved his daughter the way that a father should. Last but not least is Eucharia, who spends her day-outings at Arnott’s department store studying the antics of shoplifters, in a feeble attempt to distract her focus from a particular salesclerk.
Forgotten, simply put, is an exploration of expiration. Undoubtedly, a play about loss—the deterioration of the mind, the estrangement of loved ones, and ultimately, the termination of life—it is just as much a play about gain. Each character demonstrates the sort of profound grace, insight—and, yes—good humor that is granted, exclusively, at the milestone of Old Age.
“What do we want?” Flor asks, parroting the jingle of an Alzheimer’s advertisement.
“We don’t know,” he answers himself.
“When do we want it?”
(Pause)
“Who?”
Forgotten is, above all, a tribute to the elderly. Still, the question stands: why kabuki? It is true, as Augustus notes, that unlike Westerners, Asians revere the senior members of their societies; caring for them is a duty, not an option. If it is a cultural contrast that Kinevane is going for, then that anecdote alone would drive his point home. But, there is a reason for the whistling bamboo instruments, the placement of a geisha doll (slash wine bottle cover) on Dora’s vanity table. These measures are purely stylistic and seemingly foreign to the Irish stage.
Yet, surprisingly, Kinevane is not the first Irishman to dabble in Japanese theater. During the early decades of the 20th Century, Yeats was inspired by the dramatic structure of kabuki’s predecessor, Noh, as evidenced in his two plays: At the Hawk’s Well and The Death of Cuchulain. Just like Yeats, Kinevane does not strive to emulate the Japanese tradition. This is cafeteria kabuki: Kinevane picks only the elements of kabuki which are most beneficial to Forgotten:
Cross-dressing: check.
Other actors: what for?
Face paint: absolutely.
Flower paths and trap-doors: no need.
Dancing: God, yes.
With kabuki-esque on-stage transformations, Kinevane reminds his audience that this is not reality: this is a play. This is art. Actions and appearances are sometimes exaggerated to convey a message, to stir ideas and emotion. The make-up is never scrubbed clean, so when Kinevane switches roles, he brings the previous character with him. The individuals begin to overlap, allowing us to see that they are not as isolated as they first seemed. The dancing, well, aside from being ridiculously amusing (think: a grown man, bopping about, squealing like a teenager at a karaoke bar), acts as the perfect segue into a new scene. It allows the audience to regroup, to briefly mull over the words of one character, while preparing for the next. All the while, Kinevane has your attention in the palm of his hand. And, we can assume, by the goofy look on his face, that he is having a hell of a time himself.
With all of that said, it is possible that there is no “something” about Forgotten. There are many things: a delightful chameleon of a performer, an unexpected fusing of two islands, a wondrously knotted storyline full of the laughter and the tears that make life worth holding on to, and the idea that even when we feel we have nothing, there is a past worth excavating.
Forgotten runs until March 7th, with performances on Wednesday – Saturday at 8 pm, and Sunday at 3 pm. There will be a panel discussion on Thursday, February 25th, immediately following the 8 pm performance.
Above image of Pat Kinevane in Forgotten
