Heavy Things Don’t Float

Who are we?  Not in the Descartes sense, but really — as Newfoundlanders, who are we?  Fisherfolk?  World-class hedonists?  The friendliest people in North America?  Ignorant bumpkins?  I don’t know, but “Birthday Balloon”–directed by Steven Gallagher and written by Steve Cochrane, who also stars in it alongside Renée Hackett–does a damn good job of making the audience take a long hard look at the facts, before leaving us to wonder.

The central relationship between David (Cochrane) and Millie (Hackett) at the heart of “Birthday Balloon” is complicated, dark, vast — and at times, funny.  Just like this island.  The play offers a shrewdly written look at the complexities of our province reflected through a damned and dying romantic relationship. And for a play that’s essentially just two characters monologuing, reminiscing, or arguing while confronting profound loss, adultery, poverty, and broken dreams — “Birthday Balloon” has a lot of laughs.

Presented by RCA Theatre, the play finished up its five-day run at the LSPU Hall at the end of November, though it’s likely we haven’t seen the last of it yet. It has a storied history. Born of a conversation between Cochrane and Rising Tide Theatre’s Donna Butt in 2015, it was commissioned in February of 2016, and opened that June.  It was produced in Trinity again in 2018, and at Next Stage Theatre Festival at the Factory Theatre in Toronto that same year.

I was struck by how quickly the play was written–drafted, rewritten, staged, and then performed within only a few short months–until I read about Cochrane’s writing accolades.  Holy hell!  Plays, television shows, films, interactive gaming experiences — the man does it all.  

Birthday Balloon

Let’s get into it.  At first sight, there’s a whole kitchen at stage left, complete with one of those red brooms from Dollarama that is in every household on the goddamn island, a chandelier you’ve seen in your aunt’s house, and a functioning stove.  A door leads out to a backyard which takes up the rest of the stage. The yard is littered with unused and discarded toys that are near-buried in autumn leaves.  A child’s swing set stands near centre stage, and behind it, there’s a projected image of the sky. It shifts throughout the play, to mark the passage of time.  During the pre-show, the projection showed a deep purple night sky, scattered with stars.  A cold blue light was beaming down over the kitchen, with an amber glow over the door.  Already, the stage dressing was quite effective and managed to evoke a bleak atmosphere even with audience members finding their seats or chatting throughout the theatre. 

What really shines throughout this play is Cochrane’s writing.  Though fast-paced quips permeate the piece, Cochrane is able to strike a great balance. When the language becomes elevated —  Millie reflecting on how David used to move through the forest as if he was born to it, for example — it is usually cut down and brought back to reality with an insult from the other party.  Both characters possess a “made right here” brand of caustic wit.  Millie is a wise-cracking asskicker, but through her grief we are able to see the true heart and soul of her character.  When David recounts the first time that he was moved by literature, the writing captures the magic and awe of the moment without lapsing into navel gazing.  In this moment, we get a glimpse of how this daydreaming bayman would’ve happily dedicated himself to writing, but then we’re torn down with him as he discusses how his teacher and class mocked him for even trying.  

It’s not all gold, of course.  A few lines about “listening to the K-rock” or a reference to panties being so dirty they looked “buttered” didn’t work for me, but others in the audience laughed aloud.  In desperation, Millie offers to essentially change who she is so that the couple can stay together. Even if she didn’t really mean it, I felt that it was a disservice to her character and I found myself doubting her strength.  

The play is concerned with Newfoundland identity, so references to Newfoundlandia abound.   That being said, the Newfoundland experience isn’t glorified; David articulates a disgust over the Newfoundland tourism commercials that make many of us cringe.    

Unlike the artificial paradise displayed in those commercials, there are glimpses of blunt truth within “Birthday Balloon.”  We see jealousy, hypocrisy, ignorance, anger, and lies in its central relationship.  The piece paints a very vivid picture of Newfoundlanders, “warts and all.”  David’s stint working at Hibernia touches on a very real and often accepted practice in our workplaces.  Millie seems genuinely affected by the fearmongering she probably read online, referencing nuclear winter and terrorists, and moments later defends the Newfoundland tradition of gossip that seems to be our birthright.  There are also allusions to the grim state of the economy: David talks about “nine deep freezes packed with mini pizzas, and a fuckin’ produce aisle the size of a dart board.”  

Other truths were more tender: the couple may rage at one another, but always make sure to leave the cigarettes where either person can grab a smoke.  They throw the lighter back and forth and crack beers even while discussing trauma or deep-seated resentments.  

The play also concerns itself with the mythology of this place, be it real or imagined.  Just as Millie reminisces over the beautiful moments of her relationship with David, which he promptly denounces, some of us Newfoundlanders romanticise something that we never experienced or something that simply never existed in the first place.  The playwright’s notes in the program discuss this very real phenomenon, and it is reflected in David’s remembrance of his days at school.  “I went to school every day with a bottle of pop, a bag of chips, and a wagon wheel in my lunch,” it reads,  “It wasn’t all salt cod and lassy buns.  Sure what’s everyone gettin’ on with?”  

These are complex characters dealing with a deep and tragic loss–which I won’t give away here–and you feel for the both of them.  Throughout the play, I was constantly switching whose side I was on.  I supported an adulterer until they pushed someone, and that physical aggression disgusted me.  I championed someone due to their grief, only to have them act out like a child.  

Both Cochrane’s David and Hackett’s Millie are at times loveable, despicable, deluded, and pitiful.  The performances were powerful, but there were moments that I just didn’t quite buy.  Some of this comes down to direction; there are quite a few monologues throughout the show, but each actor at one point suffered from “monologue voice” — a repetitive inflection that made their words come off as insincere, so that the speech itself felt contrived.  Some of the staging also took me out of it, killing the moment and making things feel forced.  The pacing at times was also uneven, though I am not sure if that comes down to the writing, acting, or direction.  One or two of the monologues seemed to come out of nowhere, and felt both unearned and jarring.  

The technical aspects were subtle and well executed.  Reg Hoskins’s lighting design was incredibly effective, and at one moment we hear a passing vehicle as a set of headlights shine and shift across the stage reminding us of where we are.  Not that we ever really forgot. Ane Christensen’s set put us right in the backyard of that house in Long Harbour from the very beginning; once the couple headed into the kitchen we were right there with them.  The picture on the mantle was also compelling from the get-go. It gives us a picture of the absent third character of the play, whose presence is felt throughout — even before the third setting is placed on the table.

Overall, the play was well done, and is definitely worth seeing next time it comes around.  It respects complexity–which is one of the show’s greatest strengths — and it prompts important questions about relationships with people and places.  At what point does attachment and unwavering loyalty become unhealthy?  If a relationship is faced with one person’s inability to remain, and another’s inability to leave, who is in the wrong?  Is anyone?  Leaving may be the only way to get ahead, but what is the cost of leaving?  Many of us leave the province for a better job, giving up the Atlantic ocean, the smell of honeysuckle on the wind, and the beauty of this place, but not always for a better life.  Alternatively, what good is the natural beauty of our island if your kid goes to bed every night on an empty stomach?  Hell, some people want to leave just so that they can walk down a street without knowing every face they see.  Anonymity, freedom to start over, better transit — for some it’s a no-brainer.  For others, it’s complicated.

“Birthday Balloon” is the sound of lighters flicking and beer tops cracking, the taste of Tetley and Carnation Milk, the smell of woods, and the feeling of desperation that washes over you when you look at the housing market or the cold statistics of our healthcare system. It’s tough, it’s raw, there’s a type of sad beauty to it, and it’s honest.  You can laugh or cry — and whether you love it or hate it, it’s home.