Is It Just Me, or Is the World Getting Crazier?
Christopher Durang’s Laughing Wild Has Never Been More Relevant
Nadia Verrucci as the Woman
"I want to talk to you about life. It’s just too difficult to be alive, isn’t it, and try to function? There are all these people to deal with." These words, lingering in the air like smoke in the intimate space of Variations Mile End, begin Christopher Durang's Laughing Wild. (Durang, one of America’s finest contemporary playwrights, died in April of this year.) It's a sentiment that feels as relevant today as it did when the play first premiered in 1987. This isn't your typical night out at the theatre. No elaborate sets, no grand pronouncements. Just two actors, a powerful script, and a whole lot of uncomfortable truths about the human condition. Durang's play, a darkly comic triptych that unfolds in a series of monologues and a shared fever dream, brings a fist down upon the head of modern anxieties. His brutally honest (and often hilarious) takedown of 80s society: the supermarket indignities, the inane talk shows (remember Sally Jessy Raphael? She’s actually still killing it.), the rise of self-help gurus peddling empty promises, the looming threat of nuclear war, the AIDS epidemic, and the general sense that the world was teetering on the brink of chaos, all hit a little too close to home even now in 2024. It's a discomfiting reminder that some anxieties, like the fear of social isolation, the struggle with mental health, and the yearning for genuine connection, transcend time and technology. And, in a Montreal Anglo theatre scene often plagued by safe choices and recycled formulas, this production, spearheaded by two passionate actors, Matt Holland and Nadia Verrucci, offers a welcome jolt of raw energy and unsettling humor in the face of a more postmodern approach.
As I mentioned, Laughing Wild isn't your typical three-act structure. Durang’s play is a triptych, a play in three distinct and equal parts: two soul-baring monologues, followed by a fever dream of interconnected consciousness. It's a format that allows for both deep introspection and explosive collision, a theatrical rollercoaster that oscillates between the mundane to the unsettling, all while laughing, or trying to. The play stands out in the context of Montreal’s Anglo theatre scene, one often dictated by funding mandates and grant applications, a world where artistic risks are carefully calculated and "innovative" usually translates to "what's already been done, but with a slightly different hat." This production emerged not from some committee meeting or proposal, but from the sheer passion and determination of two actors who clearly give a damn. Holland and Verrucci carved out their own space, found their own funding (or adapted to a lack thereof), and brought this play to life with an electric energy that could only come from a deep-seated love for the play, and for theatre itself.
Variations Mile End, the venue for this production, is an unexpected gem. Tucked away in the back of a dance studio, it's the home base for Mile End Improv. Black curtains outline the performance space, grey floors stretch out beneath the minimal seating, which is slightly raised (and functional, what a novel concept for an indie theatre). A tech booth, barely noticeable, hides in the corner, the control centre for a modest set of LED lighting. This isn't a space designed for grand spectacles, and that's precisely why Laughing Wild feels so at home here. The intimacy of the setting fosters a connection with the actors that's almost physical. This is theatre stripped bare, it’s immediate, and it's fucking refreshing.
Laughing Wild unfolds in a series of vignettes that are both hilarious and deeply unsettling. First, we meet the Woman, a force of nature unleashed in a cramped black box theatre. Nadia Verrucci embodies this character with an earnest vulnerability that makes you squirm in your seat one minute and burst out laughing the next. Her monologue is a torrent of grievances against the world, a symphony of frustration played out against the backdrop of 80’s consumerism and social anxieties, spilling out in a verbal assault that's as cathartic as it is unnerving. Verrucci says, “I mean, I don't have a lot of trouble relating to what she's saying. And, to be honest, I find it far more exhausting to play middle of the road characters who are, like, neither here nor there. Where's the challenge? Where's the fun? To be fair, it's an exhausting show. The nervous energy that I have the whole time, it's hard to sustain, so it's great that Christopher Durang specifically put some very reflective moments in there, to help the performer, to help the character, and I think it also helps the audience, because the words are just charging out of my mouth and trying to invade your brain.”
Then, the Man, portrayed with a nuanced vulnerability by Matt Holland. He's the guy who's desperately trying to cling to positivity in a world that seems determined to drag him down. Affirmations, meditation, self-help mantras, a harmonic convergence, he tries them all, but his anxieties keep bubbling to the surface. Holland captures this internal struggle with a subtle brilliance, his forced cheerfulness masking a deep well of despair, which is wildly relatable. Discussing the Man’s monologue, Matt tells me, “It's like therapy for him, you know? And I can totally relate to that. Yeah. I get the feeling that he keeps a lot of things bottled up, and I'm just like everybody else. I do that, too. The Man has a good speech about being an ad hoc existentialist, and how hard it is, and how he's sick of it, and he wants to believe in something.” This desire to believe in something in the face of uncertainty places itself in each part of Durang’s play.
Finally, the playwright throws these two characters together in a series of shared dreams, a surreal and shattered landscape where their subconscious minds somehow intertwine. It's a theatrical clash that's both hilarious and disturbing, a fever dream of fragmented dialogue and bizarre imagery that captures the disorienting nature of mental and emotional distress.
Nathan Bois-McDonald, Nadia Verrucci, and Matt Holland
Throughout this darkly comic piece, Durang skewers not only the absurdities of 80’s culture, but also the timeless anxieties of the human condition. He addresses mental health directly, as well as social isolation, the search for meaning, and the need for belief in a world gone mad. Each theme resonates with an eerie familiarity in 2024. The play doesn't offer easy answers, but it does force us to confront unsettling realities about ourselves and the world around us. Ultimately, Matt tells me, “It’s a huge plea for empathy. I think we need to be reminded of empathy often, because we're polarized, you know, we are divided politically, culturally, physically. I think that, at first, it's a sort of angry plea for empathy, but as it goes on, it’s really sweet. It gets very emotional and sort of grudgingly supportive. It’s a reminder to have empathy. That we need to have empathy.”
Talking to Matt and Nadia about the production, it is clear just how much faith they have in this project, fueled by a genuine connection to Durang's words and a desire to wrestle with those challenging insights he throws in our faces. Matt tells me, “I saw the play years ago. It was fantastic. I thought it was hilarious. And then I started doing the “I dreamt my father was inside a baked potato” part of the monologue at auditions and it always killed. You know, maybe I didn't get hired, but at least I made them laugh.”
For Nadia, the play has also been with her for quite some time. She explains that she’s a huge fan of Durang, having performed other works of his, including Sister Mary Ignatius Explains It All To You. “I started reading his stuff, buying his plays, and then I started doing the street musician monologue. And then during the pandemic, I just sat down with Matt and said What do you think of this? Would you want to do it with me?” The mutual attachment, the relationship to Durang’s work is evident in the actors’ performances, as is their real world chemistry. The immense desire to not only produce a favorite work, but to explore the human condition in a play that demonstrates a desperate need to find a place in a world that is seemingly spinning out of control, comes across loud and clear in Laughing Wild.
But bringing these bottled-up anxieties to life on stage, especially with Durang's dense and intricate text, is no easy feat. Both actors explain to me that simple repetition is the key to committing their 30-plus minute monologues to memory. And they do this while navigating the challenges, specifically the financial challenges, of an independent production, where resources are limited, and collaboration, and efficiency, are key. While Nadia and Matt primarily directed each other in the first two parts of the piece, they brought in trusted colleague Mike Hughes, part of the Dawson faculty, to assist them in staging the final part of the play. Rounding out the small team is Nathan Bois-McDonald as their stage manager and tech director, also providing live sound effects, including a haunting and hilarious crying child that absolutely fucking sent me. This, to me, is what exemplifies the essence of independent theatre: a defiant spirit fueled by simple fucking passion for the play, and for the craft, rather than reliance on external funding or bureaucratic approval.
Nadia Verrucci and Matt Holland
But what about the audience? What do these actors hope people take away from this darkly comic exploration of the human psyche? Nadia tells me, “This is kind of sad, but I hope people look at the piece and realize how little has changed. It’s not a good thing, you know, it's kind of sad. But understanding that everything we're living through, right now, has been going on forever. But we keep managing to get through it. And the play discusses how we do that.” It's a sentiment that rings truer than ever in our age of social media and fleeting online interactions. In a disjointed world that constantly feels like it's teetering on the brink, that glimmer of hope, that reminder of our shared humanity, is perhaps the most valuable takeaway of all.
Laughing Wild is not a play that ties things up in a cute little bow. It lingers in your mind, a nagging reminder of the anxieties that simmer beneath the surface of our seemingly civilized lives. Durang's genius lies not in offering solutions, but in holding up a mirror to our collective neuroses, forcing us to confront the uncomfortable truths about ourselves and the world we inhabit. And in the intimate setting of Variations Mile End, those truths feel all the more palpable, all the more inescapable. Holland and Verrucci, with their unmistakable talent, undeniable chemistry, and unbridled passion for the play, deliver performances that are both hilarious and heartbreaking, capturing the essence of Durang's characters with a precision that is at once disconcerting and exhilarating.
The play, despite its 80’s setting and dated pop culture references, is startlingly relevant in 2024. It's a testament to Durang's ability to tap into the timeless anxieties of the human condition: the fear of isolation, the struggle with mental health, the yearning for connection in a world that often feels isolating. And it's not just the universal anxieties that resonate; the play's exploration of a society grappling with a health crisis (AIDS in the 80s, our own recent pandemic) adds another layer of haunting familiarity. Laughing Wild is a beacon of bold, uncompromising storytelling.
In the words of Christopher Durang, "Is it just me, or is it getting crazier out there?" In a time where the line between sanity and madness seems to blur more each day, a little laughter, even the uncomfortable kind, might be just what we need to keep from completely losing our minds.
“Laughing wild amidst severest woe.”
Tickets for November 15, 16, 17 are on sale now at Eventbrite.
