In the world of theatre, the relationship between the audience and the performers is crucial. But what happens when that connection is jeopardized? Nobel laureate John Fosse’s play, Einkvan (Everyman), directed by Kjersti Horn, explores this concept by draping the entire stage behind a foggy plastic curtain that evokes a sense of ominous clinicality. The six actors are only hinted at as vague shapes, yet their faces are captured in close-ups by two cameras. These images are then projected onto screens in the auditorium, accompanied by enigmatic Norwegian dialogue displayed in surtitles. The result is paradoxical: we feel an intimate closeness to these performers, able to see every pore and the reflection of a ring light in their eyes, while simultaneously being distanced from them.
This tension mirrors the play’s themes of alienation and loneliness, underscoring the human need for connection while grappling with a relentless desire for autonomy. The play begins with close-ups of a single face from different angles, hinting at the complex relationship dynamics—perhaps someone is watching or pursuing him. It’s likely to be someone other than the camera operator.
Before long, another man’s face emerges from the right side. Are they former lovers, siblings, or, in a Bergmanesque twist, two facets of the same person? The interpretations shift as fluidly as the camera moves. Other pairs of similar appearances follow suit, shifting in close-ups, each one evoking a sense of parental connection with the younger versions of themselves. The imagery suggests less of a soak in a bathtub and more of a suspended fetal state in amniotic fluid. It’s as if the son has barely separated from the womb.
One of the standout features of this atmospheric production is the lighting by Oscar Udubai. It brings forth a chilling, yet warm orange glow that illuminates the stage, only to plunge into emotional depths once more.
