John

Outhouse Theatre’s rendition of Annie Baker’s John stretches the muscles of the actors and the audience, vying for a height that it doesn’t quite reach. Still, there are special moments of laughter and feeling, and it’s clear there will be more and more of these as the run continues. 

Elias Schrieber-Hoffman (James Bell) and Jenny Chung (Shuang Hu) are a mixed-race young couple in a tense relationship. On holiday, they arrive at a bed and breakfast in Gettysburg, Pennsylvania. Mertis (Belinda Giblin), who says they may call her Kitty, invites them into her home overflowing with niceties: porcelain dolls, a Christmas tree heavy with decorations, a dining area choked with Paris paraphernalia. Mertis is warm and kind. She lives there with her sick husband, who we never meet or hear from, and is often visited by her blind friend Genevieve (Maggie Blinco), who is a bit mad, and readily tell us that she is (or at least that she once was). 

Baker’s script introduces many plotlines that seem like isolated strands of a spider’s web – they glint in the sunlight, mesmerising yet hard to follow. And they don’t come together in the conventional pattern we might expect – life for these characters is less organised and more real. Instead of multiple satisfied storylines, we have a long, slow exploration of hauntings. Characters are haunted by personal histories, historical tragedies, miscommunications, and the very objects that surround them. Jenny is haunted by her phone, always going off, and a porcelain doll, Samantha, which reminds her of her childhood. Elias is haunted by his own insecurities and his inability to trust Jenny. Genevieve is haunted by her ex-husband, John, who she claims often speaks to her inside her head and who she hears speak from the mouths of people around her. The house was a hospital during the war that, by legend, had in its garden a pile of amputated limbs so high that one could not see in or out. One of its rooms, Mertis says mysteriously, is "unreliable". Baker puts four people in a room together who talk through or past one another. Each person has so much to be haunted by, it’s a wonder anyone can talk straight. Mertis seems to know this, and her forced homeliness slowly transforms from a quirky charm to an attempted antidote to alienation. 

Craig Baldwin directs this three-hour show, giving the hauntings a place in the centre. He leaves the stage bare for seconds at a time as characters move off, and lets them move in a more realistic time sense than a dramatic one. This is a double-edged sword. On one edge, it spotlights Jeremy Allen and Veronique Benett's meticulous and overwhelming set – it's truly amazing. On the other edge, the pace could be upped and pause after pause could be clipped. 

This complicated show requires much of its actors, and they sometimes struggle to fill the vast space they’re given. Hu seems to listen, think, and reply as three separate actions instead of a single dynamic response. Bell inhabits the character of a young man castrated by his low self-esteem and self-deprecating nature, but he and Hu don’t manage to synthesise any real chemistry, which sucks the drama from their embattled relationship. They’re walking on eggshells with each other but we struggle to care if they break. Giblin and Blinco deliver performances that are both instinctive and confident. Giblin’s performance showcases Mertis’ sensitivity and resilience. Blinco’s madness is welcome, the fresh air that we crave in the house that becomes haunted by laboured pauses as much as by the characters’ baggage. 

John is about human connection and its ghosts. Outhouse Theatre’s production needs to do a little more to energise the audience, but promises to develop well throughout the run.