A matter of taste
Carrie Hamilton Theatre offers a strange tale of diet, faith and the apocalypse with “Canned Peaches in Syrup”
By April Caires 10/18/2007
When the lights go up on a set that resembles the belly of a coal mine or the pit of hell, you know you’re in for an unusual evening at the theater.
To be fair, you’ve been amply warned. All of the promotional materials for “Canned Peaches in Syrup,” the dark new post-apocalyptic comedy from the Furious Theater Company and writer Alex Jones, are plastered with this advisory: “The advertised performance contains material likely to offend those sensitive to simulated cannibalism, crude human behavior, bad words and the coming apocalypse.”
They are not kidding. “Canned Peaches” takes place in a ruinous future where planet Earth is a sun-baked husk of its former self, almost entirely devoid of life. No date is given, but it’s a time distant enough that nobody remembers what a whale was, and a can of peaches is a treasured family heirloom, the only evidence that the world was once a wonderful place. All humans are divided into two nomadic tribes — the Vegetarians and the Cannibals. The Vegetarians’ pseudo-Christian faith is enough to sustain their spirits, even as their bodies dwindle on a diet of nauseating plant roots, boiled grass and — on a very good day — tree bark. The Cannibals, of course, live on something even less appetizing.
At its best, “Canned Peaches” is an intriguing reversal of the Genesis story of Eden — a fairy tale about hope born in a garden of depravity. When a young Cannibal sent to stake out the Vegetarian camp falls head-over-heels for the Veggie family’s teenage daughter Julie (Katie Davies), their love becomes a shaky bridge between the warring tribes. But the schemes of a holy man named Blind Bastard (Dana J. Kelly, Jr.) — who manipulates both tribes and claims the can of peaches is destined for him by God — threaten to destroy them all.
There are some solid laughs, as when one of the Vegetarian characters, Ma (Laura Raynor), tries to revive husband Pa’s faith. When Pa (Robert Pescovitz) wonders aloud why they should continue to trust in a God who would allow the world to become “so fucked up,” Ma replies eagerly, “God fucked it up to test us!” Another priceless moment comes when Blind Bastard makes the twisted claim that whales, rather than chemicals and cars, destroyed the planet — reminding us that no matter what happens to the planet, self-serving sophists, like cockroaches, will probably outlast us all.
But “Canned Peaches” relies too heavily on the canned humor of four-letter words and bodily-function gags. However relevant in a play where the characters are sick and starving, the many discussions of bodily excretions make for queasy, too-easy laughs.
The play is too silly and strange to be an indictment of our wasteful lifestyles, though I suspect it wants to be just that. There’s no inspiration to fury or action here, just a twinge of awe at the will to survive — that little evolutionary engine that could — and, even more so, the will to keep up hope.
The strongest thing that can be said about “Canned Peaches” is that it’s like no play you’ve seen before. Whether that is enough, and whether it’s worth enduring the graphic cannibalism, is, so to speak, a matter of taste.
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