The playwright Guillaume Lapierre-Desnoyers is obviously not afraid of dark subjects, or of plunging with sensitivity into the heart of human suffering. After giving a voice to marginalized young runaways in invisible — also premiered at La Petite Licorne in 2018 — it powerfully explores the effects of war. And even if the roar of armed conflict may seem distant in Quebec, the protagonists of his play summon us not to look away from this reality.
It doesn’t just happen to others, seems to say You won’t believe me, a story sometimes addressed directly to an absent character — who will only be named at the end. The protagonist could not have believed it, before, in her city torn apart by a civil war, in her world which is disappearing. The text thus translates, first of all, the feeling of unreality experienced by these populations precipitated in the daily life less and less recognizable, less and less human, of a city struck by the war. Difficult not to have a united thought for the Ukrainians. But here, neither the place nor the reason for the hostilities are named. The story therefore retains a universal character, and is entirely embodied by a couple, interpreted with conviction by Mary-Lee Picknell and Mattis Savard-Verhoeven.
The effective structure of the story, which plays between alternating direct narration and dialogue, teaches us through flashbacks that the lovers first met at university, then lost sight of each other for a long time before the war. Belonging to groups that are now enemies, she and he try to preserve a space safe from violence, to resist by loving each other. Setting up occasional meetings in an abandoned factory, they refrain from talking about their life outside this oasis. But the external conflict seeps more and more into their refuge, into their intimacy.
Powerful, intense and murky universe that this Romeo and Juliet warrior. The light-deprived finale — which seems a bit rushed, after the story’s felt, well-made progress — leaves us stunned by its irremediable character.
The show directed by Frédéric Blanchette keeps us in a tense and dark bubble. A scenic space surmounted by a grid that imprisons it, which comes to life under the very contrasting lighting of André Rioux. You won’t believe me also benefits from a gripping sound environment. It’s more than a cliché here: camped in a corner of the stage, the multi-instrumentalist Vincent Carré plays the role of a third character. From the throbbing sound of a vibrating string to the backfire of percussion, the musician brilliantly marks the fluctuating emotions of the characters, makes the intensity of violence, despair and amorous fervor heard.