Ame Henderson, Jacob Zimmer, Chad Dembski in Perhaps in a Hundred Years (2005) Photo: Daniel Arcé.
6 years ago when we first made Perhaps in a Hundred Years we certainly weren’t getting reviewed, so we asked some friends and friends of friends to write about the show. Which they kindly did. This is from a young theatre director just in town from finishing at National Theatre School who knew Kilby – now he’s the artistic director of Buddies in Bad Times.
It is an August evening. People gather in a white room. We sit and wait. I stare out the open door in front of me that leads to a fire escape. Three people – strangers to me but friends to each other – wait with us. A show begins. The premise is simple: these friends are thinking about the future. They also may be hovering in outer space. Or something like that. But I feel that I am in the same room as they are. I feel included in their hovering. They pass the time by playing us songs. Sometimes they dance along. They also play cards, talk a little bit, sing a whole lot. There is some kind of a manifesto. Or are they just setting the scene? They have a smoke on the fire escape. They run around the room. It ends. Somehow I have beer in my hands and I haven’t noticed the time go by. Nothing has “happened” and yet, I am riveted. I am moved. It is banal. It is everyday. It is embarrassing and brave. I recognize the beautifully pathetic in what keeps us going in life. I feel that I am watching “characters” but I also feel that I have gotten to know these three performers personally. Not in any particular deep way but more than if I had met them at a party. I like that. A lot. I don’t feel conflict between them but I think that I see them struggling with loneliness. I am not sure. This keeps me focused. I am certain that I see isolation. I also see them actively resisting. Resisting to what exactly, I can’t really say. But I feel an understated heroism. A heroism that I would like to think I share. Most of all, I feel privileged to be the witness of something honest, positive, contemplative, current and quietly simple. I leave the white room inspired. I would watch this piece again in a heartbeat. I sincerely hope that others will have a chance to see it.
- Brendan Healy (2005)