The Toronto Theatre Review: Outside the March’s No Save Points

By Ross

To be upfront and clear, I have, much to the surprise of my theatre companion, never really played a video game before, especially one of those Game Boy devices so easily handled by those involved in Outside the March‘s fantastically engaging emotional journey, No Save Points. Once, when I was a young kid, I did use my hard-earned money, I think from my first job at McDonald’s or maybe from my paper route, to buy the first video game that could be played at home. It had one game, and it looked like a slow-moving tennis match in black and white without any real graphics to engage with. I don’t recall its name, but it was thrilling, that one day that I played. That was until my mother came home and basically ‘shamed’ me into returning it to the store I had purchased it from. It might have even been the Zellers department store that the creator-performer, Sébastien Heins (Stratford’s The Tempest) most dutifully reminisced about in this very show, eliciting a chuckle from those (old enough to be) in the know.

With that in mind, I was feeling a bit out of the loop when the play really started to get interactive in ways that didn’t really register all that well within me. I had watched my partner for years play his Game Boy, but never really had the interest. I thought it a waste of time, yet Heins, regardless of my lack of skills and knowledge, finds a way to pull us all in. He connects almost instantly, tantalizing us with his wildly engaging and smiling presence. It’s clear this isn’t just a theatrical piece about gaming. More like a trick of the trade, utilizing a modified Game Boy controller to engage us into something far more personal and truthful. It’s almost sneaky in the way he draws us into participating in his devastatingly honest story of familial trauma, inviting and coaxing us to be active participants in its emotional unveiling without ever giving away too much or too little to captivate.

Heins had a love for video games from an early age. The mechanisms enthralled him (in a way that escaped my younger self). Maybe my own mother’s shaming of ‘wasting my money’ on such things really carried some weight, much like Heins informs us about his father’s stance, but in this story, compelling to the end, it is his mother who encourages his play, opening up a door to a landscape of emotional processing that goes far beyond the game itself. He tells us, within those first few moments of this two-hour/two-act one-man show, that these video games, particularly his Game Boy, became something more therapeutic; an escape route from discomfort when things were overwhelming or hard to deal with. So no surprise here. He’s about to take us through one of the hardest trials of his family’s life, and he’s going to use the framing of gaming to deliver it into our hands and heart without skipping a beat.

This could have been a maudlin exercise, flailing around in over-the-top heart-wrenching dramatics, but Heins never allows that to happen. His gaming is on point, playing the game without ever falling victim to his own structure and story. He, along with co-director Mitchell Cushman, Artistic Director of Outside the March, finds clarity and continuity within the framework, handing over the controlling device that will dictate the action and pathway forward by button presses on his modified Game Boy. Now, a quick aside to say, that I needed a wee tutorial during intermission, to really understand what was happening, especially concerning the organization and coloring of the set, dynamically designed with intent by Anahita Dehbonehie (Tarragon’s The Hooves Belonged to the Deer), and the set-up, conceived and coordinated by a band of merry technicians both on stage and off, including the awesome work by projection designer Laura Warren (Obsidian/Canadian Stage/Necessary Angel’s Is God Is).

Heins lets us into his master plan quickly. He has turned his body into a literal video game console, playable by members of the audience brave enough to step forward or raise their hand (I did not, as it became clear I might cause a big delay in the forward rhythm of the running of his gaming). As these players press buttons on the controller handed around quickly throughout the show, electrical currents are sent to pads that are attached to Heins’ body, giving him tiny jolts of tell-tale instructions on whether to go forward, up, back, down, and even when to jump, sometimes even connected to projected imagery before us. It’s pretty spectacular, as he steps behind the magic screen to enact the game, watching him dive and drive forward at our behest, struggling to succeed against something far more important than the game itself.

Sweating up a storm from all the ups and downs of his character and his true-to-life story, No Save Points is magnificently playful in its theatricality, daring us to become invested and active in its success or failure. I couldn’t help but become involved, cheering those players, and the actor, onwards and upwards, reveling in their ability to climb mountains and ladders into new lands and territories and cry out when a failure occurred, learning quite quickly that a second chance was all but guaranteed. Only if life were so rewindable.

The games at the core, each co-created with a different artist; Damien Atkins, Rouvan Silogix, Aylwin Lo, and Kemi King, are pretty clever, obvious metaphors for his family’s traumatic diagnosis, utilizing the journey of a scared young prince, an energetic Spiderman-like battle with a snake-like villain called ‘The Puppeteer‘, and more to take us through his emotional state. It’s clever and strongly constructed, thanks to the fine work of sound designer Heidi Chan (OTM/Factory’s Trojan Girls…) and lighting designer Melissa Joakim (Theatre Centre’s Sea Sick), even when it seems to meander a bit too long in the structural game show telling. This could easily be, with some editing, a 90-minute intermission-less show, and even though I wouldn’t have received my quick tutorial from my buddy during the break, it might serve the emotional connection in a stronger way, keeping us fully in the alternate reality. Yet No Save Points never did loses its core intention, nor does it ever feel commercial or manipulative, as the humanity of this personal show never falls down inside the technique.

But let’s be clear. What is at the heart of this engaging game isn’t a game, but something very tough and devastating to deal with. In the wake of a surprise discovery, courtesy of a trip to his mother’s land of origin, Jamaica, Heins and his family find themselves up against an obstacle so unsettling that it only seems right for Heins to use his gaming as a way to process and understand. He must find his way through the landmines so he may feel connected to the hardship without ever feeling like a helpless victim. This is his superpower, in a way (beyond storytelling), and it becomes clear that this harrowing journey is bigger and more important than anything we could have imagined walking into the Lighthouse ArtSpace Toronto.

Heins guides us towards and through the trauma expertly, informing us in an emotionally clear way about when and how his mother learns that she has Huntington’s disease (HD), an incurable brain disorder that from its list of symptoms, sounds devastating. With dramaturgical support from playwright Rosamund Small (Theatre Born Between’s Vitals), the news resonates deeply, but almost more gut-wrenching is that the disorder has a 50 percent chance of being passed down from parent to child. And that fact hits hard and true, as true as the electrical jolts he must be feeling in his body when we hit a button or two on that Game Boy.

One of HD’s most alarming effects, we are told, is the slow deterioration of bodily control, including difficulties with speech and memory, making the altered reality connection to Heins’ electrical giveaway all the more meaningful. He has handed over of control, giving the audience some sort of personal involvement and agency in his movement and drive forward. It’s a symbolic acceptance and relinquishment, while also a defiant show of strength and resolve that makes us all jump a bit emotionally in our seats as we collectively are informed of his situation and, in turn, inform his actions by pushing a button or holding up a two-sided dotted disc.

One of the more harrowing engagements that stayed with me long after leaving the theatre, is when Heins, returning to his beautifully crafted narrative, reveals the sensors that have been instructing his movements operating under his shirt, designed by costumer Niloufar Ziaee (Soulpepper/Segal Centre’s English). He removes them from his limbs, as he takes us deeper into his tale, letting them dangle off his body. At first, it just feels like a needed quick and necessary change in the game, but it soon becomes clear as we connect to the computer-generated humanoid model projected onto the screen behind him. The image is mirroring the haphazard hanging of those sensors, creating a figure whose movements are flailing around uncontrollably. The limbs and head swing and fall in erratic sharpness, thanks to the fine work of Warren, merging what we know about the game with the reality of the situation and the disease. It’s a pretty devastatingly clever projection, giving us a visual to emotionally take in, deepening the impact of the family’s battle with HD without having to use conscious words and phrases that could never really unpack the situation to the same degree.

As someone who has no real connection to gaming, I can’t really say much about the structuring of each of the games, although the metaphors delivered ring true and clear. I didn’t know why certain things were repeated or delivered in the way they were, especially many of the sounds and signals given forth by Heins, but that didn’t keep me from noticing and being awed by the technological advancements that are incorporated as we move forward through this journey. A few things remained dubious in my mind though. The clapping, the unison yelling-out of words, and the dots held up high, never really feel like they are affecting the march forward of the player before us, but the movement of that small animated boy as he jumps and swims his way through obstacles seems as real as can be, and in that interactive stance, we join him in both his harrowing journey and the emotional toil he must engage with.

Heins never fails in this quest, skillfully jumping from character to character with clarity and skill. He’s impressively engaging in his casual unpacking of the narrative, and agile and determined in his gaming performance. He pulls us easily inside, and even if the ending feels a bit sudden, the overall arc of the piece delivers us solidly to the emotional conclusion.

Mimicking the brave determination that was so apparent in Outside the March‘s magnificent Trojan Girls & The Outhouse of Atreus, a show that also featured the talented Heins, this gaming challenge of a piece delivers us spectacularly through all the obstacles without falling into any of the obvious traps that a one-man show sometimes has lurking on the next level or platform. Through the genuine connection given forth by Heins and Cushman, No Save Points triumphs. And even though my buddy and I saw it on its last day of extended performances (July 2nd), I don’t see this game show going away anytime soon. I have a feeling this journey will be played out again somewhere sometime. Hopefully all of you who missed it this time round will get your chance to grab hold of that Game Boy and bring your A-B game to this devastatingly good show. It’s so worth it on so many virtual and emotional levels.

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