It begins with a pitched sigh from the depths of the belly, lingering for a moment before the button gets pushed. Originating millimeters from the microphone’s waffled cap, the forced air grows tighter and fuller, morphing into a pulsating, gentle “shhhh.” Another push. Like a descant above a meditative symphony, the kinetic crackle of a shaking jaw bounces in the breeze. Push. And there, in the air, hangs the ocean.
So it goes in Islander, a soaring new musical that blends loop technology with the miraculous versatility of human sound, playing at Olney Theatre Center through April 28 in the last stop of its North American tour. Defying the classical conventions of musical theater, Islander demands its two performers become their own accompaniment, while drawing firmly on musical and mythical folk traditions to deliver a touching story of heart and home.
But Islander is anything but traditional. Audiences will find neither a conductor, nor an orchestra. Rather, they will see a mostly bare stage with a single music stand, two microphones, and a bowl-like platform whose wide lip accommodates the actors as they “travel” across Kinnan, the fictional Scottish island setting. Relying on their bodies and a live-loop device, the performers record and rerecord bits of sound, from sung music to atmospheric effects (including wind, waves, and whales), to perform the show’s entire score.
Despite making regular reference to the effects of climate change on ecosystems and wildlife, Islander is, at its core, a story of home and growing up. Eilidh (Sylvie Stenson) is one of the few young people left in Kinnan’s tight-knit, insular community. Long in economic decline, the town becomes abuzz when the “Big Land” government offers to relocate all of Kinnan’s residents to alleviate financial burden (coming to a head at a community meeting, or “Spikkin”). Eilidh grapples with the decision to stay or go, feeling deeply connected to the island, but recognizing that its chances for economic and ecological sustainability are dwindling quickly. After developing an emotional connection with a beached whale, she soon encounters a mysterious young woman named Arran (Julia Murray), with whom she, too, immediately relates. As their friendship blossoms, they must make mature decisions about the futures of themselves and their people, and evaluate where they truly belong.
As Eilidh (pronounced “ay-lee”) and Arran (like “air-in”), Stenson and Murray (Lois Craig and Stephanie MacGaraidh at other performances, respectively) are transcendent. In interpreting Stewart Melton’s book, they carve out characters who feel familiar within just a few lines. And, in an exciting coup, their skill extends beyond their primary characters and into each of the 20 or so Kinnan locals they must also embody: an exasperated radio DJ, an mischievous grandmother, a near-term mother-to-be, and a deeply distraught neighbor whose search for his missing garden gnome consumes his waking hours, among them. From Melton’s palette, they paint an entire community. And, in maneuvering between the silly and the serious, they never once condescend to the characters or their audience.
Their hard work pays off, elevating what in lesser hands could quickly become an overly sentimental faux fairy tale with a technical gimmick into a deeply affecting story. Stenson’s performance aches of loneliness, as her Eilidh relies on “distance learning” to complete her education. In stumbling upon the whale calf, we get a full view of Eilidh’s capacity for empathy when she realizes the stranded animal is not long for the world. And when she faces another loss later in the show (“Sorry for Your Loss”), Stenson delivers the kind of gut-wrenching sobs that could only come from the deepest recesses of one’s soul.
While Murray often acts as a comedic foil to Stenson’s Eilidh (very successfully, with exquisite timing), she too captures the realization of responsibility that teens face in the transition to adulthood. Having allowed her curiosity to derail an essential responsibility, Murray’s Arran flees her community, knowing that she may never be capable of returning. Murray is heartbreaking in sharing Arran’s fear of rejection as she cautiously reveals the extent of her shame to Eilidh.
Melton’s airtight book is a masterclass in balancing detail and dramatic drive. With astonishing efficiency, his vivid writing captures not only the essence of life on Kinnan, but does the hard work of practically constructing the island out of thin air. Particularly when taken with Finn Anderson’s score, which takes a back seat to the book, but is accomplished in its own right, the pair is able to evoke this world so clearly that it practically flashes before you in each blink.
The quality of the material is made all the more evident by the sparseness of the production. Emma Bailey’s angular platform is offset by the curved bowl atop it, underscoring the contrast between Eilidh’s and Arran’s worlds, and the different lives available on Kinnan versus the mainland. Hahnji Jang’s costume design is practical and straightforward, but Eilidh’s baggy green cable-knit sweater captures both the style of a contemporary teen and traditional regional attire. Simon Wilkinson’s lighting design is reminiscent of lapping waves, but when a tempest tosses Eilidh and her neighbors, he steps forward to reflect the true terror of the storm. And working in tandem, sound designer Sam Kusnetz and Anderson (who also serves as music director and loop station sound designer) build the bedrock on which the rest of the musical is able to exist. From everyday technology, they make transporting art.
The production has gone out of its way to ensure audiences can enjoy the story to its fullest, hedging against the thick Scottish accents by distributing page-and-a-half synopses to entering patrons. While admirable, the gesture felt like overkill, particularly given that, at the hand of original director Amy Draper and associate director Eve Nicol, Stenson and Murray need no assistance in telling the story. In their awareness of American ears, the two performers pace the show masterfully, using illustrative but natural gestures to make the action clear, even if the meaning of words like “bosie,” “numpties,” and “sixtember” are not. A touch of the magic felt lost in previewing the plot.
Coming from Scotland’s famed Edinburgh Festival Fringe, where in 2019 it was named Best Musical and Olney artistic director Jason Loewith first encountered the show, Islander brings a piece of Scotland to D.C.-area audiences and, with it, a welcome message of belonging. Thousands of miles away from their homes, the artists remind audiences of what it means to find ours. In a region with a reputation for population transience, any such story would be well-positioned for impact. But in its inventiveness, Islander’s telling is simply pitch-perfect.
Stewart Melton’s and Finn Anderson’s Islander, conceived and originally directed by Amy Draper with staging and associate direction by Eve Nicol, runs through April 28 at Olney Theatre Center. olneytheatre.org. $50–$91.
