Plastic Rose

Brought to the Fringe by California's Institute for Theatre, Dance and Performance, Plastic Rose is a production with an enormous amount of respect for its author. The minimalism of the play is less a stylistic choice (though it also serves to create simple, unifying aesthetic) than a means of stripping away everything unnecessary or decorative, leaving only the playwright's words and the strength of their performance.

The work of Õta Shõgo, a groundbreaking figure in post-war Japanese theatre, is often permeated with a pained sympathy for the disabled, downtrodden and dispossessed. Plastic Rose is a perfect example. Set in a psychiatric ward, the inmates yearn for a sense of connection, often denied by their inability to do so. The play offers no magic solution to this, but shows how a fragile, semi-illusory bond can grow, even in such impossible conditions.

While the story is episodic and structurally loose, really only tied together by recurrent motifs, several scenes stand out – in particular, those of two girls who form a nervous friendship over stolen high heels and howling at the moon. With such an expansive cast of characters however, not all of them can charm or intrigue us the same way, and as a result some portions drag a little. Nevertheless, Plastic Rose is a brave, sincere play, both on the page and on the stage. It treats mental illness, and the people who suffer from it, as subjects worthy of consideration, rather than cheap metaphors to be exploited.