As I Must Live It: Luke Reece and the poetry of trying to connect the disconnect

17 Feb 2024 - Photos by Cesar Ghisilieri

The lobby renovations at Theatre Passe-Muraille have been tastefully done. Fresh clean lines, whitewashed and technically upgraded, but somehow retaining the flavour, the religious reverence, of the ancient building that it is. Our host for As I Must Live It, Luke Reece, meets us in the lobby and points out the new and nods to the old. A poster for The Farm Show (1972) reminds him that he studied the play in high school. Flippantly he quips that that is all he remembers of it. He is either disingenuous or naïve, as just as the creators and actors of The Farm Show attempted to express the minds and souls of the farmers of Clinton, Ontario, Reece is about to express his own mind and soul. He is genial, a chatterbox, and holds our attention as he zooms around the lobby. He hands out objects to be used later, once the show proper begins, delivers some anecdotes that portend metaphors to come, and shows off an AI subtitling system that will be used throughout the show. Then links the computerized words it to the land acknowledgement of the past in a way that is incisive, poetic and comic. Then he invites us into the theatre.

Except it isn't a standard theatre. It is a playground, both literally and metaphorically. A carousel sits in the center of the room surrounded by truck tires, painted and covered with boards to create lightly bouncing seating. The interaction continues. Reece tosses a ball into the audience, hands out papers to read, uses ball caps to create characters to play opposite, makes us sing along to Bob Marley. The idea seems to be to make us comfortable—every performance is, as he points out, a "relaxed performance," so we can move about, use our phones, or even wander off if we want or if we are triggered—but also part of the show. It is all deceptively casual while considerable projection, lighting and sound technology is operating to support Reece's efforts. Sometimes it works, Reece is very engaging and ingratiating so we are enticed to play along. Some audience members (notably ones who were also thespians or wannabe thespians) relished the chance to join in. Some of us were more impressed when Reece revved into his slam poet role and spit words and emotions as if in a trance.

Reece's identity as a poet is central to As I Must Live It. The show consists of a series of vignettes, or poems, that occur throughout the playing space and which only loosely, if at all, connect. The metaphors are fresh, from a childhood obsession with dinosaurs to Jurassic Park , from resenting Star Wars  to intensely intimate memories of his family. His father features prominently and we slowly learn that his father is afflicted with severe depression and OCD. The effect on the family, and on Reece, was devastating. It is that push and pull, that love and anger, the complicated reactions to something out of one's control affecting someone you love, that drives As I Must Live It. And Reece doesn't just tell us about it. Or show it to us. He makes us feel it. When he has audience members catch the ball, it is cute and we are glad to assist. When we are to read papers that are handed out, filled with his father's poetry, it is an intriguing imposition (and we're also aware it is facilitating a costume change). When he asks for assistance escaping the costume, it is a bit more intimate than we might want. His request for a ritual return of the papers is definitely too intimate. 

Informing us that the de-thorned rose that is a prop, is actually from his grandmother's funeral service mere days past, is crossing a line. Breaking the fourth wall and emotionally flaunting it. At some point, different for each audience member, the participation becomes uncomfortable. It is harrowing to hear his descriptions of his father falling apart. Even more harrowing to hear how Reece reacted with the pungent mash of fear, anger, love, regret and rejection. It is beyond harrowing to be part of the process, to experience adjacent physical sensations. Reece is always on the move. Centerstage is deconstructed in the first few minutes of As I Must Live It, and Reece regales us from all sides, from behind and from the catwalk above. We have to keep moving to keep up. And to keep him in view. Like keeping up with someone whose mind is fragmenting in a way we don't necessarily understand. And throughout, the words scroll (and are sometimes projected) but AI is not perfect and there are disconnects. Just as Reece and his father disconnect. And Reece disconnects attempting to reach us.

Reece also warns us that he is a perfectionist. Obsessive himself. And that he is doing As I Must Live It for himself, not for "the pleasure of an audience." He does not want to be edited. Again he is disingenuous. The show will mean nothing if the audience does not follow or, worse, want to follow. He is treading a quavering tightrope. With an abundance of charm, a huge smile and the ability to wear his emotions openly, Reece gets away with it until almost the end. A nest to final poetically theatrical image appears, the audience gasps appreciatively, then Reece panders briefly, just as he said he wouldn't. The final spectacular image and action does work and salvages the sudden deflation, theatre rescuing poetry from introversion. He has invited us in, kept us at arm's length with projections and gimmicks. Cajoled us into participating and then flooded us with Brechtian theatrics. Become painfully intense earning empathy, ingratiated until we recoil. Spoken in rhymes to reveal the heart, and spoken in rhymes to hide behind bravado. As I Must Live It feels like a living, breathing process. Reece, with a lot of assistance from the team that created so many special effects: Daniele Bartolini, Sarah Mansikka, Jackie Chau, Adrian Bent, Barrett Hodgson and Thom Buttery may produce something totally different tomorrow. Malleable to how the audience reacts and participates. As impossible to predict as a father struggling with mental illness.