Lucía M. Polis

Unfortunately, The Dogs goes against the grain of storytelling and, as a result, its weak writing pays the ultimate price: boredom. Although Anya Reynolds-Swannie's performance is expressive, I felt absolutely disengaged from the nonsensical, tedious story that was failing, time and again, to unfold in front of me.

It's a pity is this show has the potential of something interesting, but it keeps falling short when it fails to establish simply what it wants to do. Chief among the writing sins here is private symbolism—in this regard, there's a world of difference between gradually and carefully unfolding the plot for the audience and keeping them in the dark to the last; ultimately, only the writer knows what the heck all this adds up to, and this outsourcing of rhetorical labour, which the show attempts to throw over the fence to the audience, simply doesn't cut it. There was nothing here for me to be invested in.

Next comes the slew of issues caused by the show's committment to telling us everything while mostly showing us nothing. If we weren't kept in the dark by the rambling, disjointed plot, this could perhaps work. However, I simply don't see how it's possible to neither flesh out what the audience is seeing nor actually push the physical elements of the narration further, into the realm of showing. From the Stanislavskian perspective, since I was already uninterested in the plot, I was even further out to sea in terms of the onslaught of words that seemed to barely connect to what the protagonist was doing. From the Brechtian perspective, I was more aware than aware that I was in a theatre, watching a meandering play that was taking forever and going nowhere.

What was the purpose of the torn shoulder? The wound? The stringing along of the audience by means of foreshadowing that ultimately adds up to nothing? The Chekhov's gun that never fires? I'm all for experimental theatre and breaking established conventions, but I felt rather dispirited while watching this performance—full of sound of fury, signifying nothing. Before the fans come for me, do kindly inquire with yourselves: Did you actually enjoy the show because it spoke to you? (If so, then, for the love of God, do tell what it had to say.) Or, did you simply feel a little enthralled because an actor let out passionately a sequence of words that you did not fully understand?

The Beastly Thing is as difficult to watch as it is absolutely necessary to see. In this short yet extremely capacious performance, the protagonist (played by Zakiah Shana Dumansky) explores the endemic and pernicious presence of self-loathing and shame in our lives.

Although it was heartbreaking to watch Zakiah's character struggle with an eating disorder and body image issues, the show emphasized the universality of the struggle and the importance of finding support networks and opening up to others. Lois Warwick was absolutely incredible as the titular monster—her movements were fantastically expressive and fluid, often appropriately chilling.

While (due to the sheer emotional weight of it) I don't know whether I could see this show again, I think that it's an incredibly important work. I strongly recommend it to one and all, particularly to young women who are just beginning their self-image gauntlet.

Consider the Dongfish is delightful and engaging from its very first moments. Combining the zany retro-geekery of Rocky Horror Picture Show with the defamiliarization of Bugonia and the innocence of "EPICAC," this tightly written and expertly performed show tackles everything from the universality of affection to the strangeness and wonder of humanity itself.

The fact that Annie Konstantinov and Nicholas Guerrerio have packed such an incredible amount of feeling and thought into such a short runtime is nothing short of miraculous. Their movement, vocal work—and even puppetry!—are incredibly expressive, funny and, above all else, humane. Each one of their decisions adds up to a campy but profoundly existential, moving mood.

I strongly recommend Consider the Dongfish to one and all and, if given the chance, I would love to see this show again.