Humans are hard-wired to be addicts. Ezra Prattley explores the nuances of that idea in Oh Substance, now approaching the sixth anniversary of its debut in the 2019 Dunedin Fringe. The publicity for the performance says it is a search for meaning. However the four parallel lives that intertwine here are doomed to never find it. We leave them broken, hopeless, in need of rescue. They never make it further than the first step of their journey, the step into a dream that never can come true: the step into addiction.

We begin with the archetype, Sisyphus. His endless loop of struggle is the dramatic theme that symbolises the futility of ambition, echoing the samsāra of Buddhism, or the imbalance that deviates you from the Tao. This ancient knowledge must be relearned by every individual. Prattley expertly explores four manifestations of the futile dream – that happiness can be found in consumption, permanence, possession and perfection.

The first avatar is a young man obsessed with an unattainable woman. The person he is trying to woo is only viewed as a sexual object. His practice pickup lines start as references to her sexual attractiveness, which he modifies to a more ambiguous – and therefore more acceptable – reference to her beauty. The personality of his objective is only vaguely referred to, whereas her appearance, with a focus on her breasts and arse, is described in more detail. He gets more obsessed with every rejection, desperately trying to find the magic words that will get him what he wants, ending up unlovable.

Our second avatar seeks perfection, of the entire human race, no less. He observes the hollowness of consumerism, how it distracts us from the important things in life, from making the right decisions on what to do with our time. His solution is to perfect human consciousness through the application of AI and neural mapping. He is oblivious that these are yet more things that we need to own, to consume, in order to find happiness. We leave him talking himself into a loop, justifying the down-sides of his solution, not realising that this means perfection is still as elusive as ever for him.

A child, realising nothing is permanent, not even the stars, is the third avatar. The realisation that comfort can be fleeting, that beautiful things can melt in your hands never to exist again, devastates him. It gives him his first taste of existential angst, and the first taste is always the most potent. As he is combined with the other avatars, we assume his angst will repeat in the most common addiction – anxiety, depression and the repetitive thoughts that sustain them.

Our fourth avatar is the spirit of addiction itself. He is a voiceless denizen of our subconscious. He sees a bright glowing object: the SUBSTANCE. It is dangerous, he is hesitant, but the dream is stronger than the fear. He finally takes a sip. The effect is life-changing. He is altered, tripping, flooded with dopamine and serotonin. All inhibitions are stripped away, he dances with super awareness of his body. The superego dissolves and the obnoxious animal is unleashed.

Then: collapse, regret, repeat. With every loop the tolerance increases, the dopamine response dwindles, the dancing becomes more desperate than sublime, the obnoxiousness amplifies. He realises he will never experience that first pure pleasure again. Perhaps he will never feel any pleasure that strongly again.

Prattley entwines these stories in an ever-tightening loop. Signalling the switch between characters by running his hand through his hair. While there is dialogue from three of the avatars, this is a physical piece. He signals the enmeshing of the four by gradually losing control of his left arm, as every character unconsciously begins to reach for the SUBSTANCE. His location on stage and physical attitude establish the initial boundaries between them, but these gradually dissolve and the pace of change quickens, until finally we see a single body possessed by four desperate personalities. Then darkness.

This is a powerful, exposing performance in the very intimate Tapere Iti. The lighting is minimal, the sound design only active during the SUBSTANCE scenes. Prattley relies on very little assistance, and is all the more impressive because of it. The atmosphere is awkward, the response unusually hesitant for a Wellington audience. The frenzied drunken roaring depicted in the first SUBSTANCE trip is gamely cheered. For the last desperate manifestation, the ugliness is realised, the audience silent.

The curtain call is also awkward, Prattley quietly thanks his production crew, before hurrying off stage, seeming too shy to stay there. I feel bad for him, it is a small crowd and he is so thankful to us for being there. More people should see this.

I also feel robbed of catharsis. Where is the salvation? Where is the realisation that the path to happiness is through stoic acceptance, living in balance with nature – both within us and without? Where is the understanding that simple pleasures are the only true pleasures, and that moderation is the key to keeping them?

Where is the wisdom?

Perhaps the need for wise endings is another habit I must break.

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Performing to an audience of two is difficult, especially when your show is spoken word, slipping in and out of intense narratives and characters. Being half of an audience of two is also tricky, maintaining eye contact without overdoing it, being responsible for picking up all the cues for emotional response … This adds a layer of tension to a show that perhaps isn’t useful for the performer or the performance.

Oh Substance, devised and performed by Ezra Prattley, takes place in the Otago Pioneer Women’s Association Hall, with seating close to the performance space and nowhere for anyone to escape or hide. Prattley looks a little taken aback when he emerges onto the stage and sees his tiny audience but he masks it beautifully and launches into his performance.

He slips from Sisyphus pushing his boulder to a scientist on the verge of discovery to a youth lost in admiration of the stars to a man declaring his obsessive love for a woman, each time with a brush of his fingers through his hair. The id beneath these egos is an addict, seeking his next fix (in this case, milk) which will send him through the stages of ecstasy, rage and dissolution before he awakes and is mortified by his lack of self-control.

The performance remains engaging and his script is clever, entwining the separate narratives so they become almost seamless. As it develops, Prattley will establish more connectivity between his characters and their stories and dreams.  

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