ALMOST, MAINE
OSO Arts Centre
★★★★
“a gorgeously succinct comment on the nature of human connection”
“The farthest you can be away from somebody is when you’re sitting right next to them”. So says Pete (Drew Cleveland) during the prologue of John Cariani’s play “Almost, Maine”. It is a line that is interpreted figuratively and directly simultaneously, and that epitomises the next two hours. Cariani’s series of nine vignettes blends the literal with the absurd with generous sprinklings of magic, whimsy, poignancy, humour and truth. Pete demonstrates his aphorism with a snowball – which represents the earth – instructing Ginette (Sarah Thorn) to walk away from him. Every step she takes, he cries “closer!”. We’ll come back to that, but in the meantime, we have just witnessed a gorgeously succinct comment on the nature of human connection.
There are nineteen characters who are in some way connected. Ordinary people (on the surface) in the small town of ‘Almost’, Maine. Alice Kim’s set design is a crisp, glacial backdrop. A blank canvas upon which these stories are told. White crates, like the icy building blocks of an igloo, are manoeuvred to form the various locations. We wander into them adrift but never lost: signposts direct us from one scene to the next, with playfully abstract titles. Each scene is individually quirky but the play’s huge heart beats through them all, binding them together. Lydia Sax’s direction wonderfully maintains the rhythm throughout, creating a pulse that feeds into each sketch, even extending into the choreographed transitions. We cannot help but follow this motley crew of characters on their flights of fancy.
The beauty is in the writing and he performances. The surreal becomes perfectly natural and vice versa. Maurii Davenport, as Glory, carries the pieces of her broken heart in a bag, whereas in another scene Ben Elliott’s clueless Steve cannot feel pain. There is a bar where drinks are free if you are sad. Andre Bullock’s melancholic Jimmy is one such customer. Almost. Most of the characters discover something life affirming, yet not all the tales have a happy ending. There is a gorgeous bitter-sweet flavour to the evening which serves up laughter and tears in equal measure. Madeline Pell, as Marci, has misplaced resentment as she loses her grip on romance. The performers all double, even treble. Davenport re-emerges as Hope, who ironically has her hopes not so much dashed but downright killed. A moving portrayal of someone who is given a little less air to breathe every day. Joel Horwood is Phil who can fix things, even hearts turned to stone; then later he is a delightfully goofy, amateur surrealist Dave. You have to trick the painting – let it know you’re not looking, and only then will you see it. This offbeat way of viewing life informs the writing. Erica Schoebinger, as a tough, defensive Rhonda, eventually melts and comes round to this way of thinking.
There is massive scope to get caught in a drift of sentimentality, but Cariani’s writing avoids it with humour and ingenuity. And preposterously clever metaphors. A truckload of love messily bagged up and returned to sender. Shards of slate are tangible splinters of grief. But then again life’s universal, great metaphor – that of “falling” in love – is given the literal treatment in a scene that verges on slapstick (let’s hope there’s a supply of bruise cream in the dressing room).
None of this would be realisable without sensitive, nuanced and skilled performances; and the cast of eight certainly deliver, sharing the workload as they weave their magic through the scenarios. The action takes place as the Northern Lights appear at night. Each vignette heralds a moment when time stands still, before we rewind the clock and visit another oddball couple. Gabriel Burns’ lighting meets the magic halfway, creating only a hint of the aurora, requiring our imagination and mood to complete the picture. But suspend your disbelief and you will wallow in the richness of these portraits. The feelgood factor alone can light up the sky. The disorganised and – let’s face it – weird town of ‘Almost’ may not exist, but its inhabitants do. All around us, in some form or another. This show shows us that we are capable of going around the world for love. We are not walking away but, in fact, getting closer. We can rise as well as fall, and if we lose in love, we win something else. “Almost, Maine’ is a real winner. You’ll fall for it. Completely… not almost.
ALMOST, MAINE
OSO Arts Centre
Reviewed on 🎃 31st October 2026 🎃
by Jonathan Evans
Photography by Jake Bush
