The Far Side of the Moon
Olivier Normand
Photo: Li Wang
An Ex Machina Production presented by Canadian Stage/The Far Side of the Moon, written and directed by Robert Lepage, script consultant Adam Nashman, artistic collaborator and project originator Peder Bjurman, composer Laurie Anderson, Bluma Appel Theatre, closes Nov. 16.
This is the twenty-fifth anniversary of Robert Lepage’s The Far Side of the Moon, which premiered in 2000 in Quebec City. Coincidentally, this is also the year Stratford premiered Lepage’s new Macbeth, and what struck me about both productions is their breathtaking use of technology. Each is spectacular in its own way, yet both share something crucially absent: the pulse of theatre, the pull of drama, the heart that makes us care.
As I watched The Far Side of the Moon, I kept asking: Robert, what am I meant to feel? Two brothers, a Soviet space race, the symbolism of the moon’s unseen side—so what? Where is the emotional arc, the link between intellect and feeling? I admired the precision, the inventiveness, the visuals—but I was unmoved. Even twenty-five years ago, Lepage was so enamoured of his own stagecraft that he risked turning theatre into smoke and mirrors.
At its core the piece is both micro and macro: two brothers in Quebec City, and humanity’s search for life in the cosmos. Philippe, the introspective doctoral student, idolizes the Russian pioneer of astronautics Konstantin Tsiolkovsky and cosmonaut Alexei Leonov. His doctoral thesis—arguing that space exploration is narcissistic, a search for ourselves—wins him a slot to present at the Tsiolkovsky Institute. His younger brother, André, is a slick, successful television weatherman. They have never truly listened to each other, just as we scan the heavens without really hearing. It is an elegant metaphor: two brothers who cannot connect, and a planet straining to make contact with the void.
The revival, performed by the superb Olivier Normand, reminds us that this was always a one-actor piece. Normand plays both brothers seamlessly, switching through a cascade of costume changes while we see vintage footage of Soviet cosmonauts and space missions. The original score by Laurie Anderson still holds up—ethereal, faintly menacing, part dream and part vacuum.
The emotional anchor of the story should be the death of the brothers’ mother, once an elegant woman who loved to dance. After the father’s death she worked herself to exhaustion, grew ill, and eventually lost her legs. Philippe handles her belongings after her death, while André is asked to do one simple thing: keep her beloved goldfish alive. That small act, inevitably botched, becomes the play’s symbol of failed care and communication.
Visually, the production is dazzling. The single great image—a washing-machine porthole—transforms into everything: a space capsule window, an MRI scanner, a clock, a fishbowl, even the moon itself. It is a technical marvel, and so is the metamorphosing ironing board that turns into exercise equipment with a shift of angle. Every trick is ingenious, but the more miracles appear, the further away the human story drifts.
Robert Lepage remains a visionary, a magician of stage illusion. But as brilliant as the technology is, the heart is missing. The Far Side of the Moon dazzles the eyes but leaves the soul untouched. Brilliant man of technology, yes—but man of drama, of theatre, of heart? Smoke and mirrors, Robert. Smoke and mirrors.
The longer you sit with it, the more The Far Side of the Moon feels like an act of mourning disguised as a spectacle. Beneath its immaculate design lies a story of loss, of brothers who cannot reach one another even when orbiting the same grief. Philippe’s quiet despair and André’s breezy indifference become twin poles of a single loneliness. Lepage’s mirror imagery — the porthole that is also a fishbowl, a washing machine, a moon — underscores the play’s obsession with reflection and isolation. Everything is surface, and every surface hides another reflection.
Olivier Normand’s performance deserves special mention. He carries the two brothers not by tricks of voice but by shifts of gravity. Philippe moves as though pulled inward, shoulders caved; André walks with outward momentum, restless in his own charm. Normand’s precision makes the transformations invisible, and his stillness during the scenes concerning his mother are quietly devastating. In a world of constant projection, his restraint feels radical.
Watching the revival today, you realize how prophetic Lepage was about the future of theatrical technology. What stunned audiences in 2000 has become the grammar of multimedia stagecraft — the live feed, the mirrored surfaces, the floating projections — but even surrounded by imitators, the craft remains unmatched. The problem is not the technology itself but its dominance. The play glitters; it does not bleed. The spectacle eclipses the ache of the story, and when the lights fade you admire it more than you feel it.
Still, the artistry commands respect. The sequence with the porthole morphing from domestic washer to cosmic portal is breathtaking, and the video choreography with the puppet astronaut — Eric LeBlanc’s delicate manipulation — still has the grace of a dream. The space imagery, the reflection of the mother’s goldfish, and the weightless choreography all point toward one theme: our hunger to see ourselves in the unknown. That hunger remains unresolved.
Perhaps that is the point. The Far Side of the Moon is less a play about discovery than about the futility of it. Every orbit returns us to ourselves. The revival shows how relevant that melancholy remains in an age drowning in screens. Robert Lepage’s genius is intact — his command of image, rhythm, and surprise are undiminished — but his emotional distance is intact too.
Lepage does retain a sense of irony however. Philippe’s video of his tiny apartment is chosen by SETI to go out into space as an example of how earth people live and so he will finally get his hour in the sun.
And a final note.
A staggering 61 theatres and theatre festivals from literally all over the world are listed as co-producers for this production either from 2000 or the present revival. That Lepage is an icon, lionized internationally, there can be no doubt.
Brilliant man of technology, yes, but man of drama, of theatre, of heart? Smoke and mirrors, Robert. Smoke and mirrors.