A Toronto Theatre Review: Outside the March’s Rainbow on Mars
By Ross
There is magic to behold in the multidisciplinary unwrapping at the heart of Devon Healy’s Rainbow on Mars. As what appears to be a chandelier of sorts rises up, the sensory shifting begins in earnest when a sharp beam of light, meticulously designed by Melissa Joakim (OtM’s No Save Points), cuts through the darkness both dynamically and musically. It flickers and repaints the floor, training our eyes on the cocooned things that are awakening. Half human and half slug, the “eye balls with thumbs” stay encased, entranced, and sedated, focusing their attention forever on the constant images that are embedded within. “What do you see?” is the question that exists, abstractly, inside this Rainbow, co-produced by Outside the March Theatre with The National Ballet of Canada and Peripheral Theatre, and we are transfixed, not with the scrolling, but with the artistry and motion that flicks about, in this not-typical presentation, presented with mastery and synchronized expertise.
Sitting, listening to the sounds of sight and motion, co-directed through a slanted focused frame by award-winning visually impaired stage combat director Nate Bitton (Hart House’s Titus Andronicus), alongside the immersive theatre director and OtM Artistic Director Mitchell Cushman (OTM’s No Save Points; Performance Review), a dynamic unraveling crawls out of its shell and cave into the light with the outstretched arms of writer, creator, and performer Devon Healy (OtM/Factory’s Trojan Girls & The Outhouse of Atreus) who plays the central focus, Iris.

This woman, dressed in Trojan girl white knots, designed by Anahita Dehbonehie (Tarragon’s The Hooves Belonged to the Deer), feels like a symbolic Alice in a Pan’s Labyrinth Wonderland, stumbling around the circular space populated by aggressive tall figures in lab coats, “fabulists, fabricators and fatalists” that run in and out, traveling around in the inbetween. “Did you see something that wasn’t there?” she is asked, and even though it would seem impossible, in Rainbow on Mars, nothing is quite obvious or academic in this upside-down wonderland, in the same way that one would have to wonder how dance and blindness could be entangled in such a beautiful profound way, noting also, how they both can put us deeply in touch with our own frames and ways of preceiving the world of movement and imagery.
It’s the first play from Healey that abstractly lives and winds itself inside of a helix of physicality and vision, giving Blind and sighted audiences alike a “visceral experience of the extraordinary power of perception” inspired by Healey’s “own journey into Blindness“. The piece electrophizes the space, particularly in the way it features its supportive cast of 19 performers with various expressions of Blindness and sight, including a captivating turn by co-director Bitton as Lynk; Elliot Gibson as the social-avoidant Arlo; Amy Keating (OtM’s The Flick), Sofía Rodríguez (Aluna’s The Solitudes), and Danté Prince (H+B’s Measure for Measure) as a boatload of wild and wonderful techies; and a chorus of fabulous dancers from The National Ballet of Canada RBC Apprentice Programme. Choreographed exquisitely by Robert Binet (OtM’s TomorrowLove™), Rainbow on Mars doesn’t shy away from the difficulty set before him, nor does he turn away from an abstractionism that is most graceful and captivating to behold, but digs into the darkness of the cave to unravel insight in word and form.

Thanks to the fine work by set and prop designer Nick Blais (Coal Mine’s The Effect) and sound designer and composer Heidi Chan (Theatre Gargantua/Factory’s WaterFall), this theatrical composition never blinks as it takes us on a compelling odyssey draped in complex abstractionisms of movement and text. It flings itself forward with passion and confidence, marking the theatrical debut of Immersive Descriptive Audio (IDA), a new accessible stagecraft practice created by Healey. It has been designed for Blind and sighted audience members alike, something akin to a narrative and an active participant all at the same time. A voice is expertly microphoned outward like a spirited watcher and mystic guide, drenched in overlapping commentary and compassion. The embedded, rich audio descriptive experience becomes its own character within the narrative itself, leading us within and around the space, expertly voiced by Vanessa Smythe (Hopscotch on the Rocks’ In Case We Disappear), that hypnotically orchestrates emotion and response, both with Iris and inside our own consciousness.
Image after moving image, the quest for Iris’ return to the cave—and her device—plays with the complex addiction to our screens and our vision. It questions whether we can ever truly let go, or if we’re forever tap-tap-tapping on an endless scroll of images designed to make us laugh and feel something akin to love and engagement. I’m not entirely sure I followed Iris down that rabbit hole as wholeheartedly as I’d hoped when that first light structure began its descent. Yet, even when my patience waned and her subtle whine and unwavering determination started to irritate me, I never lost my deep connection to her and her plight.
Still, the imagery and choreography completely captivated me, and I didn’t want to look away, not even for a second. I might not grasp all the layered complexities, but Outside the March‘s Rainbow on Mars fascinatingly takes us on a bold flight that dares to both confront and confound, urging us to reflect on blindness and light, addiction and reliance, individuality and connection. It’s gorgeously crafted, superbly danced, and meticulously designed, stimulating us to reframe how we think and perceive. This Rainbow won’t leave my memory hard drive for a long time coming, and I’ll be forever grateful for the awakening.

