Wilma Theater presents Nick Payne's 'Constellations'

The show’s opening, reminiscent of David Ives’s beloved short comedy “Sure Thing,” sees physicist Marianne and beekeeper Roland meeting cute at a barbecue – several times. When each attempt to connect fails, a ping sounds, lights dim for a brief beat, and they reset and try again, until, in at least one universe, they discover a mutual interest and availability. In Ives’s play, these resets show how difficult romantic connections can be; in Constellations, they illustrate a mind-blowing scientific theory.

Each scene is its own unique universe within the multiverse and operates according to string theory. As Marianne neatly explains, “At any given moment, several different outcomes can exist simultaneously.” Each decision creates its own universe and, rather than living one certain life, we exist as multiple unique versions of ourselves, living infinitely different existences in parallel universes.

The ideas are complicated, but Payne explains and dramatizes the basics well without the play turning into a Neil DeGrasse Tyson lecture. Those who watch Family Guy will recall a few episodes that humorously illustrate the multiverse idea, too; if a cartoon baby and dog can show how it works, so can this lovely short play.

Universal challenges

In theater, of course, the challenge is to make these deceptively simple yet mind-bogglingly complex ideas come to life. Constellations reveals a few episodes from Marianne and Roland’s relationship, repeating them in different versions that not only demonstrate the scientific principles but tell an engrossing nonlinear story – or, rather, several. They’re the tips of infinite icebergs.

Sarah Gliko and Jered McLenigan make Marianne and Roland believable and likeable, but what’s extraordinary about their performances, directed by Tea Alagić, is how they portray the many subtly different versions of themselves and instantaneously change from one to another, often repeating almost identical dialogue but with different meanings. Roland’s invitation to get together, when they meet long after a breakup, includes the line, “And if you really don’t want to see me again, you don’t have to” at least four times, each one in a slightly different context clarified by his inflections and expressions and her reactions. A version even unfolds entirely in sign language – and we get it.

One storyline shows Marianne coping with a brain tumor. These scenes are interspersed throughout, requiring Gliko to transform instantly from different shades of happy and healthy to struggling with an inability to remember words and articulate thoughts while digesting her impending death (which might happen in some versions and not in others). Both performances feel natural and effortless, which only results from extraordinary skill and painstaking work. However, I was too involved to marvel while watching.

Nothing and everything

The production around these incredible performances maintains the script’s economy and mystery. Matt Saunders’s black set, lit by Masha Tsimring, is a circular platform apparently floating in a void the actors never leave; their costumes, by Becky Bodurtha, are comfortably ordinary. A scrim wraps around and above the platform and extends into the audience, embracing and involving us. It also casts an eerie glow that envelops the entire theater. The set and Elizabeth Atkinson’s sound design add a few surprises to the play’s climax, but purposefully don’t define a “real” world – because there isn’t one. There are billions, all equally valid, all possible.

Constellations never reveals one “right” or “best” existence for Marianne and Roland. Some are happier or more satisfying, a few are horrifying, others are tragic. All, however, are. Conveying that, making that idea real in a vivid and personal way, is the amazing accomplishment – for those willing to unclench their tidy concepts of reality – of Nick Payne’s script and this superb production.