Theatre review: Studio 58’s Baggage innovatively unpacks dating life
Luggage real and metaphorical clutters the stage as exes haunt a young woman navigating a new relationship
Michelle Avila Navarro. Photo by Emily Cooper
Studio 58 presents Baggage until October 13
EMOTIONAL BAGGAGE from dating is no joke. But it can be entertaining to poke a little fun at. After all, recognizing the humour in past experiences is part of how we grow.
Sarah Segal-Lazar’s play Baggage is a clever and playful look at how baggage from past relationships follows us. This freshing work is superbly brought to life by a cast of tremendously talented Studio 58 students, led by the charismatic Michelle Avila Navarro. Director and Studio 58 graduate Jessie Liang offers an inventive concept with some creative ideas that highlight the many strengths of the cast and Segal-Lazar’s script.
Navarro stars at Jill, a young woman navigating through dating life. At the top of the show, we see the end of a first date between her and Ben (a likeable Filip Fufezan). There’s a ton of awkwardness competing with attraction—hallmarks of many a first encounter. Jill invites Ben up to her apartment, and once the couple retreats to the bedroom, the real situation unfolds. A curtain in Jill’s living room is pulled open to reveal a wall adorned with bags of all types—backpacks, messenger bags, and suitcases. Eight cast members—the personified representation of the baggage from Jill’s exes—wander out. They know that this their cue. Jill is entering a new relationship, and it’s time for them to join along for the ride.
There’s the unruly Sean (a hyper energetic and hilarious Yorlene Bernido), whose life ambitions apparently don’t go past smoking weed and consuming chips and beer while watching hockey; the bohemian Clark (played with abundant conviction by Ella Wood); the preppy Toby (played with appropriate egotism by Kathryn Kerby); the poet Zach (a sensitive Lynny Bonin); the mysterious Englishman, Marshall (whose dark side is skillfully revealed by Carol Chu); the obnoxious Isaac (a bashful Sewit Eden Haile); the level-headed John (a composed Philippa Ryder); and the lovable Kyle, whom the other baggage enjoys teasing (the expressive Lucy Jeffery is a delight to watch).
Throughout the show, these personified pieces of baggage constantly refer to “their guy” – the ex that they represent. They each get their turn in the spotlight to give us a snippet about their relationship with Jill. This requires a moment to wrap one’s head around at first, as each actor tells the story from Jill’s perspective while embodying characteristics of “their guy”. However, it doesn’t take long to understand what’s going on, and each vignette tells an interesting story that reveals a different layer to Jill. While many of the tales are funny, not everything is lighthearted. There’s depth, and we also see pain and trauma in the mix.
These monologues are interspersed throughout as we follow Jill and Ben through their relationship. Gradually, the pieces of baggage start to insert themselves into the action, and while this interference is initially minimal, it soon becomes a problem. Jill starts to hear her love-luggage talking to her while she’s with Ben—she even responds to them, to Ben’s confusion. In one scene, she goes hiking and can’t get away from the persistent Isaac, who insists on following her up a mountain (cleverly created by a stack of suitcases, thanks to set designer Emerenne Saefkow). In one standout visual, we even see Jill and Ben cuddled on the couch, surrounded by all of Jill’s baggage.
At first glance, Navarro and Fufezan’s performances seem textbook romcom. Navarro’s personable qualities, with a messy side underneath her charming exterior, have the vibe of Kristen Bell and Kate Hudson performances. And Fufezan’s sweet persona, ready to shower Jill with love at a moment’s notice, is very Ryan Gosling and Ryan Reynolds-like. The twist here is that this isn’t a romcom. As the baggage gets more comfortable invading Jill and Ben’s space, Navarro and Fufezan react with authentic emotion as they deal with the increasing tension between them.
Segal-Lazar’s concept, in collaboration with Saefkow’s set design, is wisely metaphoric. At first, Jill’s living room seems simplistic, with only a small couch filling the otherwise empty space. However, as the story progresses, the stage grows cluttered to the point of overwhelm, with the suitcases and Jill’s personified baggage overtaking the space.
Interestingly, at one point in the show, Jill discusses the concept of memory. She states that everyone’s memories of past events get distorted over time. Perhaps this hints that the personified baggage is Jill’s distorted memory of each ex, as opposed to true representations. This would explain the purposefully over-the-top, often stereotypical characterizations of each ex. Additionally, as all of Jill’s former partners are male but are portrayed here by actors who use mostly she/her/they pronouns (as listed in the program), in a way, we’re seeing drag performances. Drag, of course, isn’t intended to portray realism. It highlights selective features to tell a story or make a statement—which is exactly what’s being done here.
Baggage will resonate with many people—whether it conjures memories of their past romantic relationships or emotional baggage from other sources in general. Liang’s concept hits the mark, and the youthful energy and commitment to characterization from the cast make for a truly engaging experience. But beware—watching the show may trigger memories of your own baggage, so be prepared for some self-reflection afterward. 
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