Review of ‘Tao of Glass’: “Celebration of Glass works in metamorphosis deficit”

The fact that the first thing I hear during the interval is someone telling their companion they can leave if they want has to count for something. Certainly, it’s affected the number of attendees. The two people sitting next to me were nowhere to be found during Act Two. Several pockets across the stalls were equally deserted. It shouldn’t take too much speculation to understand what’s happening. Or the reasons for it. So let’s say it — plain and simple: the show isn’t good. And even its premise is debatable.

I’m all down for honouring Philip Glass’s legacy. Except for The Perfect American, not one of his proudest achievements in my not-so-humble opinion (although my Disney gay status might be biased), his oeuvre is fairly meritorious of its recognition. And if this show had mirrored the intricacy, expressiveness, and poignancy his work brims with, audiences would have been exposed to true theatrical catharsis. That isn’t the case, though — by any means.

Playwright and performer Phelim McDermott’s love for Glass’s craft is evident. Even palpable. But it’s never infectious. In all honesty, we couldn’t care less about his fascination with the man and his determination to delve into his creations’ entrails. That doesn’t mean this piece is meant for a very particular type of viewer. And it’s not a lack of sophistication that causes that almost instant disconnection-even disdain -towards what we’re watching. Actually, the more you know about minimalism, the less you might enjoy this act, as you’ll feel its spirit has been betrayed.

Contrary to the genre’s ethos, this show doesn’t expand its motif. It constrains it and reduces it to mere insignificance. There’s no real evolution. No gradual change. And on the whole, it gets stuck on the same note by mistaking repetition for repetitiveness, which is all that this production can offer — and it does so in spades.

Not only is its character conflict too weak to entice its audience, but its use as a framing device comes across as lazy and uninspired. In the end, it’s just an excuse- and a rather poor one -to engage in banal philosophical spiels about the birth of art and its effects on the human soul. Conceptually, it’s solid. But the script doesn’t convey anything revelatory, life-changing, or even remotely profound. The lines are just as shallow as they are predictable. And for the most part, they are painfully unstimulating. They don’t sway. They don’t strike. And the only impression they make is of overconfidence — thinking of themselves more highly than they should.

The staging demonstrates some inventiveness. But again, it overexploits the same idea without adding anything new, inevitably resulting in visual monotony. Employing pieces of sheet music as its central theme is the obvious choice — and probably the right one. But its utilisation doesn’t teem with variety or originality. Some segments, like building a life-size paper Philip Glass, are remarkably powerful. But those are outliers. And eventually, despite some occasional symbolism, there’s not much to reap from an overall infertile design.

It’s always exciting to explore the depths of art. But that only works when viewers are made part of that journey. Despite its enthusiasm, Tao of Glass‘s limitations are too transparent to go unnoticed. And inevitably, so are its cracks. Ultimately, its core theme suffers from the same neglect as the Steinway Grand that closes the show, brought onstage only to remain untouched and degraded to a pianola — letting its possibilities for true art evaporate for everyone to see.

All pictures credit to Johan Persson.

Tao of Glass plays at London’s Soho Place until 12 September. Tickets are available on the following link.

By Guillermo Nazara