Disturbing “Fiji” smears sweet romance on a crust of consent

To westerners, the word “Fiji” has long conjured the idea of lush tropical landscapes, luxurious resorts, and a deeply relaxing and restorative atmosphere. And travellers to Fiji know that “Fiji time’ is an elastic, unhurried approach to life that requires relinquishing the tyranny of the clock.. When you’re on Fiji time, the things you want will happen . . .  they just may not happen as promptly as you hope. 

Fiji the play is Toronto company Icarus Theatre’s new production. I enjoyed their underappreciated 2022 production of Lobby Hero (see the SesayArts review here), and so was excited to see this followup. This play is a slender and more intimate two-hander that clocks in at just 65 minutes, yet manages the neat trick of feeling leisurely and unrushed – of being on Fiji time – as it explores the relationship between Nic (Desmond Lazar) and Sam (Jack Copland). 

Sam and Nic are not actually in Fiji: they recently met online, and hit it off, and Sam has come to  visit Nic at his apartment. Over a high-stakes weekend, they hope to confirm whether they are (body and) soul mates. Directed crisply by Icarus Artistic Director Anthony Goncharov, the production makes full use of the cozy confines of the Theatre Passe Muraille Bob Nasmith Backspace to bring Nic’s apartment to life.  Emily Anne Corcoran’s set design centers a gaudy and spacious red velvet couch, where the bulk of the couple’s exchanges will be staged – and sprinkles dissonant props around it. (Their importance will become clearer as the story progresses.)  

From the moment of Sam’s clumsy entrance, we watch as the duo create a rom-com bubble of Fiji time good vibes. Copland’s Sam is loud, insecure, awkward and hopeful. Lazar’s Nic is smoother and more confident, yet sweet and oh-so-culturally correct in his repeated checks on consent. They nurture their growing connection by drinking, cooking and counting up through 36 relationship questions . . . while counting down inexorably to the consummation of their relationship. 

On one level, this is a fun, funny – even endearing –  play, with all the expected rom com staples: the gentle ribbing and shared laughs, the minor misunderstandings and uncovering of commonalities, the endearing pop song sung by a solo protagonist, and even the crisis revelation that threatens the relationship. Copland and Lazar play off one another beautifully: they make an odd yet endearing couple. Will they . . . or won’t they?  

Actually, the real question is  Should they? Or even How could they?

For while Fiji is a romantic tale that explores the hopes and apex aspirations we have for connecting, the story’s sweet and wispy insubstantiality has been smeared atop a dark, mouldy crust. Pay close attention to the advisories to make sure you can handle the show, but the less you know going into Fiji about the real-world ingredients leavened into it, the richer – and more disorienting and more substantial – your experience will be. 

For the rotten, putrefying premise beneath Sam and Nic’s relationship is the point of the play. The sharply acted Fiji plumbs the outer limits of consent and the nature of romantic relationships by asking whether symbiotic connection makes it possible for you to choke down terminal transgression . . . even for just half a second. 

For you, the result may be a shocking realisation . . .  a frisson-inducing near-miss . . . or flat-out tissue rejection. In any case, Fiji will leave a strong taste in your mouth.

Fiji runs until April 7, 2024 at Theatre Passe Muraille. Fiji is suitable for adult audiences 18 years of age and older. Click here to read the audience advisory and to book tickets. 

 © Scott Sneddon, SesayArts Magazine, 2024