Night Fractal Thoughtful, but Stories Prove Unengaging 
by MIKE BARTHEL

The problem with openings — with invocations — is that they do not limit themselves to the object under consideration. Any creation that seeks to begin itself, whether through summoning words or the simple act of starting off, not only sets itself in motion, but the things beside it, around it. 
So when Night Fractal, written and directed by Alexis MacNab,OC ’01, begins with the request, “Tell me a story, little one,” it sets off both its own story and others. 
Night Fractal is a dance and theater piece that combines adaptations of ancient texts (such as Genesis or Gilgamesh), mathematical and scientific knowledge (especially quantum physics and fractals) and aspects of the personal related through “storytelling,” all integrated with movement and music. The message at the heart of Night Fractal is that all these stories are the same at heart.
It begins with some brief blasts from the three storytellers (senior Sarah Bendix, junior David Blatt and first-year Karla Victum) acting throughout as a chorus, their lines overlapping and repeating, before entering a dance perhaps meant to invoke the motions of atomic particles. These motion numbers are somewhat weak at first, but as the piece progresses they get steadily better, resulting in two numbers — one involving paper lanterns, and the “secret” ending — that really pay off. Nevertheless, the opening introduces a mood of pretension (and a resemblance to bad science or “Sam Goodbody” videos) that never entirely dissipates.
The character of the scientist, senior Gabriel Carleton-Barnes, then enters, and his role throughout is to provide the scientific information that echoes off of the spiritual tropes communicated by the storytellers. None of the characters seem to have much depth and offer little emotional involvement, but the scientist provides some welcome humorous moments (and a distinctive performance throughout), as well as eagerly soliciting audience involvement — all of which are much appreciated in this otherwise serious piece.

Finally we are introduced to Sadie, sophomore Nina Morrison, a woman “born of the sea” whose role as “the human being” distances her from the other stories being told, while at the same time drawing parallels between the course of a universe and the course of a life. Much of this section was written by senior Abigail Geni and works as a fragmented short story told through episodes and repeated lines working with the storytellers.
Technically, the piece displays some wonderful aspects; the staging is bare but effective in its use of props, particularly a large sheet used to invoke the ocean and the aforementioned paper lanterns, which in the dark form the shape of a bird and a human before scattering into chaos. The music, by senior Corey Dargel, and junior Stefan Tcherepnin is alternately frustrating and entrancing, sometimes heightening the absurdity of the characters’ speeches, sometimes flowing seamlessly with the choreography, and at one point sampling the hook of the Trio song “Da Da Da” with as straight a face as could be mustered.

MacNab said her entry into the idea of creation myths (and their inherent similarity) was through math, and this shows, as the “rationalist” segments are the most engaging and developed. The evocation here of ambiguity forms the strongest parallels with the other two points of view, especially the storyteller’s refrain, “there is a thing confusedly formed.”
The “spiritual” sections are an undifferentiated mix between various religions that smoothes its assimilation by resorting to vague, generic words and ideas that wash over the ears without really engaging the brain. The storytellers often feel like they are trying to convince the audience of something they themselves do not believe. There is little of the humor so evident in many myths, and a distressing lack of the uncertainty that elevates the scientific sections. Certain themes come up again and again — birds, water, sky — and while these carry an emotional resonance by the end of the show, there seems little other reason to employ them.
Night Fractal seeks to show the similarities between scientific and religious narratives (which is valid and quite interesting), but it goes beyond that to suggest that all stories are the same (including stories derived from experience — the problem of Sadie) and “created by the same rules.” This suggestion is incorrect, (and outdatedly Campbell-esque) it reveals a key difficulty with the piece: the stories aren’t very interesting. They lack specificity, and they refuse to take advantage of the possibilities of imagination granted us by myths. 
There is so much potential there, as in this story: the singularity of energy that will become the universe has just been released from jail, but the Greyhound bus it tries to take is full, and it has to sit in the stairwell with a graphical representation of the economy. “What were you in for?” asks the chart, and the singularity replies, “Stupid shit.” Then it begins to grow. First the bus floods with water; then it shoots up to the sky. The inhabitants — college students, fat men in sweatshirts — become groups of stars, and the chart lays its outline over the land, defining its topography.
Ultimately, Night Fractal improves and at only 75 minutes, it’s wholly worth the time invested. Without doubt, the effort put into it (and the quality gotten out) by all involved is impressive. If anything has been communicated by this review, it is not that the piece is fatally flawed, but that it welcomes critical engagement, and as an audience one hopes you will take it up on this invocation to thought.
Night Fractal plays on Friday and Saturday at 8 p.m. and 10 p.m. in Warner Main Space.