In I Don’t Even Miss You, Elena Eli Belyea plunges audiences into the dystopian solitude of Basil, a non-binary computer programmer who wakes to find everyone on Earth gone . . . and the world inexplicably empty.
Known for exploring themes of identity, self-discovery, and resilience, Belyea is an award-winning artist, playwright and performer, and the co-founder of Tiny Bear Jaws, a femme and queer-run cross-Canadian theatre company. Their latest work poses two provocative questions: “How much of who I understand myself to be is determined based on my relationships?” And “in the absence of others, am I still the same person?”
Written and performed by Belyea and directed by Emma Tibaldo, I Don’t Even Miss You immerses us in the three years of solitude following Basil’s initial shock. Basil wanders through an achingly silent world, building a virtual assistant (Orchid) to stave off the isolation, and rehearsing a nostalgic 90s-inspired musical about their life. But just as they are readying to premiere their self-created show, reality and memory begin to blur, raising questions about both identity and memory – in a world with no one to witness them.
With a fusion of live music, dance, video and 90s nostalgia, I Don’t Even Miss You is a stirring exploration of loneliness, resilience, love, legacy and the ways technology can shape our sense of self. This production is the second stop in Tiny Bear Jaws’ national tour and forms part of the CrossCurrents Canada Series.
The simple, profound and widely relatable spark that catalyzed I Don’t Even Miss You” occurred during the COVID-19 lockdown: “I hadn’t been vaccinated and was missing my friends and family in a massive way,” recalls Belyea. “I was also grappling with the unwelcome realization of how much of my identity and sense of self-worth hinged on being able to make and share work.” The isolation and this insight led Belyea to wonder what they would do if the solitude of lockdown became permanent and total: “I started by making a list of the different things I might try to stave off loneliness if I woke up in a world with no one else for company”.
One idea jumped at them from the list: a virtual companion. A collaboration with Montreal-based AI researcher Kory Mathewson followed, leading to the development of Orchid, Basil’s AI counterpart. “Our conversation exploded my imagination,” Belyea recalls. “Among the many things we talked about, he invited me to consider what I (and Basil) might want their virtual assistant to look and sound like. Would they have a body? A face? What would Basil want their relationship to feel like?” This human partnership raised provocative questions about artificial relationships. For instance, “is it possible to create a virtual companion whose presence could be a real substitute for other people?” In Orchid (voiced by Vanessa Sabourin), audiences catch glimpses of Basil’s inner world — where survival depends as much on self-reflection as ingenuity – and can answer this question.
The multi-sensory experience of I Don’t Even Miss You reflects Belyea’s further creative collaboration and synergy with composer Tori Morrison, who pushed “to make a show where the sound and video were essential to the storytelling, as opposed to expositional or atmospheric”. For their part, Belyea, who craved music as an outlet for personal expression. “I wanted to sing and dance like I was in a boyband! We also wanted to try writing songs together.” And as their commitment grew, their ambitions deepened: ”We did a design workshop together shortly after, where we began to explore the idea of a character, recording their videos and choreography as a way of telling their life story.”
The music and videos are unapologetic throwbacks to the 1990s. “I was a 90s kid, so it’s a time when I felt very safe,” Belyea notes. “This is true of Basil as well.” Set designer Even Gilchrist crafted Basil’s world “as a way of trying to reconnect with the feelings of stability and love they experienced as a child” – so it is filled with touchstones of 90s culture like home videos, Tamagotchis, glitter, hair clips, synthesizers and platform sneakers. “Even leaned into this . . . making the set and Basil’s playing space look like a little house,” Belyea adds. This fits perfectly because “nostalgia (wanting to return to a version of your life that no longer exists) is a big part of the piece’s tone, action and aesthetic”. Through all of these visual, sonic and thematic elements, the play captures the ache of remembering a past that is comforting . . . and yet ultimately out of reach. “On some level,” Belyea explains, “I wanted the audience to experience the pang of remembering what it was like to be a kid, knowing you can never go back.”
When asked about accessibility, Belyea lights up. “Thanks for asking—it’s one of my favourite parts of the show,” they enthuse, before highlighting how important it was to integrate accessible captions with the narrative. Inspired by a 2020 workshop with Marjorie Chan and Indrit Kasapi, Belyea and Morrison worked weekly with Edmonton-based Deaf artist Connor Yuzwenko-Martin in order to craft dynamic captions that make the piece more inclusive for Deaf and neurodivergent audiences. “We wanted the audience to be able to tell which character was speaking, based on a caption text’s font and colour. Basil’s lines are in turquoise; Orchid’s are in hot pink.” Belyea allows that no piece can be inclusive for all viewers, and stresses that captions are only one accessibility measure among many. And while some could prove distracting for other audience members, “we’re excited to be able to offer them, in hopes of making our work available to a wider audience that might not be able to see our work otherwise.”
One point Belyea stresses in our conversation is that Basil’s journey is shaped by queerness and transness, but not defined by it. “It was important to me that their main obstacles come from their circumstance (being inexplicably left alone), as opposed to gender or sexuality”—which are areas in which Basil is “pretty self-assured”. “That said,” Belyea adds, “I do believe Basil’s successes, triumphs, and innovations are inextricably linked to their queerness/transness; that they see hope, love, and possibility in places others might not.”
As Belyea reflects on the process of creating I Don’t Even Miss You, their excitement is palpable: “Tori, Emma, and I have been working for the past four (four!) years to create something entertaining, disarming, mysterious, and enthralling.” They quantify the accomplishment with some light-hearted statistics that balance the play’s heavier themes: “It features 6 pop songs (six!) and choreography from Gianna Vacirca…Before this process, I didn’t know how to do a body roll; now I do 48 of them over the show’s 75 minutes!”
At its core, I Don’t Even Miss You invites viewers to reflect on presence and connection in a world that so often feels isolating, and to treasure the people, places, and memories that shape who we are. In Belyea’s words, “If the pandemic has taught me anything, it’s this: would I ever take for granted that tomorrow will look like today?” More specifically, “I remember during the lockdowns, I used to fantasize about being in front of an audience again. I told myself that if I ever got to do it again, I’d never take it for granted.”
And they aren’t: “I’m so grateful to Factory [Theatre] for programming I Don’t Even Miss You and this opportunity to share this show that we’ve been working on for so long with a new audience.”
I Don’t Even Miss You, a Tiny Bear Jaws production, is on stage from October 31 to November 10, 2024, at Factory Studio Theatre. There will be a moderated conversation between Elena Eli Belyea and Lester Trips Theatre on all things collaborative creation, artificial intelligence, and the end of the world following the performance on Sunday, November 3, 2:00 pm. Visit factorytheatre.ca to reserve tickets.
© Arpita Ghosal, Sesaya Arts Magazine, 2024
