SOUND AND FURY,
SIGNIFYING PLENTY

A sound artist steps out of the booth
with a powerful, deeply personal
work that, in production, may be
better heard than seen

Ryn Hardiman in The Complex Whole So Formed at the Neo-Futurist Theater

Over five thousand shows: that’s how many productions Ryn Hardiman has sound engineered for the Neo-Futurists, an avant-garde group of performers who delight in violating the rules of theatre in every way possible. Unpredictable and high-risk are the adjectives usually tossed about when it comes to this company, and rightly so. Given the experimental nature of their productions, one never knows quite what to expect, and I must admit to some trepidation as I take my seat for The Complex Whole So Formed, where Kate-in-the-Booth—the theatre’s affectionate moniker for Hardiman in a different life—steps out of the sound booth and into the spotlight.

Four enormous screens dominate the performance space. The center two are angled to create a triangular area, invisible to the audience at first. This is where the tools of Hardiman’s trade are arrayed and plied during the show. At the top vertex of the triangle is a pedestal with an old-fashioned telephone on it. The screens display TV static, accompanied by its scratchy buzz, a sound that will be very familiar to those of us of a certain age.

The Complex Whole So Formed opens with Hardiman on the phone, delivering a gorgeous monologue about swimming naked in Lake Michigan, while inside their breast, a cluster of rogue cells festers and divides. From there the show cleaves, alternating between Hardiman’s conversations with healthcare workers, doctors, and insurance brokers and snippets of home movies. All the while, a stunning mix of sound reverberates around the room. Denied a potentially life-saving mastectomy, the obviously sympathetic healthcare worker suggests a way to game the system: if Hardiman were to call the hospital and request gender-affirming top surgery, the insurance company would acquiesce to the surgery.

What follows is a series of conversations as Hardiman attempts attempts to convince a number of people of their psychological state and nonbinary identity. In what is the best visual in the show, they alternate between videos of their childhood and interviews with friends on one screen while the other screen translates the information gleaned into medical and psychiatric jargon being used to bolster their case for the surgery. It manages to be wryly funny and dehumanizing at the same time.

At this point, any grown person who pretends ignorance about the disaster that is our healthcare system is either being disingenuous or stupid. But there is something especially unsettling in the unsentimental, matter-of-fact way Hardiman talks us through a year of phone calls and interviews. And there’s a cruel irony—in a time when trans people are routinely vilified for no reason other than their existence, it is this identity that enables Hardiman to receive life-saving surgery. This does not come without a price; in the most powerful—and frustrating—moment in the show, Hardiman drops a single, devastating line about what the process has cost them psychologically, pauses for it to register, and then moves on. I wanted to scream when I realized that they will not be delving into that further. But maybe there’s a follow-up planned, or a memoir; if there isn’t, there should be.

Directed by Anna Gelman, The Complex Whole So Formed as a show needs some work, primarily in the visual department. There are a couple of beautifully choreographed movement pieces by Andy Slavin, but they don’t quite connect to the material; the first piece actually detracts from the show, momentarily wrecking its pacing. Aside from the aforementioned translation of life into doctor-speak, there’s not much to hold the eye. Hardiman is a very charismatic performer with terrific stage presence, but for the bulk of the show they are either hidden or slightly obscured within the triangle. As would be expected from a sound engineer, the sound elements of the show are stunning: from the opening static slowly taking on a rhythm that evokes waves washing onto a shore, to the jitters and clicks as words roll onto the screen, to Hardiman’s mellifluous narration, I want to take in the show purely through my ears. I genuinely thought about closing my eyes and leaning back, but in the front row I feared that the performer would think that I had fallen asleep.

The phrase The Complex Whole So Formed is an anthropological construct that’s more than a hundred years old. It posits the interconnectedness of all things in a society—what today would be referred to as “intersectionality.” It’s a clever and apropos title for this show. Maybe a little too ambitious, but that’s not a bad thing, and for the most part, this powerful work lives up to its title.

There’s also something irresistible about a behind-the-scenes person taking center stage and being bloody good at it—Hardiman is also a performer in addition to being a sound artist, but that doesn’t work with my preferred narrative, so I’m just going to ignore it. Adding another layer of delight to the enterprise is that Hardiman performs the sound outside of the booth, not just in it.

Really, the Neo-Futurists are the smarty-pants of the Chicago theatre set. They may be occasionally too clever for their own good, but as long as they keep coming up with shows like this, who cares? Have at it.

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photo by Justin Lynk

The Complex Whole So Formed
The Neo-Futurists
Neo-Futurist Theater, 5153 N. Ashland Ave. in Chicago
Thur–Sat 7; Mon  at 7 (August 24); ASL interpretation August 20
masks required at all performances
ends on August 29, 2026
for tickets (pay what you can–$25), call 773.878.4557 or visit Neo-Futurists

for more shows, visit Theatre in Chicago

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