The following is from 312 No. 9, November 2005 [Download Publication in .PDF format]:

The Act of Telling the Story: Panic Attack by Richard Ibghy & Marilou Lemmens

“I’ve always been kind of shy,” the male narrator begins. A man sits quietly on a chair in an empty white room, his eyes nervously darting side to side in a downcast manner. He begins to blow a brown paper bag full of air, then suddenly claps it between his hands—a classic schoolchild explosion. Moments later he relates the nausea brought on by a visit to a young woman’s apartment when he was nineteen—how he explained to her that he “hadn’t a clue” why he threw up so unexpectedly. From this inauspicious start, the narrator recounts his gradual dependence on downers—valium and the like—to subdue his anxiety-ridden panic attacks, as well as his general avoidance of close contact with others. This is Panic Attack by Richard Ibghy & Marilou Lemmens, a fictitious account of a man’s lifelong struggle.

Against a black backdrop, microphone in hand, the man begins a monologue visually indicating a comic’s stand-up routine, complete with accompanying laugh track. It reminds me of how episodes of Seinfeld were framed by Jerry’s stand-up act, revealing how episodic events were incorporated into a less personal comedy routine. True to form, Panic Attack’s narrator-cum-comedian now relates in more general terms to the viewer while still giving a forthright confession about his chronic attacks. He concludes, “I’ve had the problem for fifteen years now, and throughout I spoke to no one. I sought no help… I didn’t want anyone to know.” The audience erupts into laughter, but it’s not really stand-up, let alone a mainstream sitcom.

By using a spare aesthetic partly appropriated from television—televised stand-up conventions and sitcom laugh tracks, for example—Ibghy & Lemmens are able to tell the viewer the sorts of stories that television generally shuns as far too everyday and much too personal. The narrator of Panic Attack becomes an everyman for the viewer to relate to, a mouthpiece for personal problems and things left unsaid. By adopting signatures from popular television, Ibghy & Lemmens put forward an inviting familiarity—as the old saying goes, honey attracts more flies than vinegar. With this familiarity established (not to mention complete creative freedom), the narrative is allowed to deviate into the realm of social statement, in particular, focusing on the ills of an increasingly medicated society lacking the enthusiasm to address personal problems beyond pharmaceutical bandaids. In Panic Attack, Ibghy & Lemmens simply present the fictitious confession without any judgments or tidy morals, leaving such conclusions up to the viewer. For these artists, the act of telling the story, one with potential social ramifications, is of utmost importance.
Mark Prier.