The guy in the painting next to this text is “Molière”. If you know, you know.
As mentioned before, I am reading through the Bedford Introduction to Drama, a text containing plays and articles designed for first year students. In the introduction they did an overview of the important playwrights and movements that are important in theatre history. For the most part it was as you expect – sooooo much Shakespeare, some notes on how little Greek theatre actually survives, medieval mystery plays… and then it came to Molière.
Guys, this textbook only gave him one paragraph!
I felt deeply indignant. A couple lines, that’s it?
There are moments where I understand all at once that the fact I live a lot of my life in French has changed my perspective on things. It’s not just a language I speak, it’s the culture I navigate in as well. Such as the moment when you find yourself shouting at a drama textbook for its exclusion of Molière, who is obviously too important to be slighted in such a way!
So who is this guy? Short answer: French playwright who is brilliant and writes fantastic critiques of manners and society. I admit I don’t know as many of his plays as I should, but I can also say that about Shakespeare. They are fun and witty and often bawdy and totally one of a kind. You want to get into his actual history and you can do the same google search I did. His biography is not the point.
The point is the place he occupies in francophone culture. French is quite often referred to as “the language of Molière”, Hell, I use that line multiple times in my own French language play as a punchline. His work has parallels to Shakespeare in how it shaped the living language. His work is more than just an important pretty piece of art to look at – he actually had an irreversible fundamental impact on French as it exists today. We speak the language of Molière because that’s how crucial a symbolic place he holds in the language community.
Then we get to an English language textbook with the usual idolatry of Shakespeare. (Guys I love Shakespeare but he’s not the only influential writer out there!) There Molière is a side note between the medieval mystery plays and maybe a couple lines about Christopher Marlowe. And my logical brain understands that this makes sense, because in English language theatre… that is the place of Molière. They give even less attention to Calderon de la Barca, and if I’d done my theatre education in Spanish I’m pretty sure I’d be having feelings about that too. Yet for the people who put this book together, these made sense in terms of anglophone theatre culture. I can’t fault them for that. I mean I did, viscerally, get upset about Molière but I do intellectually appreciate the exclusions.
This is a textbook case of why I think it’s so important to learn deeply and profoundly that the world looks different from different perspectives. Would anyone who hasn’t had exposure to francophone culture get indignant about the exclusion of Molière? It’s unlikely. My reaction comes from a place of being immersed in a culture deeply enough to have gut reactions. But for a good amount of time before the logic brain kicked in, the exclusion of Molière invalidated this textbook as a legitimate source of knowledge about theatre history.
You don’t have to be a language geek or even multilingual to benefit from understanding the role that a language plays in people’s minds, hearts and imaginations. Translating from one language to another is not just a matter of switching between two different parallel codes – it’s figuring out how to integrate the references and symbols that are embedded in the language itself. Even if you’re reading a translation, you can read the translator’s notes or look up references you’ve never heard of. That too is part of multilingualism and reaching beyond your own position in a language and culture.
Why stick to work from one language or culture when you can taste the intricacies of so many others on your ear and on your tongue? It would be like eating only one meal for the rest of your life.
It occurs to me that I did not actually add Molière to my Cultural Guide for Anglophones on the program for my play. I’m going to go and add a very abridged version of this now…
Don Diego de la Luna sat next to me yesterday as I read the Bedford Introduction to Drama. I haven’t gotten to the fun part yet – we’re still coughing through the introduction in which the author defines terms and explains concepts of performance. Diego let me give him scritches as I ran through these introductory concepts of cast and speaker, not completely riveted. Which is strange, because when I was an eighteen year old poring over this text. I definitely was. It’s not like I don’t appreciate writing about theatre. It just wasn’t exciting this time around – maybe because I know more this time around?
I am fascinated by introductory textbooks – by introductions in general. It fascinates me what people consider to be essential information – the overarching narrative that needs to be told. History is a great example of this – what people think are the key events worth knowing tells you a lot about what they believe is important, and with it the story that is being told. Even people who are conscious of questions of inclusion and representation get strangely conservative when it comes to picking key elements. I find this compelling. If we are ever going to have diversity, we need to make changes in the material we consider to be essential, such as which plays make it in to the Bedford Introduction to Drama that first year theatre students all use in their introductory classes. I want to see and feel where the slant in the narrative comes from. But I digress.
As I was reading The Rising of the Moon by Lady Gregory, I caught myself reading out loud. Something I only became aware of as Diego looked up at me mid-petting, surprised to hear me talking, but also less interested once he realized they were things that weren’t “good boy” and “cookies”. I’m an avid reader, and normally I don’t have a problem with accidentally reading out loud. Except for when I read plays.
This is not the first time I’ve been caught out accidentally reading theatre out loud. My seventh grade teacher had to pull me aside and let me know I was reading Shakespeare aloud in a not so quiet voice and it was bothering the other students at silent reading. For me there is something incredibly natural about wanting to feel words in my mouth because, well, they are meant to be spoken out loud.
The relationship between oral and written language is a deeply complex one and yet another thing which will probably fascinate me for the rest of my life. See, most languages in the world’s history exist without a written form. The primordial form of language is oral. Language is rooted in the body, be it the voice box, the hands or any other form of communication. It is embodied, it lives in flesh and vibrations and tiny or not so tiny movements of the body. There is no such thing as a language which exists without a tangible shape – escapes of air from the diaphragm, movements of a finger, tones present in the way you exhale.
On the other hand, written language as a phenomenon is honestly just in its infancy. Only a small percentage of human languages have developed it, and even when there is a written language not everyone who speaks said language can use it. To use a massive generalization, writing is classist as fuck, a variation only a small handful ever feel comfortable with.
And yet.
We live in a world where written communication is everywhere. It is difficult, if not impossible, to survive in a modern globalized society unless you can navigate text. So it’s a little weird to realize that our ability to read is completely and totally based on our understanding of spoken language – plus a whole other complex set of symbols we learn to navigate. We are so used to text we forget how related it is to the voice vibrating sounds over our immediate environment.
That is until we stumble upon one of those art forms like theatre that are meant to be heard. Oral poetry also fits in this category. All of a sudden it matters more how the words feel heard out loud than in your heard. There are all of these fillers – umms and small talk and check ins that exist in speech but don’t ever make their way into novels. Anyone who has ever done transcribing will tell you that a lot of what people say is actually just confirming that they understand what the other person is saying and the flow of information is of the appropriate speed. Verbal communication is messy and full of landmines.
Then you get to theatre where you are writing out words that represent speech. It would be ridiculous and boring to add in all the interjections and repetitions of everyday speech. It isn’t for nothing that people complain that nobody talks like Shakespeare. The thing is, no one talks like people in theatre of any kind if we’re being perfectly honest. Theatre is full of distilled conversations where every word counts, every nuance is planned and every silence is potent. Dialogue isn’t all theatre is about, but it is certainly a large part of it. So we’re left with me sitting on the couch accidentally reading aloud to my cat Diego because I instinctively feel that these words were meant to be spoken. Because those words were never meant to be flat.
So why read plays? It’s not a full performance. All the movement and sound and colour and image is missing. You’re left extrapolating from the text into a world of What Could Be. It’s a little like reading a recipe. And yet… I would argue it’s still really enjoyable. How would you know if a show is worth staging if you couldn’t read the script? It’s just the bones whereas a production is a living entity, but it’s pretty hard for a show to stand on its own two feet without a solid skeleton. Maybe reading a script is like drawing a flower – as imperfect as it may be, it still evokes something bigger and more interesting.
I’ve been thinking of this question a lot lately as I watch my first baby play stand up and take shape for fringe this year. I wrote the lines, and I have no heard them so many times they have almost become unfamiliar to me. I find ideas hiding in the text I didn’t know were there as other people – the director, my actors, various editors – hold it up to the light to scrutinize it. I am left feeling so deeply honoured that people are taking the time with my script to memorize words and find beats in them. How many people get to be so lucky as to have their words considered like this? Even without good sales, I’m fairly confident more people will see this play than have ever read one of my articles or reviews. I need to be a writer because manipulating language is as fundamental to who I am as the blood pumping through my veins.
And then it comes back to the page again. How to I write to be heard? I’m not talking about having my writing read; I’m talking about writing in a way that captures the cadence of the human voice and all its many intricacies. How do I represent the sheer joy I feel in hearing speech, in saying beautiful words, in a well tossed off phrase? And how did it take me this long to discover I wanted to write for theatre when I am so in love with orality? For me personally I believe the best writing is not laden done with technicalities but contains some of that lyrical orality within it. There is a reason why poetry is distinguished from spoken word. And why so many timeless classics have an element of storytelling to them.
We need to remember the vibrations of language within our bodies – whether we are the speaker or the listener. I really believe that words need to be felt deeply to be understood on a subconscious level – a place that goes beyond logic and intellect. Language needs to be kept alive – potent, visceral, elemental. Words that hit something true get under your skin and leave you untangling them long after you go to sleep.
All at once I am back in front of my Bedford Introduction to Drama with a cat who can best be described as derpy who is currently play fighting his sister Noisette. I suppose that I could make use of my Marquee subscription and watch most of the plays in this book. It’s one way of learning theatre. That said, I still think there is a value to reading and getting to know the skeletons of shows which have so often resonated with people. Ones that many places have chosen to stage. I can appreciate the way that productions wind stories around the words. I can compare the texts to productions I have seen and appreciate how people make different curatorial choices in how to present them. I can learn how to write plays so that people want to stage them. Or just read a lot of really great plays.
Sometimes I feel like language is the love that I will never understand. All I can do is give myself to it and hope to learn something a long the way. Someday
Diego and Noisette on the other hand are currently bored of me breathlessly reading Greek tragedy and are now fighting for possession of the cardboard box.
There is big news in my life that I’ve been holding on to for a while now, which I have finally been given permission to reveal. This is big news for me personally, Daniela Smith-Fernandez, the person who writes and runs this blog… but it also has an impact on the blog itself. It’s hard sometimes to believe that I’ve been writing Curtains Up for less than a year when it has become such a big part of my life. And yet it has, and here we are – the passion project that has grown beyond me as an individual. So here’s the news:
I’ve been hired as the Company Manager for the Manitoba Association of Playwrights
I am beyond excited. I’ve wanted to work in arts administration since I was a fifteen year old kid photocopying submissions for Prairie Fire Magazine. The arts are my home, and I want very much to be useful to an organization. Selfishly I want to be surrounded by creative people and never have to make small talk about insurance ever again in my life. It feels like a good fit. The interview was the most myself I’ve ever felt in an interview. I can’t wait to be part of the team that makes things happen.
Thursday Executive Producer Daniel Thau-Eleff put on a newsletter to members with the following message:
Dear MAP members,
I am so excited to welcome Daniela Smith-Fernandez to the MAP office, as our new Company Manager! In addition to her passion for theatre, especially local theatre, Daniela has the (much-better-than-my) organizational skills that MAP needs as we begin this next leg of our journey. I think Daniela and I are going to work really well together, and I look forward to introducing her to you all as we continue to serve this wonderful playwriting community.
I feel very welcomed. I also can’t wait to start.
HOWEVER…
It does mean that I will be occupying a different position in the theatre community. One where conflict of interest is a serious concern. And where I have obligations to be fair.
Which means that I have to stop writing reviews. Which is sad, because I love writing reviews. It’s also bittersweet because for now holding off on reviews is going to allow me to take on this amazing new role which I am so incredibly excited for.
I’ve been playing this over in my head, and some of the scenarios run a little like this:
Me: Welcome to MAP! How can I help you get set up with dramaturgy?
Client: Oh thank goodness you’re so helpful! This AWFUL blog Curtains Up said that my play with (dinosaurs reciting bible verses-a defence of bedbugs-repeated product placement from an MLM) showed questionable judgement! ME!
Me: Oh… (trying hard to hide my Curtains Up sticker) I mean, well… that was me!
Client: How dare you! An organization that hires someone like you clearly has terrible judgement! I can’t trust you at all! I’m going to go away and NOT make use of the services of this wonderful community organization! (Flounces out)
I mean, that might be a little exaggerated. No one is twisted up inside enough to write a play defending bed bugs.
Still, it’s the end of an era and I need to pivot to keep this blog going.
I will continue to write pieces about theatre in general, probably more of them going forward, I will go ahead with my Bedford Introduction to Drama read along – although probably not right away. I have thoughts about playwriting and dramaturgy. Also, I’m going to be reviewing published plays for the presses that have gotten back to me.
This will continue to be an active space.
I’m also interested in having other people review for me, as long as they are willing to adopt my philosophy of respect for the artists no matter what you think of the play. Feel free to send people my way.
I have loved writing this blog. I’ve loved knowing that other people want to engage in dialogue about theatre which isn’t mean, or reductive, but genuinely comes from a place of loving the art form. Even if sometimes you think it could do better.
Thank you for coming with me, and I hope you will stick around as I pivot a slightly new direction.
The Iliad is an old story, one of the oldest still in circulation in fact. At a ground level, it’s the story of the Trojan War in which the Greeks fought the Trojans outside the walls of Troy. Also, as this production mentions, it’s the story of two brave warriors: Achilles the Greek and Hector the Trojan. In this rendition, performed by Shakespeare in the Ruins Artistic Director Rodrigo Beilfuss, the question becomes how to make relevant this story which has been told so many times before. Accompanied by a soundscape by local Saint Boniface musician Daniel Roy, the two etch out a rendition of the story which is both simple and dramatic. Unlike As You Like It, the show takes place exclusively in the ruins themselves and doesn’t ask the audience to walk. That’s right, no lugging your sweater and your beer and your water bottle and your Concise Notes summarizing the Iliad which you definitely weren’t consulting before the show…
The premise is simple: a poet comes to town who has been wandering telling the story of the Iliad for a long, long time. We come to understand that this may be the one story he knows, his one trick, his livelihood over these many years. He is dressed as though he was the veteran of many wars, worn down by what he’s seen, maybe a little traumatized… or just someone who carries their possessions on the back. The blocking does a mesmerizing job is taking over the space of the ruins in a way that leads us to understand that entertaining in a new place every night is his job and he’s good at it. We are treated to a performance where the Poet often engages us as a fragile human directly in between narrations in the tradition of oral storytellers. At the same time, the part I loved the most was when you saw the complexities in the relationship between storyteller and story. When the teller commented or reacted to parts of the standard text. The characterizations of different characters with just simple facial movements was absolutely glorious.
In this production, the Iliad stands as the ultimate symbol of a story that venerates and glorifies war. By bending chronology, the show draws parallels between this and other more contemporary wars. There are comparisons made between ancient and modern contexts intermittently, sometimes more successfully than others. With diction that would make a drama teacher cry, Beilfuss is compelling as an unreliable narrator who clearly knows more about the story than he is prepared to reveal to us. The ambiguity of who he was to the story worked well in that it kept the audience trying to figure out how and why this Poet has come to tell this story over and over again like a litany, a sacred duty. The performance starts off feeling a little uncomfortable, while quickly moving into a passionate, fluid rendition which shows us how deeply the Poet still loves this story. The issue is not with the quality of the story, then, but what it represents. The question becomes: is it possible to keep telling a problematic story like the Iliad without simultaneously also glorifying the more horrific realities of war? This tension is where the production most sang.
One person shows are never easy, as can be testified by any person who has done any fringing. This show definitely struggled with some of the usual struggles of the one person show: slightly too long warming up, a lot of time with one actor, a struggle keep the tension feeling dynamic, difficulty breaking up the time so it feels vivid and active as opposed to stretching out. That said, this is a case where I feel strongly that I mostly hold the script accountable for the parts I didn’t love. It just wasn’t broken up enough and it needed some variations in rhythm in the second half. The moments where Poet’s fallible human-ness came out were delightful, such as drinking Athena-tequila and stretching out in the space. I feel like we could have used more of those to break up the Message, especially in the second half. What makes the Iliad compelling is the balance between human needs and big value concepts like Honour and Glory. I wanted more of the human part in the poet’s story to ground these big ideas.
I also have to call attention to the female representation, or lack there of. Andromache’s identity is centred around her concern for her husband, Hector. Fine, I could let that go. Presenting Helen as a bimbo who would like to seduce her husband’s brother when he’s already married… there was no excuse for an image that shallow. I’m not indignant as a feminist, I’m indignant because it’s bad storytelling. Once again, the ones I hold responsible here are the writers.
All that said, this is still a really cohesive show. The performance(s) are stellar. The costumes and sets are completely appropriate and do a great job of telling the story of weariness. It was also perfectly staged within the ruins to allow for movement and provide a beautiful context for telling this age old story. It was a solid, well crafted show that is well put together and worth seeing. If it got remounted, I would just suggest some tweaking of the script might be in order to maximize what could be an absolutely exalted show.
Firsts are important: first words, first names, first steps. They matter, not so much in and of themselves, but because they mark an initiation. They bring with them the traces of what is to come: a life full of conversations, years of identity, paths walked into strange and unimaginable places. All firsts matter.
That includes our relationship with what we love – people, places, and things. What we allow to impact our hearts and imaginations are the things that determine the direction our lives will go on to take. We have meet-cute origin stories with our partners and friends, so I would argue that we should also treasure those stories about how we were introduced to more intangible loves. Your favourite kind of food. The bar that makes you feel like home. Or maybe, in my case, theatre. Love doesn’t have to be all encompassing to matter. I have many loves: art mediums, people, stories, friends… but theatre has been an abiding one. I’m interested to look at how that first happened, and look at what it says to other people who want to induct their children into the world of the arts.
Although you do run the risk of creating artists. I’m sorry about that. In my defence, it kind of happens no matter what society tries to do.
I’ll take you back a… few… years to my grandparents’ basement. I was six years old and was fairly convinced that this place of books was actually magic. Besides, there were all of these leather bound tomes with old lettering and as far as I knew that made it proper magical material. The books I gravitated to hopelessly was a collection of green cloth bound volumes. I could tell that they were a series because my grandpa had taught me how to read roman numerals to help put books back in order after I pulled them off the shelves. My attraction was sensual: I liked the woodcut illustrations and the whisper of tissue thin pages. I was enchanted. I could barely read, but I knew I was in love.
As it just so happened, the books that had me so captivated were a collection of the works of William Shakespeare. My grandfather understood this to mean that I had fallen under the spell of the Bard, a most appropriate subject for an intellectual anglophile like himself. I have never been very good at accepting when things are too hard for me, so I went ahead and borrowed a book. My grandfather was never overly concerned with giving reading material over my age range, so he didn’t blink at the idea his six year old granddaughter wanted to read Elizabethan theatre. If it was important to my grandfather that I know and love Shakespeare clearly this was now my priority. I had a mission
I don’t remember how far I got with reading Shakespeare. However, what I do remember very well is that this experience happened around the time that MTC was putting on A Midsummer Night’s Dream and my new interest inspired my grandfather to take me. That is how I ended up sitting in the audience of MTC at my very first grown up play, a bawdy comedy about people screwing around in the woods. I don’t know that I appreciated iambic pentameter in any significant way. I can promise you that absolutely all of the double entendres went way, way over my head, including the stuffed unicorn Hermia held on to when Lysander wanted to snuggle up close. I got lost in the story pretty quickly, although my grandpa did his best to help me along.
That night is when I fell in love with theatre..
It wasn’t because of the “timeless universal appeal of Shakespeare” TM. I actually have some pretty strong opinions about the ethnocentrism inherent in calling anything universal. I wasn’t in love with Shakespeare, I was in love with the experience.
Imagine if you will that you are a child, someone who is constantly told that you can’t do things until you are older. Someone who sees the adults in your life doing things you don’t understand but you know that they care about it. There is a sense of powerlessness in childhood, of frustrated yearning for a future that will actually arrive way too soon in the scheme of things. But you, as the child, don’t know that.
Now imagine that one of your favourite adults invites you to come into their secret grown up world with them. They give you suggestions how to dress. They have conversations with you ahead of time about what to expect. Maybe they even remind you that this special event is going to happen really soon one day when they are over making you and your sister macaroni and cheese for lunch.
Then when they pick you up, they tell you about the magical ceremonial rituals of the Theatre. You must never talk once the curtain comes up. Clap when other people clap to show the actors that you appreciate their work. We will exit the world of the story once in a special time called “intermission”. This is when you can get a drink, or, if you are very lucky, an ice cream. We are quiet during the performance. Some wriggling is acceptable as long as you don’t stand up or disturb the people next to you. Once we sit down we NEVER get up. This is how you find your seat, see the numbers and letters? It’s a special code to locate you in the theatre. See these hard candies? You unwrap them in loud parts. Listen closely.
Wait for the curtain to rise.
I have an obsession with red theatre curtains which dates back to that night. I loved what they represented, a story that was about to come. I loved the sounds of the performance starting, and the whisper of curtains across the stage. I wanted to touch and look at everything in front of me, and also not get too close so as not to ruin the allure. My dream that night was probably to sew fairy wings for the theatre. (I was six) What was this strange new world in front of me? I couldn’t answer it, but I knew I was having big feelings that went beyond my ability to dissect the erotic gender play in Shakespeare’s plays. I mean, my interest in that theme would come eventually.
When I think about where my love of theatre comes from, it has very little to do with the actual play and everything to do with the ceremony that surrounded it. For me, what mattered was that my grandpa had trusted me enough to introduce me to something he considered important. He loved Shakespeare, so he believed that I was capable of loving him too. It was that simple. That was the trust he gave to a young child, to believe that she was able to understand and appreciate something important to him.
He showed me love by teaching me to belong in the audience. He showed me respect by believing that I was capable of learning the protocols. Before I learned that theatre mattered, I learned that I was worthy of being trusted with important knowledge. That is heady stuff to a young child who is more likely to be shown Sesame Street than Shakespeare.
The thing is, this whole introducing a child to the things you love doesn’t always work the way you want it to. My grandfather was obsessed with classical music and went out of his way to attend as many concerts as possible. Three of my cousins are professional classical musicians and I occasionally put on ballet music when I’m writing and need something without words. Not every love you have will catch in every child.
What matters is how you treat them, like they are special and full of possibilities. You never know which loves will resonant with which child, or why. What matters is that you take the time to induct them into something that you care about. Teach them that they are worthy of sharing what you love.
For me, theatre, literature and art are the passions that stuck with me. Being introduced to these things left me feeling loved and cherished. When I listen to people talk about sports, or camping, or any number of other things… I hear the same echos of being inducted into something that mattered to the adults in their lives. And that’s really beautiful.
Today was my grandfather’s birthday. If he was still around today I have no doubt he’d still be a fervent patron of the arts with subscriptions to all the theatre and concerts and operas and so on. My grandmother still is, and she’s 96. So many times when I produce art I wish he was here to see it. Maybe not the French language play about the guy with the magic penis… but the rest of it. I wish that he could know what all of his love and respect for that child I used to be meant to me, meant to the artist I later became. I think he understood on some level that it wasn’t enough for me to witness art, I needed to make it. I did decide I wanted to be a writer when I was eight, after all. I still want people in the arts to understand how important a role is played by people like my grandpa, and my grandma, who take on the work of fostering a future audience for the arts. Without them, the audiences would be much less rich.
I think about him a lot, especially when I go to MTYP with my niece to review plays. She had lots of exposure to theatre before me, but I try to make her feel like her opinion is important and valuable. Because it is. I want her to love theatre, but even more than that I want her to feel loved and respected and trusted with important things.
That feeling of magic he gave me has followed me throughout my life. I still get tingles before every performance starts. I prepare for shows by reading everything possible that’s available. And after all these many years, I still read my theatre programs cover to cover and go through every acting credit and director’s note as though they contained the formula for curing the common cold.
In his memory, I want to encourage anyone reading this to trust children with what they love. It doesn’t have to be theatre. Actually, it doesn’t even have to be your children. Just do that important work of taking time to show someone that they are loved, and that art is for them.
I miss my grandpa everyday. That said, I think that the most fitting tribute I could make to him is to share what I love with other people.
Shakespeare in the Ruins is starting their season off strong with As You Like It. This may very well be one of the lightest of his comedies. According to director Michelle Boulet “it’s kind of an escapist play, but oddly in that that’s where you get the huge heart and all the feels”. For all that there’s an evil Duke and some banishing in there, mostly it collects a bunch of loveable misfits in the Forest of Ardenes trying to have fun and find love. This production takes the story and makes it comfortable, lived in, like a favourite garment you found in a thrift store. Nothing is urgent, nothing is pressing – mostly you just have people being idiots and then untangling it in the end. It’s light, it’s fun and it feels like a literal romp in the woods, perfect for promenade style theatre.
Unfortunately tornado warnings meant that I couldn’t see the dress rehearsal. This is one issue with outdoor theatre: Mother Nature is the cranky VIP guest with veto power over whether the show goes on. This is the trade we make to get to watch stories unfurl in the real environment where the landscape gets to be a starring character. The audience also gets to enjoy the setting in a way they might not have gotten the chance to. This production made the excellent choice to position musicians posed at various places along which the audience walked to the next setting. Great risk, great rewards. In this show, it did make a difference having the scenes in the forest be in the forest. I was fortunate enough to catch Saturday’s evening show – along with my grandmother. After all these years of being taken to plays, it was kind of fun to be the one with the extra ticket. I like this gig.
It’s hard to talk about a production without referring to THE PLOT. So here is the plot that sort of matters: noble but uneducated Orlando escapes to the forest after winning a wrestling trophy because his brother, the duke, is going to kill him. In the meantime, another Duke’s banished daughter, Rosalind, is sent away from her uncle’s home. According to Liam Dutiaume, who plays Orlando, “one duke is kind of high and mighty tyrannical and the other duke has really let go of that sense of power and control and is just living freely”. Rosalind and her cousin Celia decide that the logical thing to do is disguise themselves as men and disappear into the same forest. Of course her gender bending allows her to interact with her love Orlando outside of the restraints of gendered behaviour, which she thoroughly takes advantage of. Along the way there are songs, memorable characters, and of course everything turns out perfectly.
The costumes and decor are based on HBO’s White Lotus. Even not having seen the show I could feel they hinted at a vacation ambiance, particularly once they get to the forest. There is a sense that where we are is not entirely the real world with its obligations and tyrannical codes of conduct. Instead, we’ve handed somewhere softer where people can bend the rules a little. The show seemed to be located in a comfortable place – no rigid period costumes and corsets here, just lots of comfortable clothing and lounge-style wear. Contemporary, but not trendy. There were cocktails and golf carts and a truly well executed piano bar. It gave off the sense that this place the characters have all escaped to is not entirely everyday life – there is an element of escapism which was well illustrated through costumes and sets. It feels like a show that you can really take your time with without being rushed, enjoying the dialogue and bits of ridiculous action all the more because it doesn’t take itself seriously. Leading you, if you’re willing, to question whether all these codes of conduct and gendered norms really deserve all the respect they are apparently given. As Liam Dutiaume explains, Orlando ” is falling in love with the same person no matter how they are presenting.”
À propos of nothing, the wrestling show with the Charles-es-es in costume fighting Orlando is worth it on its own. I’m not saying that wrestling costumes engage in gender bending… but the flamboyance of their outfits does highlight the gender play we are going to see a little later. And tutus aren’t that much more feminine than many wrestling costumes, which I can officially say having bartended more than one live match.
The characterizations were also a lot of fun. Actor Liam Dutiaume describes Orlando as having “heartfelt and earnest quality about him” and he is endearing as a guy with more potential than polish but all the good intentions in the world. Rosalind (Mallory James) on the other hand has the feel of always being a little more eager and excitable than her society would like her to be, both as a Duke’s daughter and as a woman. Her counterpart Celia (Honey Pham) is the perfect compliment, both sharing her ideals but also being able to counsel her into rationality from time to time. Duke Frederick is priceless as the caftan wearing dude who seems to be pretty okay living in exile. There are all these little characterizations that are potential in the script without being explicitly laid out, and it’s fun to watch them play out. Every character has their moment of whimsy and fun.
Some of my favourite moments were those in which Rosalind, in disguise as “Ganymede”, was interacting with Orlando and explaining to him what “Rosalind” needs from him. The character was so charming in that ridiculous track suit, clearly wanting to pounce on him but also kind of wanting to train him to be the man she wants long term. As someone who is chronically early, I really appreciated her training him to actually communicate when he was going to be delayed. (Although his excuse was more than a little plausible. )
Honestly, there isn’t a lot that I want to pick at about this production – not because it’s a perfect play, but rather because it’s just really cohesive. It promises escapism and it delivers it. It says it’s going to be fun, and it really is. There is some interesting commentary, but the message certainly doesn’t overwhelm the play. It wasn’t a transcendent experience at the theatre that I will be analyzing for years to come, but it’s a show I will think fondly of and smile at. If you want theatre, this is good theatre. It’s a pretty accessible introduction to Shakespeare where you don’t have to memorize any genealogies and sit through three acts of people being horrible human beings (Richard III I’m looking at you).
Although… Justice for Phoebe! She did not deserve to be tricked in marriage with someone she wasn’t into! #justiceforphoebe
Preparing to enter the world of Rattle. All photos taken with permission.
Rattle is the story of two sixties scoop survivors, Bobbie and Dan. Beyond that, it is the story of their family and the ways in which trauma never stops at only impacting one person. It’s also a love letter to the community that has been created in the North End, something talked about significantly less than the crime. For those who are unfamiliar with the term, the sixties scoop was when our wonderful and equitable and oh so friendly Canadian government literally took indigenous kids, often babies, forcibly from their parents and adopted them out into white Canadian families. It is an act of cultural genocide and deliberate traumatization which needs to be discussed in this country more than it currently is. Luckily for us, we have people like Root Sky Theatre Company to explore the themes in a meaningful and wonderfully human way.
Normally with a review, it makes sense to include a press photo. Something iconic that represents the show, which is what we want when we’re talking about it. This time it felt more appropriate to highlight the way in which the piece was made and presented that was distinctive. In an interview with director Charlene Van Buekenhout, she talked about all the ways in which the production was structured in order to be aware and supportive of trauma. For example, you can see in the pictures above that you were created by a drummer singing you in as you got your ticket. Right next to the stage there is a Safe Space with people available to help those who need extra support due to the experience of the play. They have water, and medicines, and people to talk to and help ground you. In other words, there has been every effort to make this a safe space to experience difficult feelings. No one is left to feel painful emotions alone. Which is compassionate, and smart, and honestly why isn’t this the way every theatre production deals with potentially traumatic themes? This effort of care would make this show noteworthy even if it weren’t an exceptionally good and well crafted piece, which it was.
When the story starts, Bobbie is off work due to having a cancer operation. Dan, who works for the MMF, is pushing her to get her child and family records and sign his petition to compensate sixties scoop survivors. While he burns with an evangelical fire, she is clearly more traumatized by this than the cancer, and unable to communicate with her friend as to why that is. Bobbie’s son Jordan loves his mother but struggles to understand her, is missing his deceased father while trying to assert independence from a parent with serious abandonment issues. In the other household, Dan’s wife Lena, a nurse, is desperate to move out of the North End and ensure their daughter Crystal’s future. Crystal, on the other hand, has inherited Dan’s sense of needing to stand up to injustice – even when it goes directly against the desires of her parents. Oh, and somewhere in the middle of this chaos Jordan and Crystal manage to fall in love in the sweetest and most authentic young love story I’ve seen in a long time.
Characterization is definitely the greatest strength of this piece. Which is no slight on the beautifully lived in set and on point costuming. Jordan and Crystal stand out as really good examples of North End teens with the strong sense of place and kick ass attitude you can often find in youth there. The writing is tight and evocative, giving every person the chance to be authentic and say their truths in a way that lets you know they have solid arguments… and yet… the real strength is that every well thought out sincerely held belief is presented as an only partial truth. For example, the dialogue given by Lena is absolutely brilliant. She is both incredibly caring, listens, and is somehow also insensitive to her family’s needs – while never being less than supportive of the sixties scoop case. That kind of moral complexity takes some real skill to capture, and it pays off.
One of the most effective contrasts in the piece is between the ways that Bobbie and Dan have dealt with their sixties scoop experience. Initially it seems like Dan has moved on from what he went through, got his papers and is now fighting the good fight. On the other hand, Bobbie struggles to be alone and refuses to look at her documents. As it goes on, this simple dichotomy gets muddied very quickly. We find out that Dan almost died going on a bender and abandoning his family when he got his court records. On the other hand, Bobbie is much more aware how this information could destroy her and protects herself – she has more self-awareness than Dan, even if it seems like she’s avoiding the truth. Bobbie’s refusal to see information hurts her, but Dan’s evangelical zeal to make everyone confront their past is just as problematic.
The through line is that all this personal emotional damage is the direct responsibility of the Canadian government, who doesn’t have to be there as individuals sort through the ways this has impacted their lives. Bureaucracy is a matter of cold impersonal paperwork, but the ways in which it impacts people’s lives is messy, painful and excruciating and most importantly re-traumatizing. Rattle calls for a more compassionate way of offering healing and reparations to survivors. Offering compensation is ineffective when it means that the person has to go through it again.
It’s hard not to describe this show as though it’s very serious, but the truth is the show isn’t even if the ideas are. It’s actually a lot of fun. It’s a sweet story of found community and people who are committed to each other. Of healing, love, and the power of community. By the time the end rolls around, I felt like I was watching the most satisfying best resolved happy ending in the world. Which is saying something, because on a federal level nothing has actually changed. At the same time, the characters in this story have built a world for themselves that is warm, loving, full of connections and laughter. It feels good, and it is very healing.
This production highlights my long held belief that some of the most exciting, creative and interesting theatre happening in Winnipeg is coming out of the indigenous community.
Disclaimer: this is not a review. This is a new project. Proceed accordingly.
Years and years ago, I was at the outdoor market at the Winnipeg Fringe Festival when a saw a Book. A Book I had been looking for most of my life and didn’t know it. It was big, and it was juicy and it had thin pages. It also had the word “Drama” on the cover, which if you follow astrology I am very into as a Leo. I had to have it, and $15 later I did. The back promised a selection of plays and essays following the history of theatre to the present. It seemed like, and still seems like, the coolest thing to me.
It did not occur to me that this was a textbook that people whine about having to buy, one that there are a million used copies of all out there in the world. As far as I was concerned it was a magic book to fill in the gaps of my life as a theatre goer. Well I had been lucky enough to experience a lot of theatre for my age, I knew enough to understand how little I knew. I had quietly let go of my not particularly serious interest in acting not so long ago, but nothing could stop me from loving theatre. I read that book reverentially. Every page turn was an act of ceremony.
I also never finished. I got to Bertolt Brecht, absurdism and breaking down the fourth wall, and then I got distracted by one of the hundreds of things that distract me throughout my life. I’ve always regretted that. It seems like it would be good to know some staple plays that get referenced regularly. I want to understand movements and change over time. After writing my own, I kind of just want to read more plays.
Which brings us to the present, my new project on the blog: I’m going to read the Bedford introduction to Drama and write about it. All the essays. All the plays. An exhaustive look at an intro textbook. Now, I understand that tastes change and work has been done to make survey textbooks more inclusive. All that said, I will be using the fourth edition for one very important reason:
(clears throat)
I already own it.
That’s it. No chasing around used book stores for newer editions. God forbid I spend $150 on the newest edition. I’m one woman over here chasing her love of theatre, and sometimes practical choices have to be made. Such as bribing your cats with treats to get good pictures for your blog since the derby babies haven’t learned how to cuddle me while I read yet…
Then there are other accommodations that have to be made sometimes. Having to move around my review schedule based on tornado warnings when I was booked for Shakespeare in the Ruins. Not making it to Rattle last night due to leaving my phone in an Uber. Waiting to start this project until I could 1) find the book, 2) finish the novel I was reading and 3) take time away from my play which is currently being rehearsed. At the end of the day, you just make it work. No one is going to suffer significantly if my review goes up with some delay.
So back to the blogging project: I’d ideally like to bring in other theatre compilations once I’m done this one. I have a two volume collection of Latin American plays I’d love to look at, for one. I’d also happily do a Michel Tremblay read along in French if I can get people to participate with me.
This is also a good time to say that if you would like to write for this blog, I may need some help this season. I got a new job connected to theatre which means there could be an issue of conflict of interest. If you want to write, I can arrange the ticket hook ups. Please feel free to spread the word.
Now, for the actual reading. Even if I can’t convince my cats to participate in the process.
One of the first shows I covered this year – A Merry Crip-Mas Panto by Sick+Twisted Theatre
It’s almost June and the main seasons of most theatre companies have been put to rest. Shakespeare in the Ruins is amping up to start, and you are beginning to hear the whispers of Fringe festival in the air. It’s a liminal time, where some work has had a chance to flourish but now lives in scrapbooks, it’s in between grant deadlines, and there is suddenly a chance to catch your breath. To anticipate. To obsess over next year’s seasons and think nostalgically about the ones you got to see – mostly great, but sometimes infuriating productions.
It’s been an intense year for me, and one where “theatre’ has been the overarching theme. With that in mind I wanted to reflect a little on my relationship with the craft. What brought me to it. Why do I so badly want to be in this world. What makes it matter to me so much to keep going with a project like this blog which is unpaid but requires a fairly substantial commitment of time and energy.
This year I not only started this blog, but I also began writing seriously for theatre for the first time in my life. Now my fringe play is being presented in July and I get to go to media calls where I get to ask about artistic choices and character motivations and I feel like I’ve won the lottery. I’ll talk more about writing another day. For now, I want to talk about what brought me here.
I have always loved theatre. My grandfather took me to an MTC production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream when I was seven and I’ve been hooked ever since. I love the ceremony of it. I get heart palpitations sitting looking at those red velvet curtains waiting to open up and reveal the new world.
When I was ten I wrote a play based on the make believe world of my dollhouse and dolls which was performed for the class. I think my teacher understood then how much I loved that world. She gave me “wine” (grape juice) and figs, the traditional gift in Athens for a comedy prize.
Then there was the production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream my cousin Brynne and my sister Dréa put on with our plastic horses. There were costumes, props, rehearsals, and not one single attempt to abridge the text. (Sorry mom)
Then I fell for Greek tragedy in junior high when I played the role of Hecuba in The Trojan Women. At no point did I ever feel the pull to be an actor, but this world felt incredibly… right.
Cue years of theatre classes. Obsessive volunteering for fringe one year as a teenager. Finding a first year theatre textbook used at Fringe festival for $15 and thinking it was the single greatest book I’d ever found. I read it from cover to cover, throughout the shifts of theatre history and the different movements. The more absurd the better. It blew my mind how much emotion you could embed in a conversation.
The ceremony of performance has always left me ecstatic. I loved the power of oral words. I loved the feel of language on your tongue. I feel a deep reverence for the craft no matter how lacklustre a single play might be. It’s why I love oral poetry and storytelling. There is something inherently sacred about the spoken word said with intention. I have always loved having conversations about what other people’s experiences of art have been. I genuinely enjoy reading arts coverage.
This is what brought me to reviewing back in 2009-2010 when I started to write for The Manitoban. I wanted to review the Black Hole Theatre Company season because no one else was doing it. It seemed important that a student newspaper cover student performances. Also, I felt then, as I still do, that I have enough love and respect for the art form that I could be constructive. My philosophy is that the least interesting part of a review is whether or not the reviewer liked it; ideally there should be enough to the text to interest anyone. More importantly, this was a way to be involved in theatre without being an actor. I could hear about and talk about the stage without needing to be on it. It gave me a way of participating in the world I had loved from a distance.
When I lived in Montreal, theatre was where I lived for a long time. Mainline Theatre and the Montreal fringe festival gave me a sense of community I hadn’t yet found in the university circles. I lived to bartend and do venue management. I adored those late nights where you’d stay up and go to the Main Deli or St Viateur bagels and keep talking. I made props and costumes and did some reviewing. Burlesque became a part of my life. I made things, so many things. For a while I thought I’d be a costume designer… there were a few chapters of that story when I moved back to Winnipeg I won’t get into.
This year has been a milestone, a point in time different than what came before it. What changed is that I decided to be involved with theatre on my own terms.For years I would sigh dramatically and wish that I could find somewhere to review again. Or that I could dabble around the edges of someone else’s production and be around theatre that way.
Like I was waiting for my crush to notice me.
And then one day, I stopped waiting. I realized that no one was gate keeping me away from theatre. No one was saying that I didn’t have a right to an opinion about productions. Even more amazingly, there is absolutely nothing to stop absolutely anyone from writing a play. Also, nothing to stop you from producing one either. Nothing. To be fair, to be a good writer you should probably read a lot, but it’s not like there is a magic formula of plays seen to plays written. Anyone can do it, if they just reach out and take the plunge and persevere.
The amazing thing is that this blog has enabled me to connect with all kinds of people in the theatre world from the screens of my own devices. A few days ago someone asked me how many followers I had, and I had no idea because I don’t check. I get excited when theatre companies share my reviews. I love being blurbed. And I feel special because almost every time I open my Instagram or Facebook I have new friend requests with people I didn’t add myself. When I think of growing the blog, I think of adding other writers, particularly francophone ones, and adding articles on theatre topics as well as the usual play reviews.
To me, that is an abundance I have only ever dreamed of.
Every time someone tells me they read my review, that means something to me. That is a small moment of meaningful connection we made to really process the art that we saw. We are paying for the performance with our undivided attention, our deliberate consideration, our emotional openness. A few times someone has said that a review of mine meant something to them personally – that’s even more amazing. We’re engaging in this conversation about this thing that we love, theatre.
It turns out that theatre was meant to be a crush. It is actually a deep and profound love. It is somewhere that I find a deep sense of belonging. It is somewhere I will continue to work, hopefully writing more plays, reviewing more shows, and even building more costumes and props. It is something that nourishes me, and also that is bigger than all the many small experiences I have had.
This life long love will evolve, and I am looking forward to find out how.
Rubaboo, as it is explained to us on stage, is the Michif word for stew – specifically the everything you have in your fridge and-or-pantry kind of stew. It is an appropriate name for this creation, described as a Métis cabaret, a performance experience which is not entirely a traditional theatrical play. You have music, both songwriting and traditional, storytelling, anecdotes, ceremonies, teachings about the four elements, and even some jigging. It’s not so much unified by a narrative thread as a link to Métis culture and identity. Also, Andrea Menard can sing. The creator and main performer of Rubaboo, has a voice on her that you feel in your bones. I’ve seen her act before in other productions and always been impressed, but her musical talents are worth experiencing. It is also a very elaborate production, between musical arrangements and small costume changes and a set which was stunningly beautiful.
For this particular show, I actually had three consultants; Skylar Bélanger, my usual plus one, and also Arianne Mulaire and Janet La France, two Métis friends who went to the dress rehearsal and consulted with me afterwards. In the same way as I try to get a child’s opinion of Manitoba Theatre for Young People shows, I wanted to get a Métis perspective on the cultural components of this show. Especially since they are advertised front and centre. Their opinions are shared with their full permission.
There were two central metaphors working through the show, often competing and at odds with each other. One was the stew mash up, and the other was the four elements. The ideas presented with the elements was symbolically stronger than that of the stew. For me the poetic descriptions of what elements did were some of the best parts of the piece. There was some discordance for me in that it felt strange to be hearing these ideas inside on a theatre seat instead of outside where I connect to the earth and process slowly and deliberately. Something I love about theatre is the ritual quality of a performance, in which energy builds and circulates between the actors and the audience. The energetic exchange felt odd in this show, as though it was just too many people and not enough intimacy for ideas to really soak in. On the other hand, I love that Menard used ritual within the theatre to frame the show, making use of that very dynamic. I think it needed to be tweaked to create the intimacy, but I love the concept and think it has potential.
Everyone in my theatre-going gang agreed that the show was uneven, but interestingly enough there was some disagreement as to where the weak spots were. For me it was tone, in that there weren’t enough dynamic shifts within the night. I also found that the storytelling pieces weren’t up to par, which is worth mentioning because I love oral storytelling enough I considered going to grad school to study it. On the other hand, Skylar wasn’t crazy about the songwriting pieces, saying that they all kind of sounded like 90’s folk. That’s my jam, so it didn’t bother me. On the other hand, my Métis friends had issues with the historical part, claiming that there were some factual errors. Also, the issues brought up tended to be pan-indigenous as opposed to specific to the Métis legacy.
Common consensus is that the goose song was delightful, if historically improbable. No notes on the fiddling, jigging or traditional drum songs either.
There is an issue that needs to be addressed, and that is representation. Watching this piece, it felt very clear that this was directed towards a largely non-indigenous audience as Menard repeatedly offers cultural explanations throughout the show. There is nothing wrong with that, but it did feel a lot like it was making indigenous culture palatable for white people in a way that was non-threatening. That is a really complex issue, which I probably shouldn’t mention – except that it also seems really important to acknowledge. This feels like the kind of show that doesn’t challenge people and get in their faces about complicated political or historical truths, meaning that audience members can walk out without having to in any way confront their own biases. Is this making culture accessible in a positive way, or a cop out that lets people feel good about themselves and how progressive they are? I don’t know. It’s not my culture so this is not where I have a horse in the race, but it is worth thinking about.
This is a case where I love the fact that this piece exists more than the piece itself. I want to see more artists playing with format, indigenous written and performed pieces, shows that play with the ritual side of theatre. For me, the part that I wanted more of was eclectic nature of a true cabaret show, something with a variety of visions and performances. To me that’s what the genre means. Andrea Menard is wonderful, but she presented one vision and one style of theatre. I just wanted more diversity. It was fun, the music was beautiful, and there was a lot to love… but this wasn’t one of my favourites this year.. And honestly, I’ve been looking forward to it since I first saw the poster last summer.
This review also marks the end of this year’s main theatre season. I will be around covering summer productions but not Fringe, as I’m presenting my first play this year.
Thank you for reading, and I look forward to being back reviewing in September!
Curtains Up Winnipeg 