• 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.

    Thank you for being part of my journey.

  • Andrea Menard (Photo by Dahlia Katz)

    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!

  • Photos courtesy of Little Onion Puppet Co. (Chelsea Stuyt Photography)

    From the sanctuary of her living room at home, a young girl waits for her videographer father to come home. As she watches his footage, she dreams longingly of seeing the Arctic world and its animals he films. When he leaves again, she stows away with him to witness this wilderness for herself. Told through some truly spectacular puppetry, projections, sounds and truly beautiful choreography, it demonstrates how emotional puppet performances can really be. Created by Little Onion Puppet Company out of Vancouver, the story is based on the real life experience of a cast member following their father through the Arctic wilderness in search of footage. If you love puppets anywhere as much as I do, this is a much watch. It is an incredibly cohesive piece of theatre with not one gesture or prop out of place.

    There is parallel drawn beautifully between the potential unknown of the wilderness and the daughter’s relationship with her father. The domestic sphere is beautifully illustrated with an adorable dog puppet, a TV and the sofa. he young girl is at first distanced from him by his trips to the Arctic, and at the same time longs to know both him and the land he loves, demonstrated by her repeated perusal of his video footage. The sounds and body language used for the father puppet manage to convey that he very much cares for his child but is also not good at expressing this affection in a way she understands. He also keeps her at a distance at home, leaving her to try to understand her parent through his work. When she escapes to join him (I think in his suitcase), you see the breakdown in these two separate worlds as the girl learns to live in this new landscape. The ending gives a wonderful resolution to their relationship dynamics and leaves you feeling hopeful that these two can learn to understand each other going forward.

    We also just need to talk about the puppets, What is amazing about this show is how well their technical choices worked within the larger story. For example, the girl and her daughter moved in recognizable ways where you could tell the difference between rushing, strolling calmly, or even negotiating rocky terrain by how their legs were used, and moods by the movements of their head. . The Arctic wilderness was very much the third character in the story. At the same time, every animal from owl to lemming to bear was constructed in a way that was true to their actual behaviour. This much attention to detail felt like a true homage to the natural environment that inspired it.

    Once again, with me I had Eli the children’s theatre consultant for a younger perspective. She said that it was “really cool and interesting” and that she “would prefer if there was more talking to get the story across”. She also had the interesting perspective that the show was “what (the girl) was imagining while looking at her dad’s videos that imagining she was there as well”. Eli ranked it as between “good” and “very good”, if only because she’s seen shows that she likes better this season. This is the first time we’ve really disagreed, if only because I absolutely loved it and thought this was the best show of the year.

    This is an example of a very specific kind of beautifully crafted theatre you often only see in children’s theatre. It’s slow, deliberate, conscious of every visual moment, and hits emotional notes that just can’t be reached through a madcap script. As I watched it, I was reminded of Théâtre Cercle Molière’s production of Cet été qui chantait. It has that same sense of giving you a chance to feel and be present in the theatre. When you have a show like this, it breaks down the cultural obsession with rush and non-stop action. We need that. Not only is this a beautiful show, it is also a necessary one.

    Add Little Onion Puppet Company to the list of groups I will be keeping my eyes peeled for.

  • This musical is based on a larger than life trip, a woman named Annie Londonderry who cycled around the globe in 1895, collecting sponsorships and giving lectures. Annie is at the newspaper to give a pitch for a regular newspaper column about her adventures. When she discovers the slide machine is out of commission, she enlists Martha, the secretary, to act out various scenes. It’s a story full of pomp and pageantry, designed to sell headlines, inspire people and make Annie a big star on the international stage. This show is based on real life events – more or less. This is also a lot more bare bones than you might imagine for a musical. Normally the word “musical” evokes giant casts and elaborate set changes. Instead, we are treated to two talented performers, Berkley Silverman as Annie and Colleen Furlan as Martha, taking on the whole narrative by themselves. Berkley Silverman in particular absolutely shone as Annie. In the initial scenes I was prepared to dislike her but the performance made her irresistibly charming in spite of her foibles.

    This show is beautifully efficient from the perspective of stagecraft. The costume changes are few but highly meaningful, and the set and prop work was absolutely bang out. Nothing distracted. At all moments the stage had exactly what it needed to tell the story. Every piece of furniture was multipurpose, and the transitions were done in such a way that they built the story itself. The idea of the screen projected in the background was creative, but I found the actual images were a little hit and miss. For example, the palm tree scene came across as 90’s clip art versus a lush middle eastern paradise. On the whole, I decided that for me these discrepancies reflected Annie’s tendency to want to make things more idealized, maybe even exaggerated, than they actually were. She wants to present a professional slide show about a perfect trip, but she will make do with enlisting the secretary to act. She would like to be knowledgeable enough to be able to give lectures on academic subjects, but barring that she’ll just jump in and give it what she’s got. It makes her both charming, while also not entirely trustworthy. Exploring that line is where this show excels.

    What makes it interesting is that the show ends up being less about the big postcard-worthy moments of her trip, and more about the identity formation she undergoes as part of this project. The exploits of Annie take second stage to how Annie Londonderry made herself into a media darling. In spite of how her story changes, what remains constant is her indomitable enthusiasm for facing down challenges and taking on a new adventure. At first she presented (to me at least) as exceptionally entitled, a person who felt that she could order around Martha, the secretary, the moment she found out Martha was a big fan. As it goes on, she grows more nuanced and complex. For example, she has to make fundamental changes to her travelling style for cycling to be feasible which take her further away from the feminine ideal of the time. At the same time, her back story flips around faster than that of an Instagram influencer, leading us to wonder who the person is behind the facade. By the time we find out, we are deeply invested and ready to accept her as she is – in spite of, or maybe because, she seems unable to do this for herself.

    It is worth mentioning that this show changed my friend’s mind about musicals. She was under the impression that she didn’t like any of them, mainly informed by Wicked (such a waste of nice costume design). Instead, she found that this show left her humming tunes and feeling overall optimistic about the world. I was charmed by the exploration of identity and how that interacts with capitalist notions of success and achievement. Not to mention the place of Jewish identity at the turn of the twentieth century. I actually thought that ethnicity and cultural identity was a thread they could have woven in a little deeper, but the revelation scene was absolutely perfect. To sum up, we both liked it a lot. It was fun and made us think without leaving the theatre with a furrowed brow.

    I do think it’s important to note that travel isn’t that much of a theme in this show. If you are recommending this to someone as a female version of Around the World in 80 Days, they may be disappointed. On the other hand, it is a great investigation of female identity and how they can both break and conform to expectations at the same time. It’s a fun show to bring your grandmother to (or at least I know mine would love it). It’s not going to break boundaries or change your life, but this is an afternoon well spent that will leave you continuing to hum tunes a few hours later.

  • Dress rehearsal of Manitoba Opera’s production of Mozart’s “Marriage of Figaro” at the Centennial Concert Hall in Winnipeg April 16, 2026. Photo © Robert Tinker 2026

    Opera. If you ask most people, they will describe it making reference to grand spectacles and big voices. Those in the know might hum a few bars of Ride of the Valkyries or Carmen’s habanera solo, a testament to how deep the operatic tradition is integrated into our culture. If the vast majority of people are honest, more than a few will tell you they got most of their information from Bugs Bunny cartoons…Everything about opera is grandiose. Those who want to mock it talk about its melodramatic storytelling and over the top spectacle, little understanding that these are the things that draw opera fans in. Opera is divisive, but it also an art form that offers an emotional complexity rarely found elsewhere. In other words, you really have to experience it for yourself. Simply hearing a few bars of an aria on a car commercial is not enough to appreciate everything that goes into this strange and complex world.

    Manitoba Opera Company is going to be opening The Marriage of Figaro tomorrow. This is one of those classic pieces from the opera canon that can usually be guaranteed a good audience. What’s not to like? Mozart wrote the musical score, which is both beautiful and charming. Then we have the story of Figaro and Susanna, a couple of servants for the count who are getting married. Except that the count is a little too enthusiastic about getting close to Figaro’s bride… cue the chaos. It is one of those shows my classical music loving grandfather would have pinpointed as a good introduction to the genre. It’s light, it’s fun, it’s a little risqué and you don’t need to much background knowledge to enter into the world of the characters.

    Opera is also a really interesting example of something that is essentially multilingual. Which is something of interest here at a bilingual theatre blog. Written by a writer and artist who is a bonified language nerd.

    Take The Marriage of Figaro for one. Here we have a show which is based on a French stage play, La folle journée, ou le Mariage de Figaro by Beaumarchais. Got that? French origins. Then it gets turned into an opera libretto in which song lyrics are written… in Italian, by Lorenzo Da Ponte. Then the music gets written by Mozart, an Austrian whose native language is German. Finally, this show becomes so popular over time it travels all over the world to audiences who don’t speak Italian. Which means that when you are sitting in the audience at the opera in Winnipeg, this show has already gone through four separate languages to reach you. Tell me that isn’t a little bit cool?

    I recently had the opportunity to talk to Manitoba Opera’s Director of Production Sheldon Johnson who writes the projected English translations for the show. These are the texts that indicate the content of what the singers are singing, or what allows an English speaking audience in Winnipeg who would like to, as Johnson explains, “take away something from from the experience of seeing the show more than just listening to the pretty music … they are essential in following the story” As our interview made abundantly clear, they are an absolutely integral part of the opera viewing experience, something that allows people to connect across languages, culture and even time.

    You might be interested to discover that there is a lot more to surtitles than projecting a few words on a screen. Back in the day when opera companies began using them, they were physical slides which were purchased or borrowed from other opera companies. In other words, smaller productions were at the mercy of the big houses that had the budget to create them and then make small tweaks as needed. Nowadays, they are created on a Power Point which makes it easier to adapt text as needed. This is important as many companies may choose to shorten longer shows or make other tweaks as needed. This is show biz, after all.

    For this production, it is the exclusive work of Sheldon Johnson to make them. Which is not as simple as it may seem. Ask any multilingual person, poetry and song lyrics are by far the hardest things to translate. Nuanced metaphors and the subtleties of words just don’t like getting crunched into a foreign vocabulary. Forget the fact there is a whole story going on that needs to be communicated and there is not a lot of space. Then the audience doesn’t have a lot of time to read without straining their necks. Not to mention the sheer amount of repetition in operatic librettos means a word-for-word translation would leave you feeling like the Power Point is broken. Or that there are often multiple singers singing at the same time and “when when you have uh six people on stage all singing different words at the same time you have to you know figure out who’s saying the most important thing”. Also, for a medium with a grandiose emotional palette, there are a lot of songs with incredibly trivial lyrics.

    In other words, surtitles are just as much of an art form as costumes, set design, props, vocal arrangements and all the other things that make opera happen. Nobody would want a Google translated text (also Google translate should be used sparingly but I will leave that lecture for later). What we want is the essentials, the key bits that help us understand the narrative as we are watching the show without losing our immersion in the operatic world. Johnson uses word for word translations done by others as reference, but ultimately has to break down what needs to be said when in consideration of the music. He explains that the job would be impossible to do without a knowledge of music as the surtitle maker needs to consider where in the song is an appropriate time to cue the next one. It responds and engages with the music to keep people’s attention where it should be: on stage.

    Then there is the actual job of using surtitles during a production. This is the time where “somebody has to sit there and follow along and advance to the next slide” in response to the pace of the singers and the rhythms . Every single cue is written out. Every single performance is made possible by a human being sitting in the back clicking along slides, a job which requires intense focus and the ability to adapt. It requires a sensitivity to both the music and the performance. Not exactly a passive device; this is skilled work.

    In this time in the world, there is a lot of talk about all the things we can delegate to AI. Thankfully, there are still places like surtitling that require a very human ability to respond and adapt beyond the capabilities of any random generator. There is no substitute for live performance, the raw feeling of being in the presence of other humans creating an intangible story just for you. There is no computer equivalent of sharing the experience of being in an audience that has seen something magical. And interestingly enough, there is no real substitute in the opera for a human being figuring out what text you need to follow the story. It requires judgement and creativity.

    Opera is an amazing example of an art form where the experience of going in person is incomparable. If you can open yourself to it, it’s possible to feel something profound. This is rich artistic tradition full of grandiosity and frivolity, improbable stories and touching moments of intimacy.

    Not to mention the pretty songs. Those are good too.

  • Photo: Suzanne O’Neill

    Four performers descend the stairs into a mysterious space full of storage crates. Some preliminary flexes with visuals cues you in to the fact that lights are going to be another actor in this show. In vibrant coloured costumes, the characters undertake a journey of discovering the mysterious space. They open one box and then another, interacting with what it revealed before passing to the next. It was nicely paced, starting from small vignettes and then moving to more choreographed dance numbers. At its best children’s theatre is exploratory and sensory in a way adult theatre stops short of and this was very much in that tradition. It was also very Montréal in its blend of physical theatre, dance, contortion, and general multidisciplinary multimedia goodness. It is breathtaking how much skill it takes for a production to come across as this playful. It is an extremely cohesive piece.

    This time I was fortunate enough to see the show with not only Eli, my usual children’s theatre consultant, but also her brother William and my best friend. What was interesting in comparing our experiences was how diverse our interpretations of what happened in the show. We all agreed the performers were playing, exploring and trying things out, but beyond that we disagreed about where it was situated. To me it was the basement of a theatre, but Eli figured it was a warehouse and William was sure it was in their grandparent’s house. Whatever we saw in it, it speaks to the power of their descent into the performance space. There are very few words, but you don’t miss them.

    When I say the lighting stole the show, this is no slight to any of the performers – it was just that good. I’ve never seen another production use lights in such an interactive way where you have people dance with beams and within structures. According to Eli, ““It’s very cool and fun how they used the lights to enhance the story… I honestly don’t know (what it reminded me of) because it was a whole thing of it’s own”. The interactivity gave the show the feel of a video game in which you had to “resolve” problems to move on. This combined well with the kinetic scenes to create something completely one of a kind. It was also hard to get bored because there was always something new and wacky around the corner.

    Both children’s consultants ranked it as “Good”, although Eli specified that she preferred Tad and Birdy. It’s worth mentioning that the two other kids we were with also gave it a thumbs up. What I did notice though was that Eli didn’t have the sense of raw delight in the show that I’ve seen in her before. That also fits with my feelings. This is innovative, skillful, smart and fun, but for me it lacked the emotional core that makes a show really exceptional to watch. I’d almost more recommend it for adults who like physical theatre and non-verbal narratives just because it is so well made and beautifully constructed. Still, if you have a screen addicted youngster this show may just have the right kind of storytelling for this generation. And you get to admire the skillful performances!

    Besides, as William said: “anything is better than doom scrolling”.

  • Photographer: Joey Senft (@jsenftphotography)

    Pictured: Laura Olafson, Arne MacPherson, Gislina Patterson, Honey Pham

    In the intimacy of a woman’s living room, she (Laura Olafson) receives an all important phone call. The writer of an advice column she loves is leaving for other things and wants her to take over as “Sugar”. In spite of the fact she doesn’t get paid and has countless other obligations to deliver on, she says yes. This opened up my first question, which was what terrible publication is profiting on the free emotional labour and well, labour, of this woman. Not to mention where are these heartfelt anonymous messages coming from. Nevertheless, the rest of the production takes the form of a variety of letters to and from Sugar, delivered by Arne McPherson, Ghislina Patterson and Honey Pham as various anonymous writers. The movement is fluid, the emotion is real and the performances are incredibly solid. Laura Olafson in particular gives a soulful performance of a woman who is just trying to help in spite of her chaos, and is painfully aware of the limitations she is under.

    The choreography and staging of this show kept your eye engaged and interested. The costuming kept your eye centered on Sugar without making her too distinctively alien from her correspondents. As Sugar answers questions, she does household chores in the intimacy of the home. The letter writers are treated as guests she is inviting into her home and addressing directly. This device worked well to capture the intimacy of the interaction between strangers. It also allowed Sugar to speak from her own place of truth on her own, as she essentially imagines these readers she will never know.

    This exploration of intimacy between strangers was effective, but I found that I wanted something to break up the pace. The way it’s set up right now, Sugar is just the Wisest (White) Woman Ever (TM). Her responses are well planned, articulate, and blend personal experience with hard won common sense. She is often poetic, always empathetic, and she hands down gets all the best lines. Her correspondents mostly treat her with reverence and deep respect. Which is where it fell for me a little. I would have loved to her the replies to her letters so see how these dialogues continued.

    For me, the script is the weakest part of this production, much as it was in RMTC’s The Last Wife. The staging was fabulous, the performances were great, costumes and set were intelligent and well considered, and it hits some serious emotional notes. Unfortunately, the rhythm of “letter read, letter answered” was never broken up. When it hit well, the quiet intimacy was thoughtful and meditative. When it didn’t, it was plodding and repetitive. Add to which, I found that the letters chosen were relatively uncontroversial ones where there is reasonable social agreement what the right answer to give is. I wanted to hear her struggle with what to say to writers. Figure out how to respond to grief and pain appropriately. Even just take some still quiet moments doing household chores before she figures out what she wants to tell them. I wanted to see something more raw than I did.

    At the end, it received a standing ovation. Leaving the theatre, I could hear people talk about how much they appreciated it. This show was another one where I was struck watching it how meaningful it could be for an audience member who isn’t me. I’ve been there before, and I try to be fair enough in my assessments you can figure out if you would love what I am ambivalent about. It’s important to acknowledge that. Kind of like how I need to explain to people that their mom’s banana bread could be the world’s best but since I loathe bananas, I won’t like it.

    This is solid warm gooey feel good banana bread. It employs the discourse of self-help. It explores the intimacy of strangers turning to each other for guidance. It is well paced and beautifully staged. I hope that there are lots of people out there who enjoy this more than I did. And at the end of the day, I am so grateful to be in the privileged position of seeing so much theatre I have developed preferences. Feel free to argue with me in the comments.

  • Amelia Sargasson as Katherine Parr, photo by Dylan Hewlett

    Marry Henry VIII when you’re madly in love with someone else and your country is in absolute political and religious turmoil and the only heir is a sickly boy? What could possibly go wrong? Or right? The Last Wife tells the highly fictionalized story of Katherine Parr, the as mentioned last wife of Henry VIII, and how she impacted the royal milieu she was thrust in. If you know anyone who reads historical fiction by the stack, loves Shakespeare interpreted in modern times, or is just really deep into all things tudors – they probably need to know about this piece. It will play delightfully to an older audience who had this history drilled into their heads. Or, unfortunately, anyone who thinks stories from European history automatically have ‘universal appeal’ and expect that most people know them. Be aware that this show is not going to hit as hard if you don’t have some background knowledge going in.

    Katherine Parr is not yet a widow when the story begins. Actually, point of fact she’s waiting in the wings for her elderly husband to die so she more openly embrace Thomas Seymour. Unfortunately the boorish Henry VIII comes around to literally present her with an offer she can’t refuse, although she does try to negotiate a little. The deal is she has to educate his heir, Edward, and you know, do all those good female things including sex. Their relationship grows both closer, more intimate, and (in my opinion) significantly more messed up, but of course nothing and no one is a match for Katherine the Great! Wait… wrong historical period… She even gets Henry, or ‘Hal’ to accept his daughters as legitimate! While offering some very saccharine 1950’s style messaging about how they are ‘a family’ now. (I mean, Tudor families continually try to kill each other, so I don’t think that word meant or means what you think it does). Also, because Katherine is just that amazing, she also does smart things in the war and everyone comes to appreciate her. Including Thomas Seymore, who is with us until the end. Spoiler alert: she changed history and made everything better for women. Standing ovation time. Cue the sales at McNally for history and historical fiction books about the Tudors. This show will make a lot of people happy. And the cast and crew deserve that, because they created a solid cohesive show where everyone does their part.

    The events are grounded in historical fact but located in the present. The scenery hits notes of Tudor, but the costumes and dialogue are pure modern. This aspect of the show was very effective. Like a really good Shakespeare adaptation, it drew the events and tensions into conversations about the modern day. Also, it was aestheticaly pleasing. The costuming of Katherine Parr was particularly effective, as she was always dressed in clean lines and deceptively simply cut dresses which created contrast between the fussy detailing of other characters. It made her stand out as exceptional -more about that later. Generally every character stuck to a single colour, making them striking against the stark beauty of the set. I particularly like the shifts between Elizabeth’s frilly white girly dresses towards cleaner and more adult expressions. I hated what they did with the character of Mary Queen of Scots, but I thought her gothic lace and crucifix were on point.

    Also, Henry VIII is uncomfortably humanized. And surprisingly willing to be led by her, although the show does seem to suggest this is more to do with her being really pretty than her brains. (Sorry but they did not sell me on that one) The acting offers solid interpretations of each character which work with the story the show is telling. It’s also a great show to throw a big production budget at. The direction is great. The costumes and set are great. The acting is on point. My technical brain delighted in all the little nuances brought into everything. And yet.

    Where they lost me was with the script itself. And yet I found the play itself so profoundly irritating that they lost me fairly early on. My friend and co-critic Skylar Bélanger was in fine form with the quips, but I think his most on point might have been ‘white woman girl boss feminism’. I was deeply annoyed with how perfect and smart and capable Katherine was. Watch how beautiful and elegant she is! Look, she’s educated and writes books! Oh, she tamed the terrible Henry VIII into someone tolerable! She treats his leg with advanced science! She becomes a mother to royal orphans who now love her so much! Now she’s got strategic smarts! What a woman! Let’s seriously not talk about how her power comes from manipulating her husband with her beauty, and ok, some brains. This is not the feminist achievement we want to believe.

    I am so incredibly bored with stories about exceptional heroic impossibly capable people. It feels like a superhero comic for people who wouldn’t be caught dead reading superhero comics. It’s boring, and it’s a tired narrative device, and I want something else. Honestly, she WAS a product of her time, because we all are. What would be wrong about actually examining how women at the time lived without making her into what people want a modern woman to be? Why aren’t characters allowed to have realistic human limits? Especially ones that are based on historical figures?

    So there you have it. This play is both well constructed and beautifully executed… while also telling a story that makes me absolutely crazy with its abuse of tired old tropes about AMAZING and EXCEPTIONAL women. I am an extremely strong feminist and want nothing more than stories with a female perspective. This does not meet that need. I want emotional honesty and nuanced characters. That is not met by just taking one of a handful of already known historical women and making her an unrealistic paragon of all things amazing and womanly.

    Everyone in this production deserved a better script.