Curtains Up Winnipeg

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.