Tag: theatre

The Nisei and the Narnauks whimsically tackles difficult historical themes

I trudge through the land of ice and snow: Montreal. I arrive at the point promised: the Maison des arts interculturels (MAI). I sit in the front row of a theatre full of people, eyes fixed on a scene which will unfold. As the lights fade we—the usher beside me, the actors on stage, the director in the back row—all fall into the dreamworld of this play. In the dark, a pact is made. We suspend our disbelief. We believe. We dream.

We are introduced to a young girl on a quest to tell the story of her grandmother’s journey home from a World War II Japanese-Canadian internment camp. As Kimiko relives a time of great hardship, injustice and strife, we follow her hopeful young soul on a magical voyage through the mysterious Canadian woods to return to her sick grandmother. Along the way, she meets a valiant and funny sidekick, Raven: a “Narnauk” or magic spirit. Together they face impossible odds, defeat misunderstood rabbit-eating villains and even make a few friends. The rest? You will have to go see for yourselves!

The show is impeccably presented, joining theatre, music, song, dance and puppetry. Altogether it weaves a story-telling tapestry that we, story-listeners, crave like a warm campfire in a winter storm. Each puppeteer sacrifices body and soul (but mostly body, as the actors tell me) to breathe life into every moment of the beautifully crafted puppets’ roles in the play. Eventually, the line between puppet and actor is so blurred that we believe in talking ravens, wolves and magic spirits.

I recommend this show for story-listeners of all ages and walks of life. It opens up the discussion of a long-forgotten dirty secret of Canadian history and leaves hope for future forgiveness. If you want to warm your hearts, minds, bodies and souls, head down to the MAI for The Nisei and the Narnauks by Paul Van Dyck until Feb. 22.

Malcolm X tells Martin Luther King Jr. that he had a dream, then smirks and says “Oh, I’m sorry. That’s your line.”

Racial prejudice and the struggle for human rights brought about bloodshed, angst and struggle. The leaders who fought against racism, held onto the hope that there would be better days. Blending frustration with comedy, The Meeting gives the audience a unique interpretation of the famous leaders.

Black Theatre Workshop presents a new twist to the stories of Malcolm X and King in The Meeting, which tells the tale of a fictional encounter between the two activists.

Directed by Quincy Armorer, the plot centers on the imagined dynamic between Malcolm X (Lindsay Owen Pierre) and King (Christian Paul) who, in reality, only met briefly. Written by Jeff Stetson, it also stars Kareem Tristan Alleyne as Rashad, Malcolm’s bodyguard.

The play situates this meeting by having King go to Malcolm X’s hotel room on the night his house was firebombed.

They vibe with one another from the start, frequently joking about the other’s views. The conversation soon gets heated and a debate on violence and non-violence erupts. Each character becomes defensive as they try to prove the legitimacy of their stance to the other.

This script is filled with comedy, impassioned speeches, witticisms and metaphors. It succeeds in presenting a completely different picture of the two activists — far from the one found in schoolbooks and historical footage. The characters appear as ordinary every-men, who sing, get angry and even arm wrestle. Though they despair over their differences, they end up respecting one another.

At times, however, the writing misses in achieving this interpretation. The metaphors become too frequent and the frustration is not always believable.

Paul’s portrayal of King’s spoken voice is flawed in many ways. His accent sounds forced and continuously speech-like. Dialogue that should have sounded like an unpolished, off-the-cuff conversation ends up resembling a prepared address.

Pierre provides a more realistic portrait and succeeds in highlighting Malcolm X’s emotions and mannerisms.

Another interesting element are the scenes between Pierre and his bodyguard Rashad. Alleyne, whose role is his acting debut, delivers a good repertoire with Pierre and depicts a fiercely protective and friendly bodyguard.

The stage setting is modest and includes a couch, a chessboard, a few small tables and a makeshift window and balcony. The stage is also in close proximity to the audience, which serves to include the viewer in the intimacy of the scenes.

The play highlights some of the main difficulties these activists faced in their plight and some of the main themes of their agendas. A non-violence stance emphasizes love, peace and unity. The violence view brings up the white man, injustice and self-defense. The debates were peppered with some dramatic pauses that were included for effect, to echo sentiments of frustration, anger or sadness. There are times and places where this tension worked, and didn’t in others. King and Malcolm X come together, however, during discussions of power and the pursuit of it.

The Meeting runs until March 1 at The Segal Centre’s Le Studio as part of Black History Month.

Online: This review belongs with the rest of Black History Month articles.

Everyone knows the story of Peter Pan. It is the story of a boy from Neverland who wouldn’t, or couldn’t, grow up. While many are familiar with Peter Pan, or rather they know the 1953 Disney adaptation, this simplified version of the story is a far cry from J.M. Barrie’s original play and the novel that followed.

The McGill Players’ Theatre production of Peter Pan is an homage to Barrie’s narrative and the themes, both dark and light, which are ever-present in this whimsical story.

The action begins in the nursery of Wendy, John and Michael Darling who embark with Peter on an adventure they won’t soon forget. Along the way they encounter the lost boys, a mischievous fairy named Tinkerbell and the nefarious pirate, Captain Jas Hook.

The first thing you will notice upon entering Players’ black box theatre is the man sitting in the front row on the corner. He wears a red velvet smoking jacket and introduces himself to all who pass by as Barrie. He is of course playing the role of the playwright and he does so with the grace and youthful enthusiasm for which the man himself was famous.

Mark Weissfelner, who plays Barrie as well as operating a set of bells signifying Tinkerbell, is a delight to watch. His dialogue comes largely from the script’s extensive stage directions as well as blocks of text that are pulled from the novelization of Peter Pan.

Director Kelly Richmond was responsible for compiling the additional narration as well as including several elements found within later adaptations of the play.

“The play text, the script itself, is intended for children. And then you have the stage directions and the novel, which are very adult and […] are communicating a lot about mortality and sexuality,” explained Richmond. “So that was the goal with this production — to take those elements and put them into the dialogue.”

Continuing with the theatrical tradition of casting Pan as a woman, Becca Pearl plays the part exquisitely. Her portrayal of the timeless boy is effortless, ethereal and poignant.

With Pearl representing the forces of light and youthful innocence, Maka Ngwenya is just as potent in her portrayal of the black-hearted Hook.

Ngwenya, who also plays the matriarch of the Darling family, brings a fresh face and presence to the much-storied character.

The design of the production reflects the whimsical nature of the show while sticking to the basic constraints of a black box space.

“I really like black box because I think it really encourages suspension of disbelief and this idea of letting go and stepping back and saying ‘this is my imagination, let me project into it.’ So that’s sort of why we went for something more minimal,” said Richmond.

The play is at times funny, painful and joyous, as the themes in this classic coming-of-age story intertwine to create something truly magical.

Peter Pan runs from Feb. 26 – March 1. Tickets are $6 for students. They can be reserved online at ssmu.mcgill.ca/players/reservations.

You are a good person. You guide your life by moral principles; you eat green, do your recycling and even refuse to own a car and a cellphone. Oh, and you’re an atheist. Then, out of nowhere, comes a female God who decides to put your  convictions to the test by hitting you with all kinds of adversities.

Such is the plot of The Book of Bob, a present-day adaptation of the Hebrew Bible’s Book of Job. The poor soul put to trial is Montrealer, Bob — a middle-aged McGill professor who teaches Dostoevsky’s writings on morality and faith.

Suddenly, Bob’s stable life is bombarded in all directions by the caprices of a female deity. A student files a formal complaint against him for mistreating her in front of the entire class; his wife is diagnosed with colon cancer; his son is selling weed and his father commits suicide.

The play explores how Bob’s righteous self-image is ultimately challenged, and leaves it to the spectators to decide for themselves the authority of faith in one’s life.

Distinguished Montreal-raised actor, Ron Lea, plays the role of Bob. His talent overflows the stage with wit, perception and confidence. He is definitely convincing in his portrayal of Bob and his charismatic performance makes it easier for the public to sympathize and even identify with him.

Constantly interacting with Bob, in the skin of ten different characters, is the bold actress, Lucinda Davis, who was awarded the 2013 META Award for Outstanding Female Actor. Playing the female lead, Davis was already God in the playwright’s mind even as the play was still taking form, according to an interview with Suzanne Shugar. When you see her on stage, this choice becomes obvious — Davis is incredibly versatile in the way she creates unique traits and voices for each character, while avoiding venturing into the realm of parody.

Moreover, one of the main features of the play are the elaborate, huge screens that envelop the entirety of the stage. Brought forth by cinematographer Benoît Beaulieu and videographers George Allister and Patrick Andrew Boivin, this visual component is highly interactive, always showing where the main character is (home, campus, etc) and with whom he is interacting. It is a skillful way to avoid dry narration and creates an imaginative ambience.

The Book of Bob is the latest play written by Montreal’s Arthur Holden, and the Centaur Theatre is currently holding its debut run. Holden is captivated by biblical texts and attempted to explore the subject in this new play. “I’m not looking to change minds. I’ll be satisfied if I touch one or two hearts,” Holden said in the same interview with Shugar.

In this regard, he has been undoubtedly successful; you won’t leave the theatre without philosophizing and making considerations about your own life.

The Book of Bob runs until March 2 at the Centaur Theatre. For more information visit centaurtheatre.com/thebookofbob.php

Photo by LuceTG.com

Heart-wrenching assertions and existential ponderings are at the core of Anton Chekhov’s play, The Seagull.

Adapted and directed by Peter Hinton, The Seagull is a story of disappointment pitted against disappointment. Issues of commercialism and idealism, talent and failure are constantly at war with each other.

As with most of Chekhov’s plays, geography sets the tone; the play is set in the countryside, where characters come alive after a more stagnating existence in the city.

In this case, The Seagull takes place in a small Canadian country estate in 2014 and presents us with a myriad of characters. There is Constantine, a failed playwright who is besotted by Nina, who is enthralled by a successful writer, Trigorin. The love triangle only gets more and more complicated. Enter Constantine’s cold and haughty mother, Sorina, who has Trigorin wrapped around her little finger — and things get explosive.

Shannon Currie, playing Nina, outdoes herself acting as both the innocent girl who dreams of an acting career and a woman who is no longer that girl. In a white lace dress showing off her legs, Nina makes small talk with Trigorin and literally throws herself at him, using a line from one of Trigorin’s own books: “If you ever need my life, come and take it.” Here we see the patheticness of it all — a country girl who dreams of the big city life and thinks that Trigorin can help her. Spineless Trigorin accepts Nina’s love but maintains the dog-on-the-leash relationship with Sorina, Constantine’s mother.

Trigorin is your quintessential dandy. The audience gets some much needed comic relief when Trigorin’s questions poke fun at himself. As he says when he thrusts himself at Sorina’s lap: “I can’t help it! I am called by Nina. I can’t help it. How can you find this attractive?”

The mother-son dynamic between Constantine and Sorina is particularly disturbing and revealing. Sorina does love her son, but she cannot help but feel revulsion when she sees her emancipated, angry son who seems to have no ambition in life.

In truth, Constantine just wants to be loved and to write. When he tries (and fails) to shoot himself in the head, he spends much of the rest of the play with his head bandaged. Constantine asks his mother to change the bandages, adding meekly: “You used to take care of me so gently.”

Sorina breaks down now and again in front of her son, but generally speaking, she is a career woman, an actress, and the companion of a successful writer. Diane D’Aquila, playing Sorina, is the perfect soldier and actress combined. As her character exclaims angrily: “When have I acted in a bad play?” Confronting each other time and time again over his failure in life, the mother-son relationship is complex at best.

So, where does the seagull come in? In many respects, the seagull serves as a moving metaphor of lost life and lost ambitions. Constantine, driven mad by his unrequited love of Nina, kills a seagull and presents it to her, but she is disgusted by the gift. Later in the play, Nina exclaims those powerful lines: “I am the seagull!” Nina has become haunted by the gift.

This adaptation of the play worked out remarkably well. Nina wears jeans, Constantine is always seen in T-shirts, and the characters correspond via Facebook. Sure, the play might have been long (running for over three hours) and the emotions drawn out, but the Segal Centre’s rendition of The Seagull does a fine job of talking about failure. The audience gets time to breathe, to wonder, to despair with the characters, and by the end, you leave feeling both drained and hopeful.

The Seagull runs at the Segal Centre until Feb. 19. Visit segalcentre.org for more information.

The George Gershwin opera starts off with the melodious opening lines we know so well: “Summertime/and the livin is easy/fish are jumping/and the cotton is high.” We see a woman singing on her porch to her cradled baby as she sways her hips. At first, we would think this is a story about the easy life, about success, about happiness. It is anything but.

The opera Porgy and Bess tells a sad tale indeed. The people are immersed in poverty, living in a world dominated by political and social injustice. The decor does its work and the lighting of weak maroons and tired greys adds to a sense of desperation and weariness. The cast is dressed in quintessential ‘poor’ clothing: rags, straw hats and the old, tattered, good Sunday suit.

Set in the United States, the narrative takes us back to cotton-picking times where black folk are discriminated against and where societal justice is more theory than reality. We are set in Catfish Row, a derelict neighbourhood where “happy dust” (dope) and hard-liquor qualify as the only highlights of a Saturday evening. The morals of the church (think barn-raising cries of “Hallelujah”) are constantly pitted against people who have been cast aside as outsiders — such as Bess.

Bess is sassy, beautiful, and ready to drink any man under the table. The Canadian soprano Measha Brueggergosman outdoes herself playing Bess, strutting her stuff in Act I dressed in an eye-popping red dress with matching shoes. Close on her heels is her “man”: the manipulative, muscular, and powerful Crown. He is also a heavy drinker and gets thoroughly plastered by the end of Act I, where he kills a man without even really realising it. All hell breaks loose — Crown must flee for his safety and Bess is left to her own devices. Since she is a “no-good woman,” every door is shut in her face — except Porgy’s,

Porgy is a beggar and a cripple and is portrayed by Kenneth Overton, who expresses the physical handicaps with exuberant activity onstage. Here we see two uncommon outcasts who are brought together: a beautiful, seductive black woman and a crippled, kind man. They begin to fall in love. Bess swears off her past life of liquor and dope. Hope springs eternal.

But by Scene II of Act II, troubles lurk. While Porgy and Bess are swearing eternal love to each other, the townspeople of Catfish Row are getting ready for a picnic on Kittiwah Island. Although reluctant, Bess agrees to leave Porgy’s side for a time and attend the picnic. On the island, we learn more about Sportin’ Life, a dandy and cocaine and alcohol distributor. He raises his questions about the Bible with some jokes thrown in, and all’s well until the picnickers grab their food and head back home. Bess is the last to dust her dress off, which is when she stumbles across a very angry Crown. In this gut-wrenching scene, we see Bess hemmed against Crown whose huge physical presence dominates the stage. The understanding is clear: Bess is Crown’s woman, and she will do whatever he demands. In this case, the demands are sexual.

Cut to the next scene where Bess, delusional, is lying in bed. A worried Porgy asks Serena, a neighbour, to pray over Bess, who soon recovers. The next aria sung between the lovers is particularly moving as Bess vows “I love you Porgy, I love you so” while Porgy promises to protect his woman from Crown.

It could have ended there, a neat ending to a potentially menacing story. But Gershwin goes  further, highlighting the darkness of humanity.

All in all, this production of Porgy and Bess has it all: the appropriate slang and attitude, the drinking and gambling, the husband-and-wife dynamics. We believe in Porgy’s anguish when the love of his life leaves him. We feel for Bess when she stumbles across the stage as an outcast. We mourn the lives of people taken too early. With Wayne Marshall as the orchestra conductor and Lemuel Wade as stage director, this all-black cast opera cannot go wrong.

Porgy and Bess runs until Feb. 3 at Place des Arts. For more information, visit operademontreal.com

Photos by Yves Renaud

The Drowsy Chaperone began as a spoof on classic musicals of the 1920s, written by three friends for presentation at the bachelor party of another friend. Since its creation in 1997, it went on to premiere on Broadway and won several Tony awards. This season, The Drowsy Chaperone opens at McGill’s Moyse Hall, produced by the university’s Arts Undergraduate Theatre Society (AUTS).

The musical, which consists of a play-within-a-play structure centres on Woman-in-Chair, a woman who, in an attempt to drive the blues away, decides to play the recording of her favourite musical, The Drowsy Chaperone. In doing so, the musical, set in the 1920’s, comes to life in her living room, where she guides the audience through the cast of stereotyped over-acted characters, calamitous spit-takes and campy plot developments.

The action focuses around the bride-to-be, Janet Van der Graaf, and her soon-to-be husband Robert Martin. Janet’s former vaudeville producer employs two gangsters to try and break the pair up, who in turn enlist the help of the irresistible ladies man, Adolpho, to seduce the bride. Add Janet’s alcoholic confidant, The Drowsy Chaperone, to the mix and a series of comic misunderstandings threaten to leave the upcoming nuptials at a standstill.

The show, written by Bob Martin and Don McKellar with music and lyrics by Lisa Lambert and Greg Morrison, highlights the outdated style of old-school musical theatre while simultaneously paying homage to it.

Director Fiona Ross, a recent McGill graduate, was doing research on possible shows when she stumbled upon this one.

“It’s Canadian, there’s lots of strong women characters in it which is something that’s really important to me, and it ended up that we had a whole bunch of really talented women audition, so I was like, ‘let’s just cast all these women’,” she said.

The show features a cast of 19, with women playing the vast majority of the male and female roles. Ross went on to explain that from the beginning, “I really wanted Man-in-Chair to be played by a woman … mostly because of my own politics and wanting the one character with any substance to be a woman.”

While some of the cross-casting proves humorous and charming, such as with the earnest bridegroom, Robert, played by Natalie Aspinall, and Chelsea Wellman as the seductive Adolpho, some roles were not so well suited. Overall the abundance of female actors prancing around in tight-fitting tweed suits was a bit aesthetically jarring.

Vanessa Hutinec, who played the title character of the Drowsy Chaperone, was excellent, and performed her number “As We Stumble Along” beautifully. She and several other members of the supporting cast managed to do quite a bit with the limited stage-time and dialogue they were given in the script. Not all the female leads attained the same level of quality however, with some of the most important characters falling short in their performances.

Sadly, as with many amateur productions, the show was plagued by microphone and sound problems, which found actors either drowned out by the live band or overly loud during scenes.

The Drowsy Chaperone is a difficult show in that it relies upon an execution of subtle comedy and critique, while speaking directly to theatre-lovers about their most-beloved topic — theatre itself. The AUTS production is a great assembly of young talented voices and actors, but ultimately lacks a directorial oversight that would pull the whole thing together.

And yet, as the narrator states at the end of the play, “I know it’s not a perfect show. The spit-take scene is lame and the monkey motif is laboured, but it does what a musical is supposed to do. It takes you to another world. And it gives you a little tune to carry with you in your head … for when you’re feeling blue.”

Despite the show’s shortcomings, this simple statement captures a truth about people who love theatre, and why they keep coming back, and that in itself is something worth waiting around for.

The Drowsy Chaperone runs at the Moyse Hall until Feb.1. Student tickets are $15.

Photo by Marilla Steuter-Martin

A troubled play about turbulent times, Arthur Miller’s All My Sons was such a powerful indictment of the American Dream when it first appeared on stage in 1947, that its author was suspected of being a Communist.

Although it is a strong drama that raises moral questions worth reflecting on, nowadays, the play wouldn’t send the shock waves to its audience like it did in the ‘40s. Directed by Matthieu Labaudinière, what this production does well is create a kind of bubble. It’s 1946 America, and nothing exists outside of the frontyard that the audience will be faced with for the duration of the play.

The main characters of the play are all members of the Keller family — Joe, the father of the family, who is a successful businessman, his wife Kate and son Chris. There is also another son, Larry, who is only mentioned but never seen, because he disappeared during the war, and is believed by most to be dead.

At first, this may seem like one of those family dramas, where a son’s death has brought about alienation, guilt and denial. However, only Kate seems to be affected, and remains convinced her son will come home.The story soon refocuses on her husband, who has a dark secret that may have caused more deaths than one.

A lot of effort has gone into the production, and it shows. The actors, all nine of them, have worked hard to achieve realism, but some have not succeeded. For instance, it is very surprising to learn from dialogue, towards the end of the play, that Joe Keller is supposed to be over 60 years old. Concordia’s own Oren Lefkowitz plays him as a youthful man, constantly on the move.

On the other hand, some performances leave an impact — Julianna Astorino has the most demanding role, and is quite touching as the deeply distressed Kate. What she nails best is the voice; close your eyes, and you’ll never believe this is a 21st century student speaking.

Stephen Friedrich is also impressive as George Deever, who has come to make shocking revelations about the patriarch of the Keller family.

However, good actors and costumes are not enough in this case to make the play come alive in all of its glory.

Individual performances are convincing, but the actors have close to no chemistry with each other. In a sense, you never feel like they inhabit the same world.

Perhaps such was Ladaudinière’s intention, but then, it defeats Miller’s original purpose. This is a play that slowly, slyly, escalates from jokes to screams and from a personal story to a universal one. In order to be successful, the production needed to touch your heartstrings and make you feel all that was at stake. Unfortunately, that never happened.
If you know people who were part of the cast and crew, be a good friend and see the play. If, however, all you seek is a valid interpretation of Miller’s classic, then set your expectations lower, or simply start looking elsewhere.
All My Sons runs at the McGill Players’ Theatre until Feb. 1
Photos by Adam Banks