We interrupt our regularly scheduled program…

So some news first. My short story “A Dybbuk Story” is being published in the Winter 2007 issue of The First Line, and it has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize. Writing it out like that makes me seem so matter-of-a-fact about it, but, truth is, I’m still slightly in shock. Dude. Anyway, I heartily encourage you to pick up a copy, because the concept behind it (the journal, that is) is pretty darn cool. And, if you’re a writer, go visit their website and check out their first lines. Fun!

Anyhow. It’s rrrRRRRRRRaamblin’ about theatre time! [imagine the theme music that plays in the background when the Mighty Morphin’ Power Rangers assemble their Zords]

Ever watch one of those plays where you can half-see the girders under the building’s façade the first time through? Because, sometimes, you can see them the second or third time, and that’s all right. But when something about that gun on the wall sticks out weirdly in the first act even before you know the fiancé gets shot in the third…

Daniel MacIvor’s How It Works, which was on this week at the Tarragon, is kind of like that. One of MacIvor’s many strengths has always been the way he allows the audience to slowly piece his ideas together: witness his one-man show, Monster, or the spine-chilling one-act Never Swim Alone. He often seems like a magician. You’ve been watching the guy the whole time; you’ve seen every movement of his hands and eyes; you’ve seen him pull his pockets inside out and roll up his sleeves to the shoulder. And yet, somehow, there’s a live dove in his hands.

How It Works, however, falls disappointingly short of the mark. It’s not bad; MacIvor is too good a director and a playwright for that. It’s just… not really good, either. The dialogue is snappy, but the characters are sometimes downright obnoxious, and, during the first act, you are perfectly capable of spotting several of the whales in the second: thar she blows!

On the other hand, the fact that you can always see the girders with Noël Coward is, in its own way, reassuring. He wouldn’t be Noël Coward if you couldn’t. Morris Panych’s production of his Blithe Spirit is running at the Young Performing Arts Centre. The dialogue is, of course, frothy and witty; the plot is slightly sexist and revolves around a middle-aged man who is suspiciously reminiscent of (who else?) Noël Coward. There are a few surprises – that’s half of what humour is – but nothing mind-blowing or earth-shattering (after all, the other half of humour is expectation).

The plots of both plays are somewhat mundane: Al, a middle-aged divorcé, is trying to get with a new girlfriend, Christine, but the crystal meth habit of his daughter, Brooke, causes too much trouble. Charles is happily married to Ruth, but, when a medium calls back the spirit of his mischievous first wife, Elvira, hilarity ensues. In the first, there is much angst and revelations of sexual misadventures. In the second, there is much one-character-is-talking-to-the-ghost-but-another-character-thinks-he/she’s-talking-to-them and revelations of different kinds of sexual misadventures. Admittedly, Blithe Spirit has more flying furniture and wacky mediums (media?) than How It Works, but the latter has more why-do-we-tell-stories-and-what-do-they-mean ideas, so I suppose it more or less evens out.

Blithe Spirit had this design thing going on where all the characters and the set where dressed in shades of grey, and the ghost wore bright red. It was a little distractingly obvious, but whatever. The actress playing the medium was an amazing physical clown – she could stick her leg straight up in the air and then flop to the ground like a rag doll in a “trance”. I know that that doesn’t sound very comical right now, but, believe me, as a character tic, it was hilarious. All the little fripperies of Coward – his bon mots, his word-dressing – help cover up the plot like an afghan. The shape of the furniture underneath is clear, but as long as you can’t actually see it, it’s easy to succumb to the willing suspension of disbelief and pretend it’s not there.

Maybe the problem I had with How It Works was that you could actually see how it worked. Most of the time, anyhow. It was kind of like one of those shows where hosts strive valiantly to look cool as they show you what’s inside a radio or how they make filing cabinets. Except, instead of something as neat as a filing cabinet, all you got was a play that was trying to be a Lighthearted Comedy that touched upon Dramatic Issues.

In any case, unfortunately, I’ve got to cut myself short: those term papers I keep mentioning in the updates section aren’t writing themselves, and I’m afraid that, though it seemed like a good strategy at the time, going to see plays isn’t going to write them, either. Who’d’ve thunk*?

* Answer: YOUR MOM!!!!! Bwahahahahahaha. Ha.