Canadian Theatre Rocks!
Confession time: my knee-jerk reaction upon hearing a piece of literature, a movie, a play, or another work of art* is “Canadian” is to run for the hills. Sure, I like Anne of Green Gables and Robertson Davies as much as the next Canuck, but I’ve been served far too many unpalatable concoctions under the guise of “Canadian content” to have much confidence in my fellow countrypeople. I admit it: I’ve fallen asleep reading Margaret Atwood, and I’m not sorry. My mind classifies Canadian artists whose work I do like, like Royal Wood, Daniel McIvor, David Shore, and the creators of Evil Dead: The Musical as plain old “artists”, so as not to shatter my delicate delusion.
Unforgiveable for a former Queen’s Drama student, Canadian plays used to fall squarely under my umbrella of “Do Not Want”. Don’t get me wrong – I’d happily attend and enjoy plays by Canadian writers, directors, and actors… provided something interesting caught my attention before I noticed the “Canadian” part.
Which was why I was completely caught off-guard by how much I enjoyed performances of Judith Thompson’s Palace of the End and Morris Panych’s 7 Stories.
I saw Alumnae Theatre’s production of Palace of the End here in Toronto mainly because some people I know whose work I enjoy are involved in it. My one regret is not getting this up in time for people who read this to go to the show, since it closed on November 28.
It’s a 90-minute piece comprised of three monologues by three characters with diverse perspectives on the current war in Iraq: a pregnant American soldier awaiting trial for her conduct and that of her colleagues at a POW prison; a British scientist/weapons inspector reviewing his role in the war on terror; and an Iraqi mother. Writing that out, I realize I’m re-using phrases from the summaries of the play I’ve read online and in this production’s programme, but it’s difficult to think of new ones that give the pertinent information while leaving the living, breathing characters as treats for the audience to discover.
If there’s one thing Judith Thompson does well, it’s give believable, unique, and beautiful voices to people with whom many would shudder to sympathize and force the audience members to see their painful, sometimes lovable humanity. She does it brilliantly in this play: the American soldier prompts the audience to laugh one minute and kills the joke with a gasp of horror the next; the British scientist attracts our sympathy, but we can’t quite bring ourselves to bestow the forgiveness he asks for; and the Iraqi mother prompts our affection on one hand with her vivacious, amusing spirit and overwhelms us with guilt on the other as she reveals what she’s suffered.
Because I happen to know some of the performers and directing team, I’ll restrict myself to saying that the acting was brilliant, and the production easily drew everyone in despite its unsettling subject matter.
However, the play as a whole does beg a single, important question: if these people who have seen, done, and/or experienced such horrible things are all, in their own way, victims of larger forces shaping history, of a shadowy “they” who are the movers and shakers, to whom does responsibility fall? Who are the “they” who have the free, complete, and meaningful choice the script seems to suggest the characters we meet lack? The government? The “bad guys”? Us?
You can be sure you’ll still be thinking about it after the curtain call.
Morris Panych’s 7 Stories, on the other hand, is not such SRS BSNS, but it still deals with powerful themes. We meet our protagonist, the unnamed Man, as he balances precariously on the seventh storey of a high-rise, evidently trying to decide whether to jump. Fortunately for him and for us, his contemplations are continuously interrupted by the various zany characters who live in the building, and the business that takes them to, around, and even through their windows. By the end, we and the Man have indeed experienced all seven alternately wacky, absurd, and sad stories – in addition, of course, to the Man’s own.
7 Stories has the same whimsical air as Antoine de St-Exupery’s Le Petit Prince, and, like Le Petit Prince, it’s an allegory for and critique of contemporary life**. Also like Le Petit Prince, it’s full of outrageous characters and hilarious moments. However, 7 Stories isn’t so ultimately optimistic. Maybe life really is meaningless and horrible, the show seems to be saying. The best you can hope for is some superficial mindset that doesn’t make you think about that awful truth. And if you want to kill yourself – well, ultimately, what sane person doesn’t? But at the same time, the play’s not a downer, either. You don’t leave the theatre wanting to cry – you leave it at that strange twilight point when you’re done actually laughing but not done finding things funny.
It’s like the artist from whom the design of the Canadian Stage Company production I saw drew its inspiration: Rene Magritte. There’s something unsettling about La trahison des images or La reproduction interdite, something that says: the world is not as you know it, and there are important things you will never understand. But at the same time, there’s also a humour to his work; you can’t help but smile.
There are, admittedly, a couple strange moments in the play where it gets all meta about being meta (read: confusing), and part of the fun of the seven stories is not the stories themselves but figuring out how the four performers playing all the characters have to run around behind the scenes, switching costumes, wigs, and accents. All in all, however, it’s a great show.
To sum up: I’m not a lumber jack or a fur trader. I don’t live in an igloo, or eat blubber, or own a dog sled. My name is Sarah, and I like Canadian theatre!
* For some reason, sketch comedy and stand-up don”t count. I’m not sure why it is, but I’m happy to entertain myself with videos of Rick Mercer, Air Farce, This Hour Has Twenty-Two Minutes, Red Green, Mike Myers, Jim Carrey, or the rest of the Canadian funny people without that twinge of counter-patriotism I feel when asked to watch Road to Avonlea.
** Considering that this play was written twenty years ago, it has some lines that work surprisingly well in a contemporary context. For instance, one character’s nonchalant remark that he has (paraphrased) four hundred and fifty-two friends seems like it was written for the age of Facebook and Twitter, and it got a huge laugh from the visiting middle-school students at the performance I attended.
So when you hear the words “Canadian theatre” you automatically reach for the shotgun. Is this a knee-jerk reaction (like the kind I experience when I see the Stars and Bars on some pickup) or is there something about the topics, or themes, that these folks write about that makes you tired?
I’d forgotten about This Hour has Twenty-Two Minutes. I miss the old satellite dish … I could get decent programming on it. Like CBC Northlands. :(
I don’t reach for the shotgun, I just toss my gloves on the ice ;)
Hmmm… you know, I think it’s that I’ve read/watched (or been forced to read/watch) too many things for the sole reason that they *are* Canadian. Most of the books/movies/etc. I pick appeal to me in some other way before I consider their country of origin; I often end up watching Canadian works that have been chosen for inclusion in the curriculum or for production mainly because they’re Canadian. (I guess what I’m trying to say is, there’s a difference between picking the best, among which happens to be a Canadian work or two; and picking the best of the Canadian works.)
Also, and I think few Canadians would deny this, Canadian productions companies/publishers/etc. tend to have smaller budgets than their counterparts in, say, the US or overseas. So Canadian books/movies/TV shows/etc. can often seem less slick and finished than foreign competitors, and because some of the arts are supported by the government, many focus on specifically obviously-“Canadian”-can-I-have-my-grant-money-now-please themes that I do find repetitive or tedious.
All of which is just me being unfair, but there you are…
Given that books from Canada, USA, UK, Ireland, NZ, and Australia all can be mutually enjoyed without any need for translation or much cultural confusion means that books marketed only on region of origin usually are sub-par. I see the same in the US, especially in children’s books with a regional theme. And somehow you are always forced to read these local stories/poems/plays in school and college, and they often stink.
JK Rowling and Garth Nix aren’t marketed as niche markets, but mainstream. Because they can compete with the best of the English world-market.
But I think you’re right. To get grants and funding, you need to feed into your country’s stereotypes, or at least supposed areas of interest. And the regional publishers have less resources, so the end-product may have a few strikes against it right there.
Ted, I find myself torn about the whole regional theatre/book/etc. thing, because on one hand, it’s been my experience, too, that stories marketed to me as “local” or for a niche group are less enjoyable than ones that have been marketed to me as universal. On the other hand, I recognize that there are a lot of assumptions that go into what’s “universal” with which I don’t feel comfortable (e.g. a lot of the time, universal means “white, Anglo-Saxon, male protagonist having an adventure in the US or UK and/or a Europe-esque world based strongly on Anglo-Saxon mythology”)
I’d *like* to think that it has mostly to do with marketing and finances – if a publisher can sell a book based on some quality other than, uh, local-ness, then maybe they do. And authors probably self-select, too – after all, if you have the choice between marketing, say, your Canadian book as Canadian and universal, you’re going to choose universal so as to get the largest possible audience.
It’s a puzzle – I agree wholeheartedly in theory with putting Canadian books and plays into the Canadian English curriculum, but in practice, I’ve never enjoyed it very much.
interessante, sar
(I’m reading more Guy Vanderhaeghe = Canadian and an author that I enjoy immensely. I dunno if you’d like him – did you read his short stories in Mr. Wilson’s class? Whatever. I have his short stories at home, you should read them in your two days of peace and quiet sans moi :P)
yeah, a lot of the time Canucks are forced to read something just because it’s Canadian. Language/translation is super interesting – remember I did that thing about Dr. Seuss’s translations? It’s seriously cool stuff, and I’m sure it has rad effects on reading and readers. I’m jumping around, but I’ve also been super lucky to have had teachers and profs who have pointed me towards works that are awesome *and* Canadian! weee!
(Seven Stories is pretty much one of my favs, Guy V rocks, and C.R.A.Z.Y. the movie has a wicked soundtrack and is an awesome movie. Robert Munsch is pretty much the best ever, hands down. And you’re totally right: Canadian humour and comedians simply ROCK.)
Side note: I went into a Chapters the other day and I saw Munsch books and the ones we grew up with (Paper Bag Princess, Thomas’s Snowsuit, 50 Below, etc) are all now ‘CLASSIC MUNSCH’ and now he has a bunch of other, newer, shinier stuff. I feel old. :P hehehe
see you soooooooooooooooooooooooon!
@Deb, yeah, I know you like Guy V. (and I’m pretty sure that every couple years since your grade eight, you ask me whether I’ve read him and get surprised that I haven’t… there’s a castle! There’s a castle! ;) ) And *two* days of peace and quiet? I thought you weren’t coming home until January…
Now that I think of it, I’ve never really enjoyed a book a teacher picked out for me as much as I enjoy the ones I’ve picked out for myself. The only text I can think of that I like a lot and never would have read without someone making me is “Everyman”.