“Fosse/Verdon,” is the new FX eight episode limited series, starring Sam Rockwell as Bob Fosse and Michelle Williams as Gwen Verdon, set for the Spring.
Based on Fosse, the BIOGRAPHY written by Sam Wasson. Fosse was a visionary filmmaker and one of theater’s most influential choreographers and directors. Verdon was the greatest Broadway dancer of all time. Together, they changed the face of American entertainment – at a perilous cost. Featuring Fosse’s choreography, the series explores the hidden corners of show business, the price of pursuing greatness, and the suffering inflicted in the name of art.
Series regulars include Norbert Leo Butz as Paddy Chayefsky and Margaret Qualley as Ann Reinking. Additional recurring cast members include: Aya Cash as Joan Simon, Nate Corddry as Neil Simon, Susan Misner as Joan McCracken, Bianca Marroquin as Chita Rivera, Kelli Barrett as Liza Minnelli, Evan Handler as Hal Prince, Rick Holmes as Fred Weaver, Paul Reiser as Cy Feuer, Ethan Slater as Joel Grey, Byron Jennings as George Abbott and Laura Osnes as Shirley MacLaine.
From award-winning producers Thomas Kail, Steven Levenson, Lin-Manuel Miranda and Joel Fields. Production is currently underway in New York City. Levenson, will also serve as the showrunner and wrote the premiere episode which will be directed by Kail. Nicole Fosse, daughter of Fosse and Verdon and an actress, dancer and producer, serves as Co-Executive Producer and oversees The Verdon Fosse Legacy. Co-Producer Andy Blankenbuehler is serving as a Choreographer, as is Susan Misner. Erica Kay serves as Producer.
NYTW’s “I Love You So Much I Could Die” Asks A Lot From You. Are You Willing?
I’ve seen several one-person shows this past week, 3 to be exact (Grand’s Huff, Tarragon’s Guilt, & TPM’s As I Must Live It); sorta 4 if you don’t want to get toooo technical about it all (Soulpepper’s De Profundis). And each one engaged our emotional soul in differing and unique manners. I couldn’t help myself thinking about that theoretical construct as I watched Mona Pirnot, writer and performer of I Love You. So Much I Could Die, walk in from behind, down the stairs, and onto the bare minimalistic set at the downtown New York Theatre Workshop. She sits, facing away from us all, staring upright at the back walk of exposed brick, and turns on her laptop and types a few things in to get this exercise rolling. And I was struck by the abstractionism we were about to sit through for the next 65 minutes. It was clearly going to be a different experience than any of these other shows I experienced last week, and I couldn’t help but wonder how I was going to respond to this setup.
It’s a structural theoretical experience, one destined to play mind tricks with almost every person in the audience. Pirnot (NYTW’s Usual Suspect) never turns to face us with the story she wants to tell. It’s unclear why at the beginning, but as she unleashes her story, not with her own voice, but with the voice of her computer, Microsoft text-to-speech tool, the complicated, and frustrating, unwrapping becomes more and more clear. It’s a completely devastating tale of pain and tragedy that she has set out to detail, most effectively in her “cut to” tense listing of events. And she doesn’t have the voice to actually say it out loud. It’s too much. Too difficult to vocalize. She has the words, obviously, and the wit and strength, but not the voice. Unless she is singing a sad song of sorry, or love, accompanying herself with her trusted guitar that sits, oddly enough, facing us on the wide expanse of the stage.
The story is spoken out to us from that Microsoft voice, somewhat flat and awkward, distancing ourselves and her from the horribly sad and dark moments of an accident of some sort that incapacitated (to put it mildly) her sister during that complicated timeframe of the pandemic when visiting a loved one in the hospital was just not allowed. It seems she needs that disconnect to really tell us that tale; of that difficult and chaotic time in Florida where she spent months trying to survive her emotional self and the space she found herself with her husband; the playwright and ultimately the director of this show Lucas Hnath (Broadway’s A Doll’s House, Part 2). It’s an understandable predicament, one that I’ve always praised when an actor can tell us such a sad tale and maintain their voice, so I wrestled with that inside my head, somewhat distractively, during her unpacking, and somehow came out the other end understanding and sympathizing with the theory and experiment.
Using that flat computer tone and by staying turned away, she is able to unwind a story that may cripple her if she had to look us in the eye and tell us personally about her pain. I get that entirely, but I wasn’t convinced at the beginning (and maybe a little at the end as well) that this kind of confessional makes for good theatre. I soon discovered that there was little to look at on that stage after the initial few minutes, even with the fine work done by scenic designer Mimi Lien (Broadway’s Sweeney Todd), the fading lighting design mastery of Oona Curley (NYTW’s runboyrun & In Old Age), the simplistic but meaningful costume design by Enver Chakartash (PH’s Stereophonic), and the solid expanding sound design by Mikhail Fiksel (NYTW’s How To Defend Yourself). I could engage during the few musical interludes that filled the space with her lovely voice singing touching songs of sadness and love, but during the other moments, especially the “cut to” scenarios and a sad tale revolving around sickness and death, I could look away, stare at the floor or the wall of ladders that were to my left, and just dive into those flat words with abandonment.
It’s not the simplest experience to endure, and endear, but there is another level, maybe one that director Hnath has played with before in his experimental Dana H., which played both off-Broadway and on (and on a Toronto stage next month that I hope to see) where we have to pull out internal connections to our own pain and sadness to really engulf ourselves in this somewhat slim play. It’s the flatness and metallic quality of the voice that forces us to find what we feel about the tale she is telling. Not an exercise of taking on what an actor is somehow transmitting to us, in a way, telling us how to feel about the pain being described. I’m crying, so you should be too. I’m laughing at this part, so you should laugh too. No one is giving us a sign or direction in the way we should be experiencing this, so we must look deep inside ourselves if we are to really embrace it.
Or we don’t have to. That is the other option. We can let the computer voice give us permission to nod off, and not engage with this terrible event she needs to tell us, nor the love and care she experienced from her husband. Pirnot tells us flat out (in a NYTimes interview), that she “couldn’t find the strength to verbalize her feelings to [Hnath] or her therapist … she typed her thoughts into her laptop, and prompted a text-to-speech program to voice them aloud.” Makes sense, even to this writer (who is also a psychotherapist in his real day job). Does it make great theatre? That is a question that only each audience member can decide for themselves, inside and within that very moment, as they sit in the ever-darkening theatre listening to I Love You So Much I Could Die. Do I dig deep and engage with my own emotional self, led there by no other person but myself? Or do I decide to not go there? Both are credible options, with very different outcomes. You decide. Dig deep or go home. And I won’t judge you for which you choose. I chose one-way last night. I can’t tell you what I might have chosen on a different night. That’s pretty impossible to know.
For more go to frontmezzjunkies.com
Two Epic Centerpieces in Two Very Different (and Dynamic) Musical Treatments Revel in Their Magnificence in Toronto: “Dion: A Rock Opera” & “De Profundis: Oscar Wilde in Jail”
Within two very different musical renderings inside two different theatres in Toronto, two very different yet magnificently dynamic characters take hold of center stage and create magic out of legends; one myth and the other tragically human, and musical art out of their tales of love and power. Seen back to back over the weekend, these two shows: Coal Mine Theatre‘s Dion: A Rock Opera & Soulpepper‘s De Profundis: Oscar Wilde in Jail deliver the musical goods in abundance, finding opportunity and inventiveness in their unpacking, opening up the field with creative power, and fueling our imagination with their energy and superb talent.
With a red-tiled runway and a magnificently gifted soothsayer calling forth a Greek mythology pathway down the center of the Coal Mine Theatre, Dion: A Rock Opera rocks fantastically and enthusiastically into the black and white fashioned spotlight of The Bacchae. The musical tailors, quite tremendously, the tale of Dionysus, orDion, as he is sung and called here, in surprisingly theatrical energy and determination. It’s an epic rendering of an ancient tale with modern gender-bashing sensibilities and a captivating sound and fury, with four chorus souls seated at each end, giving us just a wee flavor of the spectacle we are about to digest. We, the spectators of this extravaganza, sit on each side of this runway, gazing at the statuary and each other, waiting in anticipation for Euripides’ classic tragedy to begin. And within the first few bars of music, sung by the impeccably dynamic and detailed SATE (Soulpepper’s A Streetcar Named Desire), we are transported and delivered into the hands of Ted Dykstra and Steven Mayoff’s Dion.
In the beginning, “the word is Evoi” and SATE sings out loud, magnificently, and emphatically, framing a concept that proclaims the ‘exclamation of Bacchic frenzy‘ as delivered by the blind soothsayer, Tiresias (SATE), who has lived a life as both a man and a woman. Tiresias lays out the foundations in subtle magnificently sung scenarios that hold our attention hypnotically, backed by an energized chorus, made up of the followers of the cult of Dion: Max Borowski (Ovation’s Cabaret), Saccha Dennis (Tift’s Jesus Christ Superstar), Kaden Forsberg (Drayton’s Sh-Boom), and Kelsey Verzotti (Vertigo’s Gaslight). Their voices ring out the proclamation with a deliciously operatic edge and fever that engages and excites us delightfully, as the chorus plays with light and their supple bodies, energized by the captivating choreography of associate director Kiera Sangster (Shaw’s Grand Hotel). As directed with fire and precision by Peter Hinton-Davis (Tarragon’s The Hooves Belonged…), Dion unwraps the electric formula and dives fully in, unleashing the nine-person cast with a communal vibe reminiscent of an elevated and gender-fluid Jesus Christ Superstar in the modern world of inclusivity. The musical piece drives forward in both its sound and fury, thanks to the fine work by composer Ted Dykstra (Coal Mine’s Creditors) and a libretto by Steven Mayoff (Turnstone Press’ Fatted Calf Blues), giving us echoes of others, while finding authenticity and inclusion inside itself.Mastering the duality of the otherworldly central character, this non-binary demigod Dion, played to vocal perfection by the talented Jacob Macinnis (Stratford’s Play on! A Shakespeare Mixtape), luxuriates with style and stature in the powerful position of half-human, half God. Dion, in great magical style, has enraptured the citizens of Thebes, who have been tyrannically ruled in pseudo-Trumpian rage by Pentheus, well played with fury by Allister MacDonald (That Theatre Company/Buddies’ Angels in America). It’s the ultimate powerful match, between absolute power and absolute pleasure, embodied passionately by both Macinnis and MacDonald.
The strange “seduction” of the city, set upon first by Dion on the mother of Pentheus, Agave, beautifully embodied by the captivating Carly Street (Canadian Stage’s Heisenberg), has drenched the city streets with mayhem, violence, and drunken desire, in revenge against the hateful Pentheus for spreading blasphemous lies about Dion’s mother Semele, destroying her reputation after her death and Dion’s birth. It’s epic and delicious, as the two stand facing one another for battle on that long narrow stage, designed dynamically by set and costume designer Scott Penner (Off-Broadway’s JOB), with inventive insightful lighting by Bonnie Beecher (Shaw’s Shadow of a Doubt) and a clever sound design by Tim Lindsay (Eclipse’s Sunday in the Park…), assisted beautifully by technical director Sebastian Marziali (TO Fringe’s Lysistrata), stage manager Fiona Jones (Tarragon’s The Hooves Belonged…), production manager Erik Richards (ReadyGo’s Talk Treaty to Me), and supervising production manager Wesley Babcock (Factory’s Armadillos).
The battle is on, “storming and surrendering” to the sound of bursting balloons and agony, all exactly as Dion has planned and dynamically unfolded by this terrifically engaging cast. “It’s you who’s in my trap“, sings Dion, as Pentheus fights back with a “Tweet, Tweet, Tweet“, but the “great reclaiming” is not far away, with Dion, through the powerfully voiced cast (particularly Macinnis, SATE, and Street), working their magic on Pentheus, and us in the audience. We watch in wonderment as this magnificently dynamic reckoning of Pentheus struts its way to the decapitating ending. The music, as delivered solidly and dynamically by musical director Rob Foster (Mirvish’s Rock of Ages), sings and soars non-stop, from beginning to end, touching on the ancient story with a rock opera edge and wit.
The pop song aria energy is dramatic, even when repetitive, finding urgency in its drawn-out meanderings in single-minded non-binary force. The catchy choral arrangements layer the piece with movement and light, on that catwalk stage, and we can’t help but be pulled into the theatricality of the piece, as planned by both the director, Hinton-Davis, and The Bacchae story. It is exactly as it should be, and we can’t help but fall under the spell of Dion: A Rock Opera at Coal Mine, and its magical Rock Opera queerness and sensual subline sensibility.
De Profundis (Latin: “from the depths”) is a hypnotically potent letter written by a ruined and tormented Oscar Wilde during his many years’ imprisonment in Reading Gaol, to the man who ultimately destroyed him, “Bosie”, Lord Alfred Douglas. Wilde wrote this letter in 1897, close to the end of his imprisonment after his conviction for ‘gross indecency‘, recounting his relationship and extravagant engagement with Bosie, which eventually led to his ruin and imprisonment. He indicts both Bosie’s vanity and selfishness, while also acknowledging, quite poetically, his own weakness in acceding to Bosie’s demands. “I blame myself,” he repeats in Soulpepper Theatre’s brilliant De Profundis: Oscar Wilde in Jail, before singing the refrain, “Happy Birthday Oscar!” for the ‘presents‘ he was sarcastically gifted by himself, and by others.
This is just the first half of the letter, wherein the second half, Wilde dives into a spiritual landscape, ending with the framing, “Your Affectionate Friend“. Soulpepper’s De Profundis: Oscar Wilde in Jail, crafted from this very letter, is a powerful and majestic investigation, worthy of all the magnificent theatrical magic that is unveiled here. Through the unparalleled creative energy of adaptor and director, Gregory Prest (Soulpepper’s Of Human Bondage) with original music by composer/music director/arranger/orchestrator Mike Ross (Soulpepper’s Spoon River) and lyricist Sarah Wilson (Soulpepper’s Rose), Soulpepper has unleashed the most magnificent musical fantasy that I have had the pleasure of sitting through. It’s powerfully captivating and emotionally destructive; engagingly clever and beyond witty, pulling quotes from Wilde out of a metal hat, reminding us all of his incredible ability to craft intellectual gold from his quick observations and sharp mind. “If you know, you know.”
Ushered into the fantastic unwrapping of this letter; a 55,000-word communication addressed to Lord Alfred “Bosie” Douglas, Wilde’s friend and previous lover, Robbie, touchingly and lovingly portrayed by Jonathan Corkal-Astorga (Eclipse’s Sunday in the Park…), engages directly with us, taking us gently by the hand and guides us through the proceedings, that is until an impatient Oscar pokes his head through the door and chastizes the gentle Robbie, hilariously. It’s a wonderful bit of pre-play, propelling us into the more torturous arena of a confinement cell where Oscar Wilde, played to wild perfection by the intricate and meticulously well-defined Damien Atkins (Factory’s Here Lies Henry), dives right into the specific meanderings of his sharp-witted mind and angry hurt heart.
The unraveling, over 95 minutes, is a not uncomplicated, defined bit of abundance, on a stage meticulously well orchestrated in layers by set and lighting designer Lorenzo Savoini (Soulpepper’s King Gilgamesh…). Savoini creates some visually arresting magic, as Oscar’s cramped jail cell evaporates to the sides, giving Oscar an ever-enlargening arena to dramatize his damaged psyche and emotional variance. The effect is majestic and deep, with perfect projections elevating the dramatics almost effortlessly, created masterfully by designer Frank Donato (Soulpepper’s Guide to Being Fabulous), with a strong forceful assist by costume designer Ming Wong (Stratford’s Rent), movement director Indrit Kasapi (Buddies’ The First Stone), and sound designer Olivia Wheeler (Stratford’s A Wrinkle in Time).
Director Prest delivers an exceptional experience filled to overflowing with personality and emotion, playing with the interconnectivity of the framework and giving Atkins the space and platform to really capture and translate his emotional language. De Profundis is not your traditional musical, by any means, it lingers and floats around the idea of love and lust that sometimes is best delivered through song (and some dance). Atkins is the perfect vessel to unpack it vocally, spiritually, and creatively, either through dramatic sequences filled with anger and sadness, or a bouncy Irish song, that spins out of his control most amazingly.
Bosie, magnificently embodied by the gorgeous Colton Curtis (Stratford’s A Chorus Line), flits in and out, playing both the antagonist and the pained lover, edging him forward into emotional chaos with a captivating stare or snarl. For having little to say, like the pseudo-MC role of Corkal-Astorga’s Robbie, the effect is powerfully dynamic and painfully engaging. It’s almost a solo show, with Atkins leading us through the paces expertly, but it would also diminish the piece without these two adding a layer of entrapped emotional engagement. Pirouetting between musical genres most cleverly, De Profundis elevates itself with its unpredictability, cleverly enacted emotionality, and the absolute brilliance in its visual splendor. “Like Byron, but better.“
Atkins’ Oscar is definitely the main and most ingenious focal point, even as he stares longingly and angrily at the beautiful Bosie. The actor is outrageously magnificent in the part, rotating and spinning himself from charming and witty to manic and completely diminished by anger and frustration, mostly for his blind obedience to Bosie’s vanity and eventual dismissal. Curtis’ Bosie mesmerizingly unleashes a silent but meaningful dance behind the singing Oscar, nearly perfect in his frame and form, adding a layer of complicated understanding to the idea that Wilde basically “lost his mind over a beautiful man.” Understandable, but it is Atkins who holds us completely in his hands, leading us through the letter with imperfect perfection right to the last moment of engagement. It’s one of the most stellar performances of the year, inside an absolutely gorgeous rendering, and it should not be missed if you have any say in the matter.
Oscar Wilde wrote this impressive manuscript and poem between January and March of 1897. There was no contact between Bosie and Wilde, even as Wilde desperately pleaded to the prison walls for a reply. After all these trials and tribulations, both public and criminal, and all the suffering from his imprisonment, the physical hard labor of his punishment, and the emotional isolation, his impulse, layered with anger, frustration, love, and forgiveness, was to write a ‘love letter’ to the man who essential caused his destruction. The prison did not allow Oscar to send the long letter, which he was only allowed to write alone in his cell “for medicinal purposes”, one page a day. Each page was taken and saved for him to read over and revise at the end when he was finally released on May 18, 1897. The rest is history, sad, but true. Yet, it made the most magnificent musical fantasy one could ever hope for, from a love-sick artist, struggling to deal with his anger, betrayal, and the art of forgiveness.
Girl from the North Country Tugs Your Heartstrings
Bob Dylan’s songs reflected the struggles of the working class, and evoked images of the Depression era, rural America, which still lived in the memories of the older adults of the late 60’s and early 70’s. In writer/director Connor McPherson’s jukebox musical, Girl from the North Country, Dylan’s songs serve as a backdrop for the world of pained souls he assembles onstage. The national tour of this show, in Chicago now through February 25 at the CIBC Theatre, is an emotionally charged evening with an outstanding ensemble of performers who should not be missed when it comes to your town.
Nick Laine (John Schiappa) is the proprietor of a boarding house in Deluth, Minnesota in 1934. Mr. Schiappa’s face seems to be chiseled from stone. He brings a similar strength of heart to his performance, as he doggedly tries to sustain the lives of his family while on the brink of foreclosure. He juggles that obligation with caring for his mentally ill wife, Elizabeth (Jennifer Blood). She left me alternatingly in laughter and tears with her unfiltered outbursts and unexpected sense of humor in the face of her character’s disability.
Nick and Elizabeth have raised a black teenage girl as their own, Marianne (Sharaé Moultri), whose centered performance is both stunningly honest and deeply beautiful. She is also inexplicably pregnant, in a story beat that is oddly unexplored. Their young son, Gene (Ben Biggers) is an unemployed drunk, who seems to know he has no future. Mr. Biggers makes us ache with sympathy for this poor, tortured soul.
One of their boarders, Mrs. Neilson (Carla Woods) is sleeping with Nick, and waiting for a financial windfall with an optimism which is ripe to be shattered. Ms. Woods is a warm and wise soul who makes us share her longing for a better life.
The other boarders include the Burke family, who have fallen on hard times. David Benoit as Mr. Burke is compelling as a man dancing on an emotional tightrope, desperately trying to avoid being pushed off by financial and family tensions. As Mrs. Burke, Jill Van Velzer is both riveting and heartbreaking in her longing to escape the personal prison of her life. I can still see the pain in her eyes as she would try to force a smile in the face of hopelessness. As their seemingly autistic adult son, Elias, Aidan Wharton is convincing, if necessarily limited as a character.
The boarding house is also visited by a young black boxer with a past to hide, Joe Scott, played with great dignity by Matt Manuel. The other visitor, Reverend Marlowe, is a small time con man whose unctuous manner and devious soul are perfectly captured by Jeremy Webb.
The personal stories interwoven into this emotional tapestry evoke memories of the great ensemble plays by early twentieth century writers, like Clifford Odets and Eugene O’Neill. It’s the kind of writing we don’t get to see enough of anymore, in our times of rising budgets and shrinking casts. It’s also a far more serious exploration of character, and depth of emotion, than you get from the typical musical today.
Their stories are told in flashback by the spirit of another boarder, Dr. Walker, played by Alan Ariano. Unlike Tom in “The Glass Menagerie,” The doctor does not undergo any personal emotional journey, or gain any perspective on his own life by being the narrator of the play. As a result, his presence seems tacked on, and he lacks any of the emotional heft accorded to the other characters in the story.
Producers and writers in theater and film have been cobbling stories together around existing song catalogues since the early 20th century. It was easier to create a direct relationship between the songs and stories back in the day when the songs were mostly simpler variations on love, which could be shoe-horned into almost any Broadway romance. Dylan’s twenty-two musical ruminations on life included here, which range from familiar hits (“Like a Rolling Stone”, “Make You Feel My Love”) to lesser known titles, relate much less directly to the story being told here than the songs do in other successful jukebox shows, whether we’re talking about Jersey Boys, Beautiful or even Singin’ in the Rain.
The title song, “Girl from the North Country”, is a memory song about a lost love on a wintry day, no part of which has anything to do directly with what is being depicted on stage. The legacy of the Depression is evoked by “Duquesne Whistle” which states,“Can’t you hear that Duquesne whistle blowing/ Blowing through another no good town.”But the rest of the song doesn’t have anything to do with this story either.
There’s a bit more connection to the existential despair of “Jokerman,” whose lyric states, “Freedom just around the corner for you. But with the truth so far off, what good will it do?”The songs overall create an appropriate tapestry of Americana sounds and deeply personal images. But they intersect only tangentially, at best, with McPherson’s story.
To the credit of the production, the songs seem to come from the hearts of the characters even if the lyrics are disconnected from the actual story. The music evokes both the era and the despair of the characters, and the universally talented singing actors stir the soul. A great deal of credit for the emotional power of the music goes to Simon Hale for his outstanding orchestrations and arrangements.
The fine ensemble of musicians under the direction of Conductor/Keyboardist Timothy Splain, and supporting ensemble singers, weave in and out of the action seamlessly under Mr. McPherson’s direction. Actors David Benoit and Jill Val Velzer are also employed as percussionists, at a drum kit which sits for the whole show on one side of the stage. It did seem a bit odd and inconsistent to have only these two actors step out of their roles and become musicians, when the other actors were not similarly used.
When I go to the theater, I would rather be stirred deeply than glossed over emotionally. Although the songs may not integrate with the story, The Girl From the North Country will move you with the emotional power of the outstanding performances.
The Girl From The North Country continues now through February 25, 2024 at the CIBC Theatre in Chicago.
Stephen Schwartz To Be Inducted into The Long Island Music and Entertainment Hall of Fame
Legendary Award Winning Broadway and Movie Music Composer Stephen Schwartz (Wicked, Godspell, Pippin) will be inducted into the Long Island Music and Entertainment Hall of Fame (LIMEHOF) on Saturday, March 23rd, 2024 at 7pm.
There will also be concert emceed by Musician Paul Shaffer (from the David Letterman Show) who worked with Schwartz early in his career.
Schwartz has won 4 Grammys and 3 Oscars among other awards in his career that spans over 50 years both on Broadway and on the silver screen. Additionally, Schwartz has contributed music and lyrics to several movies such as “Pocahontas” (1995), “The Hunchback of Notre Dame” (1996), “The Prince of Egypt” (1998), and “Enchanted” (2007).He was also involved with the upcoming feature film adaptation of Wicked to be released in the fall.
A Slew of Personal One-Person Shows Hit Deep in Toronto: “Guilt (A Love Story)” & “As I Must Live It”
It’s all about the one in the center, and after taking in the heavy, twisted, and intense one-person show, Huff at the Grand Theatre in London Ontario earlier this week, I found myself entering back into the Toronto Theatre world for another two, albeit very different, but somewhat similar one-person shows that etched out very specific landscapes for each of the talented writers/performers to spin out from. Each in their own very particular and very personal way, and both from an internal force that, turns out, is impossible to ignore.
The first was on Valentine’s Day, entitled, ever so appropriately for the day, Guilt (A Love Story) at Tarragon Theatre. How perfect. The second is the very inventive As I Must Live It, at Theatre Passe Muraille. Both excellent streams of confession, manifested out of personal trauma, pain, and pride or joy, and brought to the stage in an exuberant style overflowing with energy and determination. And I have one more to go this weekend (after a slight detour into Dion at The Coal Mine), when I see another one-person show, De Profundis: Oscar Wilde in Jail at Soulpepper, although I think that will have a very different edge than the two I saw over the last two nights.
Both of the opening night shows are an experience in personality and pain to remember, led by high-wattage performing balls of light, with big proclamations and endless amounts of style and energy. They each usher us into the space with a unique personal flair and differing edges that engage; one fueled by tequila, wine, and a historical tradition of self-doubt and confidence; the other filled to overflowing with familial love, need, and mental health complications, drunk in from a faulty water bottle that needs to be replaced. Or it could be Jamaican rum in that bottle. But I doubt it.
The first one begins with a shot inside the Tarragon Theatre. The energy is high and excited, as the writer and performer, Diane Flacks (Tarragon’s Waiting Room), makes her way in from the lobby for her fifth one-person show in the space. She comes in big, carrying a tray of tequila shots for the willing few who took her up on her offering. I wish one of those shots were within my reach, as a bit of tequila wouldn’t hurt the hearing of her one-person show Guilt (A Love Story) as it dances its way into our frame. The premise is intoxicating, like the drinking that Diane says she doesn’t have a problem with. “I feel better when I’m drinking“, she tells us as she opens up seeing how that could be read a bit wrong. But this is not the story she is intent on telling. Oh no, it is something far more complicated and engaging than that. That old alcoholic story we have heard, in a way, before, but what Flacks has in store is something entirely hers, and one that piques our interest pretty much from the get-go.
“Drinking numbs the guilt,” is also something she leads us in with, but that’s no surprise, and as the references fly fast and furious forward, rattling the cage bars with funny intent, Guilt (A Love Story) finds its true force in the unraveling of a family and a partnership. But she isn’t the typical victim in the stereotypical tale. She is the one who opens this thing up and runs a bit wild with her newfound freedom. She is the one who left, found passion and excitement outside, and she is also the one who has to take on the Guilt.
It’s a captivatingly funny unpacking, filled with formulations and characterizations that connect with the passion and the raw guilt that has been found, like “a raccoon in my chest” clanging and banging on the bars. And as directed smoothly by Alisa Palmer (Tarragon’s Sibs), Flacks finds a way to both laugh and find emotional truth in the matter, walking us through her crumbling marriage and all the ways she tries to hold on to all things important. She radiates pride in her family, but also, slyly, adds that being Jewish leads her easily down the road of self-blame into a landscape filled with Guilt and desperation. Her embodiment of Sigmund Freud steps in for a few moments, giving us a playful intellectual framework on the matter, inhaling deeply the smoke from an imaginary cigar, quite naturally. We also are visited by Flacks’ memorable bubbe who unpacks more in a few one-sided lines of a phone conversation than one can fathom. But it’s the yoga instructor who is the one that seals the deal for me, adding layers of underlying knowledge and insight that can only be matched by Flacks’ characterization of a neuro-scientist explaining it all to us as a glowing brain centers our soul.
Featuring uncomplicated choreography and intimacy coordination by Rebecca Harper (National Theatre School of Canada’s Director of Movement), a somewhat overly complicated diamond island set and costume design by Jung-Hye Kim (Crow’s The Chinese Lady), superb transitional lighting by Leigh Ann Vardy (Stratford’s Richard II) and a solid sound design by Deanna H Choi (Tarragon’s Cockroach), Guilt (A Love Story) and Flacks engage with her complicated unraveling with an expert’s ease. It’s the one with her wife that fills the space, but also the one that gets the shorter end of the stick as the divorce papers get finalized. Her X takes up very little space in this tale, as it centers itself more firmly around the effects this breaking has on her family; mainly her two sons whom she worships and defends like the greatest of wild beast mothers. Her play borders on standup, filling in the gaps with funny asides on culture and Tik-Tok mothering, with some being more engaging than others, Yet, most find their target effectively, pulling the audience along in connected happy engagement even if the framework isn’t as solid as one could hope for. I can’t say that I was completely enraptured from beginning to end, but she is an effective personality and an engaging performer who finds her way through a unique perspective with aplomb and determination.
Over at Theatre Passe Muraille, in co-production with Modern Times Stage, another unraveling comes alive, rollicking playfully forward most wonderfully and emotionally. The show, As I Must Live It, opens up in the lobby, much to my surprise, from the stairs to the floor where a rose is given, as well as a ball and a hat. All are de-thorned and disinfected for our safety, we are told by the exuberant and charmingly sweet Luke Reece, the writer and performer of this one-person rotation. He’s clever and engagingly childlike, as he draws us to the window to tell us a story about a squirrel named Blackie who eventually comes home. It’s an endearing start, metaphorically and creatively, placing the formula in and around the idea of external editing and control; holding high our own particular voice and not giving it up for anything or anybody. We lean in, adoringly, to the imminent unveiling, curious to see more of this captivating and pure adventure that is about to be thrown, like a ball, around by this fantastically talented spoken word artist. We happily follow him into the space to take a seat somewhere in the expanse of the theatre, but we can’t help but feel like we are following some magical pied piper. Maybe more like curious city squirrels than medieval rats that had overrun Hamelin, but the appeal of his identity is strong and true; someone we want to know more about and are eager to engage with.
Under the solid direction of Daniele Bartolini (DLT Experiences’ the stranger…), As I Must Live It dives into familial engagement like an energetic kid in a playground, moving through the wide open spaces of the theatre with an expert focus. The overall experience is of wonder, yet, we are told, it is “haunted by joy” yet filled with an air of stress “cause I wanted to be perfect.” Our expert guide Reece (CBC’s ‘Notice’) starts off curled up inside a colorful pool of papers and playground equipment, courtesy of set and costume designer Jackie Chau (Factory’s The Waltz) and lighting designer Sarah Mansikka (Gloria Grethel Productions’ Elbow Room), delivering poetry with a tender air, but the unedited energy of this engaging performer can’t let him stay still for long. Soon we are transported, playfully and inventively, through his madcap costumed experience, and we just can’t help but stay completely tuned in.
Flying and moving through the space with a strong confidence, Reece touches on so many aspects of childhood, ranging from grandmothers, dinosaurs, Chris Pratt’s Jurassic physique, all the way to Darth Vader and a Star Wars line made famous, even in its incorrectness. That one line repeated incorrectly affected this boy named Luke for many of his most formative years, that is until he was renamed Cool, Hand-ed to Luke by a mentor that would change the angle this young emerging artist would see the world. And we revel in his open-hearted presence and delivery, feeling his effervescence and his shame as he climbs about, taking us on journeys that register and roll.
The one-person telling really takes shape, thanks to some spectacularly well-choreographed projections from UK’s Limbic Cinema (2023’s Glastonbury Festival), and their designers: Barrett Hodgson & Thom Buttery, assisted by the detailed sound design by Adrian Bent (‘SNOLPS‘). It’s cleverly playful and authentic, mixing poetic storytelling with tenderly told experiences growing up in his mixed-race hybrid family, with a mentally ill father and an overly protective caring mother, with a few grandparents thrown in for good measure. We watch the smile of this retail salesman fade from anger and shame as he climbs through his memories to talk to his mother and more, letting petals fall to the sound of Italian music. He is “killing it” throughout, as he says, even when he becomes the “robber of ignorant bliss“. Or is it “blissfully ignorant“? Such things can’t be helped sometimes when the power of words spoken from the heart is truly heard by the ones who may need to hear them in poetic delivery.
Through his signature deft wordplay, the show, As I Must Live It, is an invitation to move forward, to hear a truth that needs to be told, by a performer with clarity and vision. It moves around the playground of his youth with purpose, maybe more so, and with more structural awareness than Guilt (A Love Story). But both shine light on realms and arenas that need to be seen and truly felt, from the ground up, and it doesn’t hurt at all to be in the presence of these wonderful storytellers determined for us to see what is hidden and not talked about.
For more go to frontmezzjunkies.com
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