Heather’s Reviews
Lush Wanderings
Meeting just before twilight at Fringe Parc (corner of St. Laurent and Rue Rachel) waits Tiera Joly Pavelich, the instigator of Alive & Running dance, gently beckoning Fringe-goers amidst the various Sunday night crowd of St. Laurent. Shortly, we become a small group of about 8 and make our way to the Mountain. In preparation for tonight’s performance, we are asked to bring flashlights and in return Pavelich promises a “poetic wandering among the trees and stars.” Our small group makes quiet small talk as Pavelich cautiously guides us up to the mountain.
Awaiting us at the end of our short walk is a small clearing amongst the trees where two lights are on the ground creating a venn-diagram like shape in the grass. Standing together pensively are dancers Sari Hoke and Gabriela Guerra Woo, dressed all in white and wearing headlamps that are turned off. Once our little group settles into the outdoor performance venue, music from a nearby speaker emerges, painting the fresh air with ambient guitar music, composed and recorded by Pavelich herself. The trees surround us and despite the public space and the other park inhabitants, it is clear we are about to be welcomed into something quite intimate. There is a sparkle in the air inviting a certain type of magic that is hard to put into words.
What happens next can only be described as visual ASMR. Hoke and Woo move effortlessly through the lit space, beginning first from thoughtful raised steps to swinging arms and rolling spines. The pace of the movement quickens, but never becomes frantic or breathless, and despite the BBQ happening behind us, I am lulled into a trance. The lighting has created a container that shields the dancers from the outside world, and while sirens or cellphones may rustle up against it, the bubble of light is never penetrated. Pavelich has also timed the performance perfectly; as the darkness slowly descends around us, the dancers’ limbs begin to leave traces of light in the air, adding to the ethereal quality of movement. Slowly, the music crossfades and Rick Astley’s “Never Gonna Give You Up” begins to play. The movement becomes more playful and silly (Pavelich afterwards describing it to me as “dad dancing”) and the dancers begin to leave the container of light, leaping and running towards the trees. The stage has expanded and with that my field of vision, I take in the glimmering grass, the luminescent outline of the trees, and the stars up above as the dancers become less human-like, more creature or fairy, their faces obscured in the dark. Soon the dancers turn on their headlamps and begin to illuminate the space around them and each other. They roll in the grass, and freely enjoy their movement and the fresh air, the container of light a home they periodically return to, before coming back for a final closing moment. Sensitive and whimsical, Lush Wanderings creates a kind of ease and wonderment best enjoyed cross-legged in the grass with the stars up above.On any warm summer night, it is a performance that will wash over you and leave you feeling sweet and dreamy.
bravo, bravo
Tucked away at the top of the Conservatoire de musique de Montréal is Studio Jean-Valcourt, a small and welcoming black box theater. Presenting here is Collectif 4237, with their multidisciplinary performance. I struggle to call it just a performance, as it feels much more than that, and I hope you can come to understand why!
Awaiting us in the theater are various geometric shapes draped in white sheets. Three tall figures stand across the stage, the middle one taller than the other two, which quivers slightly. Mélisande Archambault, the live musician for the work, waits to the side with a violin and a sound board. The figures fall to the ground and amalgamate into new forms.
What follows is a series of 4 acts: a blend of circus, physical theatre, and acrobatics, all accompanied by the innovative and humorous electro-accoustics of Archambault. Why I hope you can understand that this is something more than a performance is because of something I have come to call “the dismount”. When I watch most live performances, the attempt, the trick, the conclusion, it is all hidden and tucked away, the effort not to be seen. What I loved most about bravo, bravo was that it insisted on you seeing the effort, too sincere to attempt pretension, it welcomed you in closer. At times literally so, pulling audience members onto the stage so they could see the sweat of the performer, the work of the musculature, the bravery of attempt. It is a creatively delivered show, filled with humour and delightful talent that bares itself as humble and honest, and impresses because it does not ask to be seen as perfect, but because it is real and raw. Watching Elisabete Almeida sing and perform acro-dance simultaneously, I am in awe of the power of the diaphragm. Seeing Lorenzo Serafino humorously contort, Samantha Cyr spin dizzyingly, or Pascal Duguay Gosselin find balance on the ground after finding the balance of being upside down, it brings me so much appreciation for the work they do, because they bare all of it. Because they show “the dismount” I believe them, and in turn, it makes me just want to watch more. So, to me, bravo, bravo is more than a performance, it is a brilliant and vulnerable display of human determination, risk, and love for the craft.
Tango In The Dark
Vivid angular lights and a wide screen backdrop the La Chapelle theatre as a large bustling crowd makes their way into the space to find seats. I am eagerly waiting to watch POINTETANGO and their blend of ballet and Argentine tango. I grew up training seriously in ballet, so I know and understand its form, both classically and contemporarily. But while I have a secret love for social dance, I know close to nothing about Argentine tango, only that it seems to carry an alluring and captivating energy (dare I say sexy!)
As the lights dim, the tale of Covid-19 and the lockdowns of 2020 play on the screen. With it is a gentle humour, reminding us that there is always light in the darkness. To that end, the screen tells us to please MAKE NOISE!! throughout the show. A spark of excited energy travels through the audience as the performance begins.
Over the next 60 minutes, what emerges is a series of duets (which feel closer to short vignettes) composed of various blends of ballet and tango technique. Accompanied intermittently by a cinematic love letter to Buenos Aires filmed in bright technicolour, the ballet-tango love child is a mesmerizing display of technical execution and sophisticated performance. Choreographed and performed by Alexander Richardson & Erin Scott-Kafadar, the duets range from sultry to intimate to completely innovative, merging partnering components from a traditional pas de deux with complex tango footwork. They dance effortlessly and with a performative quality that shows they know exactly how talented they are, and while their showmanship flatters in their lifts, spins and their seemingly always tangled-untangled legs, moments of softness move authentically from the performers, proving Richardson’s directing abilities can also carve out a wide array of emotional resonances. My favourite vignette was a tender dance done in bare feet in dim lighting, a glowing orb held between their bodies. The dancing touches upon so much variety, from what seems like traditional tango, to beautifully innovate lines and shapes (Scott-Kafadar’s extensions are to die for), and even what feels like a nod to Montreal in the sounds of Leonard Cohen, Tango In The Dark is a beautifully woven array of expert craft and care. Not only are Richardson and Scott-Kafadar individually skilled technicians and performers, their level of daring partnering shows an incredible level of trust and commitment to one another that has me wishing I could see more partnered dance in theatres. It is a show that is passionate, charming, and worth every second.
personal/universal
On a sweaty Sunday afternoon, a crowd mingles in the lobby of the Mainline Theatre, waiting for the Ottawauteurs, a multi-generational, all-female, actors-turned-drama-therapists, collaborative ensemble. What is to be performed is something called “playback”, a type of participatory theatre that works with the audience to create the performance through various improv forms and techniques.
Inside the theatre is a simple living room set, with some books, a plant, four seats, a keyboard, and a tiny heart shaped guitar. Hanging from a standing steel frame is a piece of large macrame with paper clothes pinned to it. As I take in the scene, the Ottawauteurs hand out cute pieces of brown paper and pens, and ask us to write in response to the question: “what does it feel like to be on the fringe?” What does that mean exactly? Well, they offer up the synonyms “daring” or “outcasted”. And for me, whenever anyone asks me to write out something I don’t know the answer to, I always draw the same thing, which is the only thing I can draw: a small flower. I hand it back to the Ottawauteur and she seems pleased regardless of its irrelevance and pins it to the macrame, to the fringe.
It’s hard for me to write about the show personal/universal mostly because it is less of a show, and more of an experience. It is an exploration of what it means to come together and to share space and time with people you don’t know, but probably have a lot more in common with than you think. “Conducted” by Leigh Bulmer, (my hunch is that each member has a chance to be “conductor” for a performance), members Shannon Rzucidlo, Hilda Coker, Natasha Williot, and Vera Kisfalvi shapeshift into poetic tableaus inspired by the various stories shared from the audience. The highschool reunion of someone who might know a contract killer, a green card marriage that maybe happened and maybe didn't, McDonald’s in the aftermath of the April ice storm, all stories transformed into abstract emotional reflections and refractions. Musician Big Daddy Queen Power eloquently soundtracks each “playback” sonically shaping the various playback forms. At times awkward, but filled with a humility and sweetness to them, The Ottawauteurs come from a place of sincere vulnerability, putting themselves in the spotlight so that we might all get a better peek into the mundane magic of each other’s lives. And so the question, “what does it feel like to be on the fringe” lingers not only with the audience, but with the performers themselves. The Ottawauteurs bravely put themselves on the fringe, navigating a changing and fluid performance structure wanting to respond to the specific people in the room with care. Curious and responsive, personal/universal seeks to get to the heart of the matter, and for us all to know each other a little better. As I leave the theatre, I feel inspired to put myself on the fringe more often, so maybe next time it won’t just be a flower drawn on the card.
Keep Me (At The) Close
I get to La Chapelle early and am the first one in the theatre. On stage are 4 dancers warming up. It feels intrusive to watch them so intently, especially being the only one in the theatre, so I read on my phone for a bit. When I look back up there are 5 dancers, swinging limbs, stretching. I look back to my phone. As the theatre starts to fill up, now I see 6 dancers, one has their fists rubbing the fascia on their back, another in downward dog. I’m surprised to see so many dancers on stage. Before the show begins there are a total of 7 dancers, and I am excited.
The 7 dancing bodies did not disappoint. At first, a dancer traces their finger along the face, collarbone, and arm of another dancer, a somatic experience we can only witness. Later, dancers merge together, occasionally breaking from the group, saying “start” or “stop” or “I remember”. Childhood memories, feelings, questions, and stories emerge from the group, all the while a flow of bodies in and out of contact with each other moves around the stage seamlessly. The relational work of the choreography is outstanding and highlights the deep trust electricGrit dance has built together. It blurs the borders of the individual and makes space for the “we” – what it means to be together in relationship. In some moments the performers’ speech overlaps, other times, the synchronicity makes space for a moment of still embrace, or smaller more subtle movements to be shared by a duet or trio. The dancers fall and release with ease, forming stunning tableaus and enacting a physicality of touch that is both powerful and intimate. Choregrapher Rose Pasquarello Beauchamp understands her dancers’ strengths and invites them to witness each other throughout the work, which creates a circular warmth on the stage that extends out towards the audience. Throughout the piece, there is a gentle humour that keeps a lightness to movement, which helps support the emotional tone of the work. Stories and bodies weave together, creating a net that not only supports the performers, but welcomes the audience to feel safely held as well. At the end of the performance, Beauchamp asks us to let them know what we remember, whether anecdote, or something else, like daisies. For me, I am left with the images of women moving through movement, and through the complexities of life, together.