Dawn’s Reviews
Me and Her
Finally, a reason to check out the Cité Chapel. I've already been smitten with the architecture and history of the site, but for a multitude of reasons, I don't stroll into chapels without cause. Entering this one reminded me that I should. While Andrew had already waxed poetic on describing the place to me (and to you, read it here), nothing could do it the justice of being there. It's much bigger than I expected, ornate and warm, and I wonder what distinguishes a chapel from a church (I'm sure Andrew knows). Regardless, this is the perfect stage for a show about waiting for death, the passing, and the lives that continue in the aftermath. Written and performed by Caroline Gauthier, this is a personal view of a universal experience, the death of a parent.
The minimal stage design is a multitasker. Indian textiles hang in the background. The covered theatre cube at centre stage serves as her mother's deathbed as well as a seat on a tumultuous bus ride through India, for instance.
From a technical standpoint, the space created an echo as Gauthier moved across the stage, which was a bit tricky. Her words risked being lost in the reverberation, but thankfully never fully were. The off stage sound effects shone in the chapel: when the chaotic traffic was called for, the horns and engines sounded realistically overwhelming. When the sounds of drums and ragas came through they were rich and resonant, washing over us and filling the room all the way to the domed roof.
The lighting was imperative. As there were no scene breaks, the shifting colours and brightness served to denote changes in location, mood, and travels through time. Gauthier both narrates and performs, fluidly switching from what sounds like a diary entry to being in the moment she was describing.
It's a story of love, loss, suffering and survival; a timeless tale we all have a version of, and this is distinctly Caroline's. From her hometown to the pyres of India, Gauthier follows her deceased mother's footsteps in her own fashion. Perhaps most importantly, she discovers along the way that while death is universal, the way we perceive it is quite cultural…And what we do with the life we have left is in our own hands.
Mom Ballet
The set is all fantasy pink. Bright pink door, shimmering pink shower curtain, pink accessories on the sink top…and a white toilet. Molly (Sabrika Leduc) appears, and a voiceover begins: a man and woman discussing whether or not to have a child. It feels like she is the woman in the conversation, but she stands, silently looking into the audience. And then, she begins to dance. So begins Mom Ballet, Slippery Moon Productions Fringe offering.
Considering the cultural importance of women's bathrooms (think strangers supporting each other and passing along hygiene products), setting the play in the home's washroom was a stroke of genius. Here Molly has the privacy to shed her tears, voice her fears, and share intimate, honest moments with her two daughters, Chelsea (Jacqueline Trudel), and Bella (Zoe Venema).
Never have I seen so many costume changes in a Fringe show, and my eyes were delighted! Aesthetics aside, the quick changes provided context for the moving of time, as we never leave the bathroom. The world continues beyond that door, but this is a space of contemplation and questioning.
Every woman faces the question of whether or not to have children, and when we do, we also understand that some decisions are made to the exclusion of all others. Molly weighs her business, her love of dance, wondering if she can in fact have it all. The moments of dance are compelling, expressing all those words that cannot do justice; fear, longing, passion, hope. It was my first time seeing live ballet en pointe, and it was the perfect metaphor, each move excluding the option of another. The sound of Zoe Venema’s shoes against the concrete as she floated across the stage reminded me that all that elegance, all that grace, takes immense fortitude of body and spirit. The things that look easy rarely are, and sometimes in creating the illusion, we tear ourselves apart.
The soundscape was perfect, with sound effects expanding the world both within the sanctuary of the bathroom, and on the other side of the door. Musical director and acclaimed guitarist Ioana Gandrabur provides live accompaniment, allowing the dancers to fully embody the moment.
Jacqueline Trudel and Zoe Venema are perfect in their roles. Their dance was mesmerizing, and their acting was just as good. Their characters are sides of a coin as Molly struggles with inner conflict. Sabrika Leduc truly inhabits her character, showing both strength and vulnerability as she struggles to decide what her future will be.
I left feeling connected to all women who face this decision, and those for whom the option was never provided. Highly recommend. Hot tip: get in early and grab a seat up front to catch the fancy footwork.
Love, Sharks, and Frenching
The vibe on St. Laurent on Saturday night was perfect. Sure, it was colder than we wanted, and wetter too, but it hardly dampened the party spirit. With Mont Royal avenue closed to traffic for the season, and St. Laurent closed for Mural Fest / general street party, it was the perfect night to be out, weather be damned.
Besides, I had a hot date. Love, Sharks and Frenching: A Hot Date with Lou Laurence, is a one woman show filled with storytelling and musical comedy. There was a sizable crowd at Petit Campus to watch Lou do her thing. It was the youngest crowd I've seen at a show so far this year, and the first time this season that the crowd seemed to be there specifically for the star. Tables of friends and couples leaned in smiling, and expectant, and she delivered exactly what they wanted.
Lou Laurence is a Montreal-based singer, comedian, songwriter, and improviser. Having studied both musical theatre and creative writing, she combines all her training into a show of conversational storytelling, musical comedy, and improvised songs.
Laurence's voice reminded me of Canadian darling Serena Ryder, rich and strong with impressive if understated control. I say understated because her voice felt free, like belting out your heart alone under the stars, but it was always precise, her modulations smooth. She was comfortable on stage and never lost the audience’s attention, flexing her professional theatre training. At the table next to me, I heard a woman loudly whisper “she's so good”.
She took suggestions from the audience, crafting catchy, funny songs on the spot. It's a skill I envy, and I always enjoy seeing it done well. Laurence definitely has a knack for it, and it was my favorite part of the show.
I don't remember the stories she told, and I think that's intentional. They were casual, small stories, the kind we share over coffee, but they created the context for her songs. Her style and voice are the stars here, the rest is the backdrop for them to shine.
Vehicle
Heading to Petit Campus for the second time in less than 24 hours, I mix things up and head over via St. Denis, cutting through St. Louis Square. The sky is a foreboding grey over Sherbrooke, and sunny blue toward Mont Royal. The ground is already wet, but the sun is bursting through as I walk between weather systems.
It's always a bit odd to be in a bar in the daytime, but thankfully Petit Campus blanks out the outside world, wrapping you in whatever’s happening there. I arrive early, which gives me a chance to watch the crowd trickle in. It's the most age diverse crowd I've seen so far, tables of youngsters and OGs setting up in groups until the room is nearly full. It's a great crowd for a Sunday matinée, and the energy is bumping. I get the impression that everyone knows who they're here for, and they're psyched. In fact, as the stars Shane Adamczak and Sam Longley take the stage and applause breaks out before the stage lights are up.
Shane and Sam are award winning Australian actors who have toured for decades. Their talent and experience are evident off the bat, captivating the audience immediately. From the first laugh, I knew I was in the right place. It's billed as a meta-comedy, and the lines are beautifully blurred from the start. The script is clever, funny, and filled with interesting stories, making it my favorite show so far this year.
The backdrop is a projector screen, and the first thing we see is a quaintly drawn road on lined paper, moving as the stars drive their invisible car. The props in the show are a combination of mimed and real, a fact that the characters both address and explain. It's technical fodder that allows the meta to flow freely, and I was absolutely tickled.
Adamczak and Longley have great chemistry, and it was a pleasure to watch them together. There were moments that may have been improvised on the spot, or may have been so skillfully acted that they just appeared as such. I really want to tell you a bunch of their travel stories and jokes, but that would defeat the purpose. It is however, important to note that days later I'm still thinking of this show, still bubbling with giggles, still thinking about the tales they told. I think it's safe to tell you that at one point Sam asks the audience if he can drop the fourth wall for a moment, and then admits he'd never really put one up. That's the stuff that makes me gigglesnort with abandon.
While there are deliciously absurd moments that would likely make Monty Python proud, there were also tender, serious moments. Both sides of that coin, the whole proverbial wallet in fact, was so well done that I can't recommend it highly enough. If you see one Fringe show this season, make it this one.
Hedwig and the Angry Inch
Wait, Hedwig’s a punk musical?! Someone should've told me sooner. Ok, let me rewind.
Hedwig and The Angry Inch is a book, a movie, and a play, all with cult followings. Still, I'd not seen so much as a clip, and only had a cursory knowledge of the plot, making Keith Fernandez’s Hedwig my first foray into the story.
The show was at Monument-National, and my literal brain wondered what exactly it was a monument to. (It was built in 1893, and was originally the cultural centre of the St. Jean Baptiste society, and is the oldest theatre in Canada still running. It not only served as a stage for English, French and Yiddish performers, but it also housed Starland, one of the first cinemas in North America. Edith Piaf performed there. It's a historic site, a literal national monument. Ooooh, I gettit now.)
I walk into the room with just a couple of minutes to spare, and the room is filled with smoke. The band, led by Zoé Dupont-Foisy, is in full swing: keyboard, drums (Nicholas Baddely), bass (Ali Remondini), and electric guitar (Antoine Bensoussan), giving old school alternative vibes, and grungy goodness. They are the set, for all intents and purposes, fading into the background when need be, bringing the room alive when called upon. But when their pre-show song ends, the audience cheers, and the band stands, uncertain and silent. The smoke dissipates, and the crowd loses itself in chatter. Granted, the show hadn't technically started, but it felt like an unnecessary interruption in the energetic flow. The sold out crowd had already been enthralled, and had they kept playing, they would've been rapt.
The story is a good one. Botched surgery and unknown-rockstar life aside, Hedwig is recounting the twists and turns that brought her to where she now stands. Yes, some are sad, and some are funny, and isn't that the way? Alice Siregar, as the rockstar, was perfect. As her façade fell, layer after layer of her persona peeled away until she was just her honest, vulnerable self. And, as her truest self, she's able to grant space to her husband after all these years, finally allowing him to be his best self.
Now, the music was grrrreat, but so was the artistic direction and lighting design, by Sabrina Miller and Aurora Torok, respectively. The DIY vibes of Darragh Mondoux (as Yitzhak) moving speakers in real time, using an old school projector as a spotlight, it was punk AF, and I loved it. While I've seen Darragh host events before, I had no idea she could sing…and sing like that. Yitzhak and Hedwig brought the house down as the lights strobed and shifted. The show tipped into a full concert, and I was mesmerized. In fact, I'm going to check out the soundtrack, and I can only hope it's as good as this version was.
