When I was one, my family moved into a new house. The family moving out had lost their little boy to a car when he ran into the road. He was two.
When I was in grade five, a grade-six boy in my school died in what was either a bizarre accident or a suicide.
Someone in my highschool committed suicide when I was in grade 11, and we made a memorial page in the yearbook though I don't think many people actually knew the deceased--I don't even know what grade he was in--which might have been part of the problem.
About four years back, a boy who had been close to my family died under circumstances I never fully understood. He was two years younger than me.
Twice in past few years, I have come across "in memoriams" in my university alumni magazine of names I recognize--one a friend of friends, one a student politician. Both died in accidents in the mountains, years and continents apart.
Those above are, until now, all the people I know in my own age group who have died.
I met Mark Purvis when we were both involved in the short-lived Free Biscuit Theatre project (apparently no web-legacy remains) in 2007-2008. I joined despite not being an actor or theatre person because I thought writing words for someone to say as opposed to read would teach my something.
It did, but I also get pressed to perform, to serve shooters at a fundraiser, to do movement exercises and generally go way outside my comfort zone. I also got the great pleasure of shutting up and listening in presence of people who were educated and passionate about something I had only ever seen from the outside.
Mark was foremost in that regard--a dedicated actor who wasn't serious about much else. He had endless energy to try *anything* anyone suggested--I never saw him perform as a clown, but he loved that as much as the "serious" parts I did see him in. He played Mathias in the play that's linked there, *The Bells*, a massive and demanding and very bizarre role he did for Free Biscuit. He was wall-to-wall amazing and the production brought tremendous accolades (to be fair, all the Biscuits were outstanding, but Mark had the starring role).
Mark also had a fairly strong math and spreadsheet ability, gained in various dayjobs. He volunteered to use his not-much-loved gifts to do the Free Biscuit bookkeeping. He never complained about the extra work, and I'm pretty sure he used his control of our funds to make sure he was never paid at all for his performance in *The Bells*.
I didn't really know Mark all that much--we hung out every few weeks for a year--but I always felt really amazed at how seriously he took me, and how much he wanted to help with my sad attempts at at performance. Once, he and his girlfriend took an entire evening to go through my 10-minute monologue over and over again with me until I no longer (quite) wanted to die at the thought of doing it in front of an audience, and I know they listened seriously and intently every single time.
Once, a bunch of us went out to the suburbs to see Mark perform in an outdoor Shakespearian festival. When the performance got rained out, we repaired to Crabby Joe's in a not-ironic-enough urban gesture, where Mark regaled us with crazy, hilarious, filthy stories. I was so proud when we realized the couple at the next table had stopped speaking to each other entirely, the better to overhear.
Once, Mark and his girlfriend had a miniperformance at their place because they had built a *stage* in their living room (with lights!) Mark comforted me about my terror of performing by telling me the story of the time he met William Shatner.
This is a memorial to a person I didn't know well--perhaps not even a friend but rather one of those wonderful acquaintances that make life joyful. I feel lucky to have met him, and shocked that he passed away. It is terrifying to me that someone could be my own age and no longer alive--I'm not nearly ready.
Of course, no one is ever ready. All we can do, I think, is as Mark did: everything we can for everyone we meet in the moment that we are.
RR
Showing posts with label Theatre. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Theatre. Show all posts
Monday, January 25, 2010
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
A report on The Dream in High Park
I won't be doing a real review of the production of The Tempest at Dream in High Park this year. Not because it wasn't wonderful (it was) but because it's over, so it would be pretty pointless to offer a review of something you can't ever go to.
Instead, I wanted to write a bit about the experience of going to the show. I have been a fan of the Dream since coming to TO, and seen most shows offered since (except for last year's, which was a repeat of the production of *A Midsummer Night's Dream* from the year prior--baffling since, like me, most Dream devotees like to go every year). It's always a fine performance in a beautiful spot with an enthuiastic crowd, and this year was no exception.
I had never, however, attended so late in the season as the second-last performance, and the last non-"family focus" one. My viewing companion and I arrived close to 2 hours early, in typical RR can't-be-too-careful manner, and were glad we did. We got a lovely spot in the tiered-earth amphitheatre (the only sore point of the night was the volunteer insisting on absolutely no photos because "it's equity", which I don't know has much to do with pictures of the amphitheatre). But even at 6:15, those really good spots were dwindling in number.
So we put down the blanket (actually, my Urban Outfitters bedspread from first-year rez) and edged it with a moat of food. Because that's what people do at Dream while waiting for the show to start--eat elaborate and enormous picnics, and eyeball everyone else's picnics. For example, for years I've seen people drinking wine out of those little stemmed dixie cups, but when I looked it up on the website this year, I found that alcoholic beverages are forbidden...but sure enough the couple to our right and in front had those cuppies, and the people behind us had a pitcher of sangria...I guess it's ok if there aren't any obvious bottles?
The thing to do other than eat and picnic-watch was of course people-watch, because there were *so many* there. About 20 minutes before showtime, one of the site managers announced that we were at over 750 people and new arrivals were still...arriving (sentence fail). There were people all over the hillsides, almost into the trees, and in our row we were rather intimate with our neighbours.
It was extraordinary to see perhaps 800 people out on a Saturday night to watch Shakespeare. Especially since they were all ages and demographics, not the feared "all oldsters" crowds of some of the downtown theatres' "big shows". The folks to my left were my parents age, quoting Obama when asked if they had room to scoot down ("Can we do it? Yes we can!") and eating out of an elegantly pack cooler. In front and to the left were an extremely young and conservatively dressed pair on a date, very pleased with themselves and each other. My companion pointed out that two rows ahead was a father playing patticake with a 3-year-old girl. Later, the father and the mother each took responsibility for slathering one half of the child's limbs in bug spray.
Behind us was my favourite group, 20 people gathered to celebrate a birthday. They had more and better food than I've ever seen come out of backpacks (a wheel of brie!), were all in a narrow range of midtwenties but an assortment of sexual orientations, and spent their time discussing a) food, b) alcohol, c) the iron man race the birthday boy had recently run, d) one of the guests' recent engagement to a man who lives in another city, e) what is the *Tempest* about, anyway?
I love that people in Toronto just know that the Dream is a good time, that it's fun to watch Shakespeare there not only because you can eat and snog and play with your kids at the same time, but also because these are good lusty plays and CanStage presents them for everyone, not just theatre people.
The Dream is Pay What You Can, so no one should ever miss a show due to lack of funds. And the "recommended donation" is only $20 anyway--an incredible deal.
Sorry, this is still a rave about something you can't see for another 10 months, after all. But really, mark it on your 2010 calandar!!
I'll give you three guesses
RR
Instead, I wanted to write a bit about the experience of going to the show. I have been a fan of the Dream since coming to TO, and seen most shows offered since (except for last year's, which was a repeat of the production of *A Midsummer Night's Dream* from the year prior--baffling since, like me, most Dream devotees like to go every year). It's always a fine performance in a beautiful spot with an enthuiastic crowd, and this year was no exception.
I had never, however, attended so late in the season as the second-last performance, and the last non-"family focus" one. My viewing companion and I arrived close to 2 hours early, in typical RR can't-be-too-careful manner, and were glad we did. We got a lovely spot in the tiered-earth amphitheatre (the only sore point of the night was the volunteer insisting on absolutely no photos because "it's equity", which I don't know has much to do with pictures of the amphitheatre). But even at 6:15, those really good spots were dwindling in number.
So we put down the blanket (actually, my Urban Outfitters bedspread from first-year rez) and edged it with a moat of food. Because that's what people do at Dream while waiting for the show to start--eat elaborate and enormous picnics, and eyeball everyone else's picnics. For example, for years I've seen people drinking wine out of those little stemmed dixie cups, but when I looked it up on the website this year, I found that alcoholic beverages are forbidden...but sure enough the couple to our right and in front had those cuppies, and the people behind us had a pitcher of sangria...I guess it's ok if there aren't any obvious bottles?
The thing to do other than eat and picnic-watch was of course people-watch, because there were *so many* there. About 20 minutes before showtime, one of the site managers announced that we were at over 750 people and new arrivals were still...arriving (sentence fail). There were people all over the hillsides, almost into the trees, and in our row we were rather intimate with our neighbours.
It was extraordinary to see perhaps 800 people out on a Saturday night to watch Shakespeare. Especially since they were all ages and demographics, not the feared "all oldsters" crowds of some of the downtown theatres' "big shows". The folks to my left were my parents age, quoting Obama when asked if they had room to scoot down ("Can we do it? Yes we can!") and eating out of an elegantly pack cooler. In front and to the left were an extremely young and conservatively dressed pair on a date, very pleased with themselves and each other. My companion pointed out that two rows ahead was a father playing patticake with a 3-year-old girl. Later, the father and the mother each took responsibility for slathering one half of the child's limbs in bug spray.
Behind us was my favourite group, 20 people gathered to celebrate a birthday. They had more and better food than I've ever seen come out of backpacks (a wheel of brie!), were all in a narrow range of midtwenties but an assortment of sexual orientations, and spent their time discussing a) food, b) alcohol, c) the iron man race the birthday boy had recently run, d) one of the guests' recent engagement to a man who lives in another city, e) what is the *Tempest* about, anyway?
I love that people in Toronto just know that the Dream is a good time, that it's fun to watch Shakespeare there not only because you can eat and snog and play with your kids at the same time, but also because these are good lusty plays and CanStage presents them for everyone, not just theatre people.
The Dream is Pay What You Can, so no one should ever miss a show due to lack of funds. And the "recommended donation" is only $20 anyway--an incredible deal.
Sorry, this is still a rave about something you can't see for another 10 months, after all. But really, mark it on your 2010 calandar!!
I'll give you three guesses
RR
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Writing Exercise: Tom Stoppard's Questions Game
Sunday evening I rewatched the film version of Tom Stoppard's brilliant play Rosencrantz and Guidenstern Are Dead. Since the author directed the film, it is just as wondrous as the play.
If you've never read or viewed this one, it's the left-out lives of Hamlet's two retainers, who die off-stage and without tears or explanation towards the end of that play. It's also about the act of writing and the definition of character, the concept of performance, and a variety of physical principals and simple machines, which are explored by one of the characters in a series of subtle and hilarious protracted gags.
This is one of the funniest movies you're likely to see, but to get all the jokes, it helps to see it multiple times (I think this was my forth, and I saw a lot that was new!) One scene I did remember distinctly and with joy from childhood viewing was the great Questions game, that the protagonists play on Hamlet's indoor tennis court.
The game is what it sounds like, to keep a (semi-)logical fast-paced conversation going using only questions. The characters have rules against not only statements but repetition, non-sequiteurs, rhetoric, synonyms and hesitation. This keeps the conversation fast, intense, somewhat surreal, and very tight--people are trying to win, after all.
Stoppard's style of dialogue in general like that; the Questions game comes up almost as a kind of parody of R&G's usual quick, confused/confusing banter. This style also reminds me of Sanford Meisner's repetition exercise for actors--another way of creating fast, tight dialogue.
As a lover of fine dialogue of both real and artificial forms, needless to say, a) I love this stuff and b) it's very hard to do well, or even at all. As I said, I watched this movie as a kid, with my bro, and the first time we encountered a tennis court, we did try to play it--so frustrating! Even when you leave out some of the secondary rules about hesitation, non-sequiteurs, etc.
So, obviously, this is a great writing exercise. Obviously, you won't end up with anything quite *realistic* in the usual sense, and if realistic is what your project is, you'll have to redraft to use the exercise. But in addition to pace and rhythm, the all-questions-no-answers style brings a great deal of tension to dialogue--nothing says recalcitrant witness like answering a question with a question.
Ok, the exercise is: write a scene with two (or more, if you really want to push yourself) characters, in which all dialogue is in the form of question. Use the other rules at your discretion, or not at all. I'll post mine when I've written it. If you write one, I'd love to see it if you send me a link, post it as a comment, or send it some other way.
I'm glad I came up with this after my actual teaching term finished--I think it's gonna be really hard.
I'm a wrecking ball in a summer dress
RR
If you've never read or viewed this one, it's the left-out lives of Hamlet's two retainers, who die off-stage and without tears or explanation towards the end of that play. It's also about the act of writing and the definition of character, the concept of performance, and a variety of physical principals and simple machines, which are explored by one of the characters in a series of subtle and hilarious protracted gags.
This is one of the funniest movies you're likely to see, but to get all the jokes, it helps to see it multiple times (I think this was my forth, and I saw a lot that was new!) One scene I did remember distinctly and with joy from childhood viewing was the great Questions game, that the protagonists play on Hamlet's indoor tennis court.
The game is what it sounds like, to keep a (semi-)logical fast-paced conversation going using only questions. The characters have rules against not only statements but repetition, non-sequiteurs, rhetoric, synonyms and hesitation. This keeps the conversation fast, intense, somewhat surreal, and very tight--people are trying to win, after all.
Stoppard's style of dialogue in general like that; the Questions game comes up almost as a kind of parody of R&G's usual quick, confused/confusing banter. This style also reminds me of Sanford Meisner's repetition exercise for actors--another way of creating fast, tight dialogue.
As a lover of fine dialogue of both real and artificial forms, needless to say, a) I love this stuff and b) it's very hard to do well, or even at all. As I said, I watched this movie as a kid, with my bro, and the first time we encountered a tennis court, we did try to play it--so frustrating! Even when you leave out some of the secondary rules about hesitation, non-sequiteurs, etc.
So, obviously, this is a great writing exercise. Obviously, you won't end up with anything quite *realistic* in the usual sense, and if realistic is what your project is, you'll have to redraft to use the exercise. But in addition to pace and rhythm, the all-questions-no-answers style brings a great deal of tension to dialogue--nothing says recalcitrant witness like answering a question with a question.
Ok, the exercise is: write a scene with two (or more, if you really want to push yourself) characters, in which all dialogue is in the form of question. Use the other rules at your discretion, or not at all. I'll post mine when I've written it. If you write one, I'd love to see it if you send me a link, post it as a comment, or send it some other way.
I'm glad I came up with this after my actual teaching term finished--I think it's gonna be really hard.
I'm a wrecking ball in a summer dress
RR
Friday, July 31, 2009
More good stuff
This week is full of good things I can recommend in a quick list, which is good because this week is also scant on time for me to write longer blog posts. So enjoy the fruits of others' labours:
Annabel Lyon does 12 or 20 with rob mclennan (have I mentioned recently how much I love this series?)
The Hart House Players' outdoor production of Romeo & Juliet runs until Saturday and is highly highly recommended. The spot on Philospher's Walk is beautiful and even you know the Walk, you probably haven't been there before (I hadn't--there's a grassy park on top of flight of cement stairs!) Also, and most importantly, the cast as amazing, free and relaxed and passionate, which is how I like to see Shakespeare. They play the characters young and silly and bawdy, and Mercutio and Benvolio's banter is an especial delight. Another highlight is Juliet, a role that often gets played as a pretty hysteric. Here, Cosette Derome makes the 13-year-old lover human and funny in her giggly ardour, and later in her wretched but wry sorrow. When I looked up Derome in the program, I was surprised-but-not-really to find she'd been in my favourite play of the summer, 36 Little Plays about Hopeless Girls. I wonder what else she's going to be in...whatever it is, I'd watch it!
Steven W. Beattie's desk is now viewable on Desk Space. I also love this series a lot; there are no bounds to my nosiness about fellow writers!
And finally, a while back I talked books and bars with Ian Daffern at the Victory Cafe and Dave Kemp photographed the proceedings. The result is a slideshow feature at Open Book Toronto called Open Bar. I think it's pretty cool.
Ok, now I'm outie for the holiday. Happy Civ--I promise to write something with real paragraphs next week!
Stay with me / go places
RR
Annabel Lyon does 12 or 20 with rob mclennan (have I mentioned recently how much I love this series?)
The Hart House Players' outdoor production of Romeo & Juliet runs until Saturday and is highly highly recommended. The spot on Philospher's Walk is beautiful and even you know the Walk, you probably haven't been there before (I hadn't--there's a grassy park on top of flight of cement stairs!) Also, and most importantly, the cast as amazing, free and relaxed and passionate, which is how I like to see Shakespeare. They play the characters young and silly and bawdy, and Mercutio and Benvolio's banter is an especial delight. Another highlight is Juliet, a role that often gets played as a pretty hysteric. Here, Cosette Derome makes the 13-year-old lover human and funny in her giggly ardour, and later in her wretched but wry sorrow. When I looked up Derome in the program, I was surprised-but-not-really to find she'd been in my favourite play of the summer, 36 Little Plays about Hopeless Girls. I wonder what else she's going to be in...whatever it is, I'd watch it!
Steven W. Beattie's desk is now viewable on Desk Space. I also love this series a lot; there are no bounds to my nosiness about fellow writers!
And finally, a while back I talked books and bars with Ian Daffern at the Victory Cafe and Dave Kemp photographed the proceedings. The result is a slideshow feature at Open Book Toronto called Open Bar. I think it's pretty cool.
Ok, now I'm outie for the holiday. Happy Civ--I promise to write something with real paragraphs next week!
Stay with me / go places
RR
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
Rose-coloured reviews *36 Little Plays about Hopeless Girls*
36 Little Plays about Hopeless Girls is playing at Bread & Circus as part of Fringe Toronto, which means time is of the essence! There's a showing almost daily until July 12 (see the play-title link for schedules) and then that's it--opportunity window shut.
As you might be able to tell from the above, I am suggesting you see this play. Maybe you don't need me to tell you this; it's one of the buzz plays of the Fringe this year, and I heard later it elicited similar delight when it played two years ago Tranzac. I live in a box and the reason I wanted to see it is that my former classmate is in it and she posted it on her Facebook page and I like hopeless girls (empathy). I hadn't even realized the Eye article I posted last time was a cover story until my partner-in-playgoing pointed it out, and suggested we go the $2 surcharge and get advance tickets (which was a good idea, as the show sold out).
So what's so awesome about *Hopeless Girls*? It's smart, it's sharp, and it's funny. It's got whole-cast dance numbers between the little plays that are beyond charming--someone took the time to arrange pop songs (think Hey Ya as Muzak), and to choreograph 30-seconds of movement that really work for a dozen girls on a tiny stage, and they are executed really well--not only does everyone keep time, they look like they're having a ball.
The characters in the plays are having less fun than their performers. The girls aren't hopeless in big dramatic ways--no one's on a quest for alchemy or perfect love or eternal youth. Instead, they are just trying to get noticed by their mothers, get through a work day without anyone being rude to them, survive the commute home. The plays are indeed little and so is the drama contained within them, but that makes the moments of recognition from the audience so bountiful and delightful. I definitely know about the weird way I don't like myself when I squish a bug, how disgusting "other people's ketchup" is, how sometimes I wish I could just lie down on the sidewalk for a minute and catch my breath. And I've heard that *exact* "You really still eat dairy? It's not natural, you know!" comment several times (something that, in me at least, elicits the ironic silent reaction, "Cow!")
I like the exaggerated modesty of the play--even props that could easily have been provided (magazines, hairbrushes) are made of cardboard. The only set is a table and chairs, and those are also covered with cardboard--leading to a semi-magical space, where everything is realistic but not quite real. This is deepened by the characters' long elegant not-quite-real-in 2009 names--Melisande, Antoinette, Effervescence--and the fact that everyone wears a pretty pastel party dress. The disjunct of a club-scene girl sprawled on her bedroom floor complaining about being cold...while wearing a pink summer frock...is funny and somehow poignant.
This modesty belies how professional the production actually is. *36 Little Plays* is flawlessly rehearsed--everyone hits their marks, gets their props in the right place, and manages their entrances and exits smoothly--important details that are often missed in low-budget theatre. And of course I need to emphasize that the writing is extremely tight, too. Each vignette is smart and well-crafted, but the larger play coheres as well, in some strange and fascinating ways. The subtle interweaving of the characters' narratives brought home the notion that a hopeless girl's greatest ally and greatest weakness in times of trouble is...other hopeless girls. The overpowering sense of community towards the end was really interesting.
There is a small quirk to the play, a strange creature named Nifa whose presence, even when eventually explained, made very little sense to me. She only shows up a few times, gives rise to a few good jokes about panel vans, and doesn't really impact the proceedings at all. In fact, the character added so little that I forgot to even mention her in the post-viewing dinner-discussion. It was only the next morning that I was like, "Oh, the hell?" If you see the play and the Nifa strand works for you, I'd be curious to know why. But even if it doesn't, that's a small small matter in a giant work of little plays.
Five days left!
It's good to lay awake all night
RR
As you might be able to tell from the above, I am suggesting you see this play. Maybe you don't need me to tell you this; it's one of the buzz plays of the Fringe this year, and I heard later it elicited similar delight when it played two years ago Tranzac. I live in a box and the reason I wanted to see it is that my former classmate is in it and she posted it on her Facebook page and I like hopeless girls (empathy). I hadn't even realized the Eye article I posted last time was a cover story until my partner-in-playgoing pointed it out, and suggested we go the $2 surcharge and get advance tickets (which was a good idea, as the show sold out).
So what's so awesome about *Hopeless Girls*? It's smart, it's sharp, and it's funny. It's got whole-cast dance numbers between the little plays that are beyond charming--someone took the time to arrange pop songs (think Hey Ya as Muzak), and to choreograph 30-seconds of movement that really work for a dozen girls on a tiny stage, and they are executed really well--not only does everyone keep time, they look like they're having a ball.
The characters in the plays are having less fun than their performers. The girls aren't hopeless in big dramatic ways--no one's on a quest for alchemy or perfect love or eternal youth. Instead, they are just trying to get noticed by their mothers, get through a work day without anyone being rude to them, survive the commute home. The plays are indeed little and so is the drama contained within them, but that makes the moments of recognition from the audience so bountiful and delightful. I definitely know about the weird way I don't like myself when I squish a bug, how disgusting "other people's ketchup" is, how sometimes I wish I could just lie down on the sidewalk for a minute and catch my breath. And I've heard that *exact* "You really still eat dairy? It's not natural, you know!" comment several times (something that, in me at least, elicits the ironic silent reaction, "Cow!")
I like the exaggerated modesty of the play--even props that could easily have been provided (magazines, hairbrushes) are made of cardboard. The only set is a table and chairs, and those are also covered with cardboard--leading to a semi-magical space, where everything is realistic but not quite real. This is deepened by the characters' long elegant not-quite-real-in 2009 names--Melisande, Antoinette, Effervescence--and the fact that everyone wears a pretty pastel party dress. The disjunct of a club-scene girl sprawled on her bedroom floor complaining about being cold...while wearing a pink summer frock...is funny and somehow poignant.
This modesty belies how professional the production actually is. *36 Little Plays* is flawlessly rehearsed--everyone hits their marks, gets their props in the right place, and manages their entrances and exits smoothly--important details that are often missed in low-budget theatre. And of course I need to emphasize that the writing is extremely tight, too. Each vignette is smart and well-crafted, but the larger play coheres as well, in some strange and fascinating ways. The subtle interweaving of the characters' narratives brought home the notion that a hopeless girl's greatest ally and greatest weakness in times of trouble is...other hopeless girls. The overpowering sense of community towards the end was really interesting.
There is a small quirk to the play, a strange creature named Nifa whose presence, even when eventually explained, made very little sense to me. She only shows up a few times, gives rise to a few good jokes about panel vans, and doesn't really impact the proceedings at all. In fact, the character added so little that I forgot to even mention her in the post-viewing dinner-discussion. It was only the next morning that I was like, "Oh, the hell?" If you see the play and the Nifa strand works for you, I'd be curious to know why. But even if it doesn't, that's a small small matter in a giant work of little plays.
Five days left!
It's good to lay awake all night
RR
Thursday, July 2, 2009
Culture Clash
Strangely, this year the Toronto Fringe Festival runs from July 1 to 12, while the Scream Literary Festival will run July 2 to 13. Strange because these are both such amazingly awesome weirdy cultural events that appeal to so many of the very same people (both as attendees and likely as volunteers) that you'd think they wouldn't want to compete. But who knows, in the world of schedules and venues, what hardships these two teams suffered from, so all we can do is thank our stars we at least have 2 weeks to jam in as much as we can.
If you held a gun/dayplanner to my head, I'd have to come out for lit over theatre, so I'll be hoping to see you at Stet: Redacting the Redacted, the Joyland Joyathon (well, I'm participating in that!), and of course the big mainstage reading on July 13. But there should be world enough and time to sneak in at least 36 Plays about Hopeless Girls, if not a couple others.
Really, when you have to complain about having too many alternatives for fun, you are really scraping the bottom of the complain barrel. Oh, Toronto, you rule my heart!
Our home and native land
RR
If you held a gun/dayplanner to my head, I'd have to come out for lit over theatre, so I'll be hoping to see you at Stet: Redacting the Redacted, the Joyland Joyathon (well, I'm participating in that!), and of course the big mainstage reading on July 13. But there should be world enough and time to sneak in at least 36 Plays about Hopeless Girls, if not a couple others.
Really, when you have to complain about having too many alternatives for fun, you are really scraping the bottom of the complain barrel. Oh, Toronto, you rule my heart!
Our home and native land
RR
Monday, September 15, 2008
Moving Right Along
It is comforting to know, unless I actually spontaneously combust at tonight's launch (note: highly unlikely; no need to wear anything flame-retardent), the world will continue to be amazing.
Emily Schultz's lovely multi-city short-story web compendium, Joyland continues to be a joy, showcasing great and strange new stories by authors like Claudia Dey and Lydia Millet. And as of today, there's also a story up there by yours truly. The piece is called Black-and-White Man and I'm really thrilled that's being included in such an amazing project.
On Wednesday, I'll be attending opening night of Atlas Stage's production of George Walker's Theatre of the Film Noir, which is exciting not only because I like George Walker and haven't been to the theatre in a while, but also because the last time I talked to star Magdalena Alexander, her enthusiasm for the project was practically pyrotechnic. If you come to opening night, there's a party afterwards at the Drake, but the show runs in Canada until Sunday (or, if you're going to be in Poland, also in October...)
Ok, enough distractions, back to worrying about tonight.
Now that it's raining more than ever / know that we'll always be together
RR
Emily Schultz's lovely multi-city short-story web compendium, Joyland continues to be a joy, showcasing great and strange new stories by authors like Claudia Dey and Lydia Millet. And as of today, there's also a story up there by yours truly. The piece is called Black-and-White Man and I'm really thrilled that's being included in such an amazing project.
On Wednesday, I'll be attending opening night of Atlas Stage's production of George Walker's Theatre of the Film Noir, which is exciting not only because I like George Walker and haven't been to the theatre in a while, but also because the last time I talked to star Magdalena Alexander, her enthusiasm for the project was practically pyrotechnic. If you come to opening night, there's a party afterwards at the Drake, but the show runs in Canada until Sunday (or, if you're going to be in Poland, also in October...)
Ok, enough distractions, back to worrying about tonight.
Now that it's raining more than ever / know that we'll always be together
RR
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
Rose-coloured Reviews *Avenue Q*
The musical Avenue Q has occasionally been compared to Jonathan Larson's Rent except with puppets. Much as I enjoyed both musicals, I have to say this comparison is not apt; Avenue Q is a *parody* of Rent. Liking one is no guarantee of liking the other; in fact, if you are a terrifically intense fan of the dramatic, earnest change-the-world-one-block-at-a-time-ishness of Rent, it might really piss you off to see people and puppets waving their arms around and crooning, "Everyone's a little bit racist!"
Not me (or at least not very much-the next line, "And that's ok!" got me a little). The songs in Avenue Q are very very very funny, and often uncomfortably accurate. Like all the best parodies, Q loves its targets but doesn't spare them, and that includes the audience. Songs like "Schadenfreude" and "There's a Fine, Fine Line" (between love and wasting your time) make you cringe as you laugh, and that's pretty impressive for puppets.
The other big comparison you hear for Avenue Q is with Jim Henson's Muppets, and you definitely do see that in not only the fuzzy humanoid forms but also in the dexterity of the puppeteers. However, while Henson's creations have at least a pretense of *not* being puppets, all I could think when the stage lights came up on Avenue Q is is "You can *see* the puppeteer!!!" It took me a while to adjust to seeing Kate Monster and Princeton, allegedly freely acting people, being trailed by actual people dressed in grey with their hands up the puppets' shirts (none of the puppets have any legs). What's amazing is how quickly my alarm disappeared. You really start seeing only one being in these units. It helps that the puppeteers are really actors, and give incredible performances with both their hands and their faces. When Kate Monster looks sadly down at the ground, so does her puppeteer, a concept that works amazingly well. I think all the puppeteers were moving their lips, but we had terrible seats (I could've stood on my seat and touched the ceiling [but I didn't]) so this didn't trouble me overmuch. The upside of seeing the people behind the puppets was more than worth it. The best moment of puppet-engineering is when the sexy bad-girl puppet leaves a room and, since the puppet has no lower body, the puppeteer swings her hips. Hilarious, and effective.
Great songs, great performers, cool puppets and stunts used to cool effect-what could be wrong? Well, in light of all that other stuff, it wasn't *very* wrong, but, um, the story? Such as it was. Wondrous Fred recently called "Greatest Hits" musical storylines like *Mamma Mia* basically "song-delivery systems" and sadly so is the book for Q. The songs are pretty biting but also present the characters as semi-complex (well, it's a musical) and confused. In dialogue, however, they are a seventh-grade guidance class on how to achieve maturity. The closeted gay guy has no motivation, the commitment-phobic guy has no motivation, the sloppy irresponsible guy has no motivation-eventually they just stop doing the self-destructive stuff they were doing. Oh, and the women just don't have flaws to start with-except the slut.
This stuff wouldn't be problematic, really (it's a *musical*!) but towards the end of the second act, everyone starts squawking about how much they've "learned". Couldn't we have just left this as a cool entertainment with a few really insightful thoughts about social behaviour, without trying to crazy-glue a moral on it? Because, by my count, both major problem sets in the show were solved by money falling from the sky, and the last song ("For Now", which is as brill as all the rest of the songs) is about making do with whatever you've got because it is what you've got.
Now, I'm totally recommending you see this show and I think you'll love the whole thing, but really, *really* don't try to learn too much from it. You might, actually, anyway, but that's not much the point.
Back out on the car
RR
Not me (or at least not very much-the next line, "And that's ok!" got me a little). The songs in Avenue Q are very very very funny, and often uncomfortably accurate. Like all the best parodies, Q loves its targets but doesn't spare them, and that includes the audience. Songs like "Schadenfreude" and "There's a Fine, Fine Line" (between love and wasting your time) make you cringe as you laugh, and that's pretty impressive for puppets.
The other big comparison you hear for Avenue Q is with Jim Henson's Muppets, and you definitely do see that in not only the fuzzy humanoid forms but also in the dexterity of the puppeteers. However, while Henson's creations have at least a pretense of *not* being puppets, all I could think when the stage lights came up on Avenue Q is is "You can *see* the puppeteer!!!" It took me a while to adjust to seeing Kate Monster and Princeton, allegedly freely acting people, being trailed by actual people dressed in grey with their hands up the puppets' shirts (none of the puppets have any legs). What's amazing is how quickly my alarm disappeared. You really start seeing only one being in these units. It helps that the puppeteers are really actors, and give incredible performances with both their hands and their faces. When Kate Monster looks sadly down at the ground, so does her puppeteer, a concept that works amazingly well. I think all the puppeteers were moving their lips, but we had terrible seats (I could've stood on my seat and touched the ceiling [but I didn't]) so this didn't trouble me overmuch. The upside of seeing the people behind the puppets was more than worth it. The best moment of puppet-engineering is when the sexy bad-girl puppet leaves a room and, since the puppet has no lower body, the puppeteer swings her hips. Hilarious, and effective.
Great songs, great performers, cool puppets and stunts used to cool effect-what could be wrong? Well, in light of all that other stuff, it wasn't *very* wrong, but, um, the story? Such as it was. Wondrous Fred recently called "Greatest Hits" musical storylines like *Mamma Mia* basically "song-delivery systems" and sadly so is the book for Q. The songs are pretty biting but also present the characters as semi-complex (well, it's a musical) and confused. In dialogue, however, they are a seventh-grade guidance class on how to achieve maturity. The closeted gay guy has no motivation, the commitment-phobic guy has no motivation, the sloppy irresponsible guy has no motivation-eventually they just stop doing the self-destructive stuff they were doing. Oh, and the women just don't have flaws to start with-except the slut.
This stuff wouldn't be problematic, really (it's a *musical*!) but towards the end of the second act, everyone starts squawking about how much they've "learned". Couldn't we have just left this as a cool entertainment with a few really insightful thoughts about social behaviour, without trying to crazy-glue a moral on it? Because, by my count, both major problem sets in the show were solved by money falling from the sky, and the last song ("For Now", which is as brill as all the rest of the songs) is about making do with whatever you've got because it is what you've got.
Now, I'm totally recommending you see this show and I think you'll love the whole thing, but really, *really* don't try to learn too much from it. You might, actually, anyway, but that's not much the point.
Back out on the car
RR
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
I like
Am I ever going to get it together to review something? This is the extremely small question of the hour, which I mainly ignore. Until then, here are some things I've been uncritically enjoying.
Thom Bryce, of Free Biscuit fame, has a new play called *The Curative* being performed this week by the (pivotal)arts folks at the WriteNow! festival, in conjunction with three other plays that I haven't seen, but if *The Curative* is a fair sample, are probably brilliant. (Warning: *The Curative* is not for the faint-hearted, in terms of both sex and violence. The word "chilling" comes to mind.)
The joyful music of The Choir Practice. I don't know what I need more faith in, but this pretty music redeems it all.
Smoked tofu--it doesn't even have a Wikipedia page, but it's delicious (as tofu goes) and little known. Consider it.
Oh, and just to show I can dislike stuff, I didn't think Lars and the Real Girl was very good, and, worse, gave a simplistic reductive portrayl of both women and the mentally ill.
But really, who am I to say?
You look so good with a gun / but that hat doesn't suit you
RR
Thom Bryce, of Free Biscuit fame, has a new play called *The Curative* being performed this week by the (pivotal)arts folks at the WriteNow! festival, in conjunction with three other plays that I haven't seen, but if *The Curative* is a fair sample, are probably brilliant. (Warning: *The Curative* is not for the faint-hearted, in terms of both sex and violence. The word "chilling" comes to mind.)
The joyful music of The Choir Practice. I don't know what I need more faith in, but this pretty music redeems it all.
Smoked tofu--it doesn't even have a Wikipedia page, but it's delicious (as tofu goes) and little known. Consider it.
Oh, and just to show I can dislike stuff, I didn't think Lars and the Real Girl was very good, and, worse, gave a simplistic reductive portrayl of both women and the mentally ill.
But really, who am I to say?
You look so good with a gun / but that hat doesn't suit you
RR
Friday, July 27, 2007
A Good Day
Yesterday was an excellent day for the written word around here. In the morning, I finally sent awwaaaaay a story that has been bugging me. It may not, in fact, have been fine, but it was as fine as I was going to get it, and now it is out of my power to pick at it anymore. Then in the afternoon I met up with Kerry and we did the whole write-and-talk thing. For the more solitary-garret types, this may seem like an unproductive thing to do, but for me, with writers I'm in sync with, it's quite lovely to have their insights, feedback and general creative auras. Plus Kerry actually solved a knot in the story I was working on, practically handing me the ending. That never happens. Thanks, K!
And then when I got home, the mail had brought me lovely volumes with a squirrel on the cover: the new issue of QWERTY. If you are a non-subscriber and not in New Brunswick, this one might be hard to find, but if you do spot an inland copy, I urge you to grab it. And not *just* because my story "Missing (MF)" appears on page 88. Also because there is a wealth of poetry and prose in here, by names famed and new. QWERTY is put together by the University of New Brunswick's Creative MA students, whose program closely parallels the one I just completed, and they've done some wicked work here. And the squirrel is really cute, even though he's holding a knife.
I much fear that my planned picnic at the Dream in High Park is about to rained out this evening. I am promised a floor picnic and videos if that occurs, though, so I can't pout *too* much. Plus the embarrassment of riches listed above.
Ends up making payments on a sofa or a girl
RR
And then when I got home, the mail had brought me lovely volumes with a squirrel on the cover: the new issue of QWERTY. If you are a non-subscriber and not in New Brunswick, this one might be hard to find, but if you do spot an inland copy, I urge you to grab it. And not *just* because my story "Missing (MF)" appears on page 88. Also because there is a wealth of poetry and prose in here, by names famed and new. QWERTY is put together by the University of New Brunswick's Creative MA students, whose program closely parallels the one I just completed, and they've done some wicked work here. And the squirrel is really cute, even though he's holding a knife.
I much fear that my planned picnic at the Dream in High Park is about to rained out this evening. I am promised a floor picnic and videos if that occurs, though, so I can't pout *too* much. Plus the embarrassment of riches listed above.
Ends up making payments on a sofa or a girl
RR
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