Review: Urban Tales

The Dark Side of Xmas

by Caitlin Murphy

A Montreal tradition with an anarchic mission, Urban Tales, presented by Theatre Urbi et Orbi in association with the Centaur, brands itself as ‘anti-holiday’ storytelling.  This year’s sixth edition once again subverts the expectations of the season by ditching the cozy for the caustic, the sacred for the sarcastic and the holy for the hellish.

It’s a little delightfully ironic then that the Centaur space has never looked warmer or more welcoming.  The leftover set from their production of Good People serves as a perfect base; decked out with wreaths, twinkly lights, garland, and even Santa’s boots peeking out from the fireplace, the setting’s ambience is like a big hot cup of cocoa.  And with added cabaret seating and a bar right on stage, it’s fun to watch the first brave patrons – like teenagers venturing out onto the dancefloor – decide to actually sit on the stage.  The setting not only echoes the topsy-turvy world of dark holiday tales, but it’s always fun to do things in the theatre you’re not supposed to.  Spirited musical accompaniment – mutations of well-known carols, playfully provided by Nick Carpenter on keyboard – perfectly rounds off the evening’s yuletide vibe.

Review: Three Sisters

(from NTS website - Shannon Currie and Stephane Garneau-Monten)

Moscow or Bust
by Caitlin Murphy

Anton Chekhov, that titan of dramatic literature, once ventured that “Any idiot can face a crisis – it’s day to day living that wears you out.”  A master at highlighting the irksome paradoxes of human existence, Chekhov wrote about themes that aren’t only universal but boast a damn decent shelf-life.  Though the National Theatre School’s graduating class’ production of Three Sisters often gets weighed down in the playwright’s less contemporary appeal, the company still rallies to find the play’s resonance.

Directed by Vikki Anderson, and presented at the beautiful Monument National, Three Sisters is about Olga, Masha and Irina, who, in the opening scene, are lamenting the first anniversary of their father’s death.  Quickly we are introduced to the women’s all-consuming desire to return to Moscow – the home of their youth, and the mecca of meaningful, sophisticated and satisfying life.  In the meantime, they toil away in their dull little town, living on promise, and diverting themselves with jovial visits from locally stationed soldiers.

Review: Satrangi

Gold Dust

by Caitlin Murphy

The season’s first snowfall was serendipitous yesterday, at least for one local theatre opening.  Satrangi, written, directed, choreographed and performed by Deepali Lindblom, implores Montrealers to come in from the cold and move toward the light:  “7 Stories of Light” in fact.  And though the show offers a bright, cozy atmosphere and some delightful Indian dance, all that glitters isn’t quite gold.

The production quickly serves up several visual treats: the set, created by Claire Renaud and Charlotte Hoffman, is compelling in its simplicity: colourful sheaths of fabric are elegantly draped, and strings of twinkly lights gracefully hung to create a highly inviting proscenium in the Bain St. Michel. Alycia O’Keefe’s lighting design is inspired and evocative; and the many shiny, flowing, adorned costumes (changed often) create kaleidoscopic effects.  

Review: The Exonerated

The Promise of authenticity

by Caitlin Murphy

I have often thought that the greatest existential torture I could ever experience would be false imprisonment.  How would you possibly sustain yourself when your inner truth and imposed reality were so diametrically, diabolically opposed?  The Third Eye Ensemble explores this very question in The Exonerated, a piece of documentary theatre by Jessica Blank and Erik Jensen.  With a cast of 11, the play is a symphony of voices, and though it hits a few notes very well, the range is limited.  What it does, it does quite well, but I don’t think it does enough.

 “Culled from interviews, letters, transcripts, case files and the public record,” The Exonerated, directed by Kent McQuaid, gives voice to six death row inmates who were eventually acquitted.  Their stories of false imprisonment for the most specious of reasons serve largely as a history lesson in America’s racist, homophobic past.  Third Eye Ensemble, founded primarily by recent Dawson and Concordia graduates, first presented this play last year in a limited sold-out run, and chose to do a full re-mount this year, in part to honour the script’s tenth anniversary.  

Review: Julius Caesar

To The Top...and back
by Caitlin Murphy

Shakespeare is hard. A banal thought, but perhaps the fairest foot to put forward in reviewing a student production of Julius Caesar. The plays are long, the language is old, and sword-play is required.  Despite all of this, as well as the frustrating lack of female roles, Shakespeare remains the bench-mark of doing theatre, the Mount Everest for budding thespians. And though some make it to the top of that mountain, flag in hand, others get left at base camp, sucking back oxygen. Dawson Theatre’s Caesar has got both kinds.

In this third-year class’ production, scenic elements and design choices, though intriguing, felt under-integrated:  from the screen of static at the play’s opening, to the rapid-fire sound-bite montage of world leaders, to the Occupy Movement footage shown through intermission, to the wartime footage inserted to launch the battle scenes, and the often jarring use of projections throughout, the staging felt hodge-podge. The set appeared to offer a lot more versatility than was exploited, and the few movements it underwent felt somewhat lethargic and inelegant.  It was actually the simple creation of a tent – through several actors holding a sheath of cloth to denote its perimeter – that worked best.

Review: Private View

(photo credit: Victor Tangermann of Victor Tangermann Photography)

The Good Life
by Caitlin Murphy

Vaclav Havel died last year.  I don’t remember hearing anything about it.  Not that I would have noticed, as I had no idea who he was until last night.  And I’ve been feeling a little ashamed.  After all, few CVs likely boast the credits of poet, essayist, playwright, AND President of Czechoslovakia. Add to these the fact that his life inspired the creation of an Award for Creative Dissent, and you get something of the man’s eclectic legacy.  It’s a legacy that’s being very well served by Tuesday Night Café Theatre’s production of Havel’s one-act play, Private View.

Set in Czechoslovakia in 1975, Private View features Fred and Vera, a married couple who welcome Michael (whom they repeatedly insist is their best friend) over to admire their newly renovated and garishly outfitted home – choice objects on display include a scimitar, a Madonna and a re-purposed confessional.  We quickly discover that our hosts are fetishists:  they are obsessed with collecting and showing off symbols of the (ill-defined) “good life.”  Beyond this though, they are bent on skewering ‘best friend’ Michael for his wrong-headed choices (working at a brewery, not having a child, or frequent enough sex even!), imploring him to be more like them.  For his own sake, of course.

Review: Waiting For Godot

Rachel Resnik and Martin Law (photo credit: Eric Chad)

Bang The Old Toy Around
by Caitlin Murphy

You gotta give props to any young theatre company kicking off a season of classics with Beckett’s most angst-ridden modern masterpiece, Waiting for Godot.  And, of course, you have to expect said company – in this case, McGill Player's Theatre –  to want to bang that old toy around and see what else it can do.

In Godot, two unfortunates, Vladimir (Rachel Resnik) and Estragon (Martin Law), desperately try to pass the time as they wait for the elusive Godot.  Momentary diversions from their dull fate – word play, story-telling and the arrival of others –  at least help them maintain “the impression that they exist”.  Not for weak-willed plot-lovers, of course, the play circles, repeats and explicitly addresses its own tedium.  (No coincidence that Vivian Mercer once called it “a play in which nothing happens, twice.”) 

In one of Director Isaac Robinson’s playful revisions, Beckett’s minimalist set of “A country road.  A tree,” becomes the brick-walled back alley of a bar.  Godot’s bar, in fact, as the sign on the delivery door tells us.  And though it affords some really fun choices, such a distinct setting also kills the ‘middle of nowhere’ factor that feels so central to our anti-heroes’ predicament.  That said, it was actually the decision to do away with the tree – gestures towards it felt not so much minimalist as confusing and ill-defined – that I found disappointing.