 |
| Photo: Danny Taillon |
Back, Back, Backby Gaëtan L. Charlebois
A dozen or so years ago, I got into a lot of trouble at Espace Go when I yelled, "C'est d'la merde!" at the end of a particularly awful production. I found it necessary, subsequently, to explain the convergence of elements that led to that moment. In a kind of manifesto written for Hour, I explained that French-language theatre in Montreal had developed a kind of aesthetic sameness. That no matter the play, a certain school of directors found a way to render the evening lovely to look at—well lit, beautifully dressed and designed—but utterly empty.
A decade has past. However, tonight, back at Espace Go, I felt like I had never been away. A director I had named in that article, back then—Claude Poissant—had taken a difficult text and turned it into a series of empty pictures, choral recitations, semi-danced movements and whispered-on-the-wind, airy-fairy poetry that, once again, proved to be utterly soulless.
