Grab your swords, guys, and join the brawl: The Three Musketeers swashbuckles at the Citadel, a review

Posted on April 26, 2024 by Liz Nicholls

Daniel Fong, Alexander Ariate, Braydon Dowler-Coltman, Darren Martens in The Three Musketeers, Citadel Theatre. Photo by Nanc Price.

By Liz Nicholls, 12thnight.ca

The irresistible urge to pick up something pointy and dazzle someone with fancy moves, and possibly run them through, is everywhere on display in the big, entertaining production of The Three Musketeers that brings the Citadel season to a close.

Yes, they don’t call it swordplay for nothing.

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In fact, the Catherine Bush adaptation of Alexandre Dumas’s 1844 historical novel enjoys brawls so much it revisits them in flashbacks, amplified, or flash-forwards, in anticipation. In the very first scene of Daryl Cloran’s exuberant Citadel/ Vancouver Arts Club co-production is a brawl in a down-market tavern where the denizens (of all genders, by the way) are armed with shovels, brooms, tankards, as well as swords. Hey, just another night out in 17th century France.

And the show will replay, with trimmings, the acrobatic pleasures of that scene when Mme de Treville (Nadien Chu), the hot-tempered head of the elite royal troupe of official musketeers, demands an explanation from the star trio who just happened to be there energetically mixing it up. Duelling is against the law, she notes sternly. Which is, judging by this adaptation, a bit like pointing out that jaywalking is against the law in New York.

Daniel Fong, Nadien Chu, Braydon Dowler-Coltman, Alexander Ariate in The Three Musketeers, Citadel Theatre. Photo by Nanc Price.

Anyhow, every time Cardinal Richelieu’s elite guard bursts in anywhere to arrest people and take them to the Bastille (“once you go in, you never come out”) as they are apt to do, a fight breaks out. Or if you’re like d’Artagnan (the excellent Daniel Fong), a wide-eyed newcomer to Paris from the hinterland with dreams of being a Musketeer, getting called “boy” will make you grab your sword. Shoving someone, or just being a bad-ass in a bad mood, that’ll do it, too. And as for revenge, well, it’s not just an invitation, it’s an urgent necessity.

Felix LeBlanc, Alexander Ariate, Darren Martens, Braydon Dowler Coltman, Garett Ross, Morgan Yamada in The Three Musketeers, Citadel Theatre. Photo by Nanc Price

Fight choreographer Jonathan Hawley Purvis gives the 17-member cast swords (and daggers, and assorted sharp hardware), and an impressive arsenal of non-stop inventive moves. All good dangerous fun. In addition to a truly gorgeous array of period costumes and hats with vertiginous plumes, designer Cory Sincennes gives them a multi-layered three-tower wooden playground of wooden scaffolding to rebound off, with multiple staircases, on a revolve. Swashbuckling on revolving stairs is, as Hawley Purvis’s choreography confirms, no activity for the introspective. Ditto swinging from the chandeliers.

To say the least, you do not have to be a French lit major to follow the action of the (very long, very complicated) Dumas novel in this breezy adaptation. What does take the complications seriously is Jonathan Lewis’s grandly cinematic score, with its hints of the 17th century and lush gestures of adventure movies. A lot of French horns are involved, with strings for the romantic bits.

Daniel Fong, Alexander Ariate, Braydon Downler-Coltman, Darren Martens in The Three Musketeers, Citadel Theatre. Photo by Nanc Price.

The script takes its cue and Cloran’s production its comic lightness from a teasing contemporary view of the boisterous macho camarderie that underpins the story. The trio of Athos (Darren Martens), Porthos (Alexander Ariate) and Aramis (Braydon Dowler-Coltman) are all deluxe stand-up swordsmen to be sure, but they’re inseparable good time party lads, carousers par excellence.

They have distinct personalities under Cloran’s direction, and stand in high contrast to Fong’s d’Artagnan, the idealist bumpkin who dreams of joining them. Although, wait, come to think of it, his favourite expression is the grandiose “I swear by the sword of d’Artagnan….”

The wink at boys-will-be-boys male stereotypes of heroism is reinforced by Chu’s performance, with she/her pronouns, in the male role of the imperious Musketeer commander de Treville. Her ground zero is extreme exasperation. She never speaks; she shouts. And then, when her short fuse gets even shorter, she hollers even louder. Her cowed assistant Planchet is played by Farren Timoteo in an amusing performance that has a whirlwind show-stopper of a scene later in the show; Hawley Purvis’s choreography is a (shall we say) knock-out. The opening night audience cheered him on.

The funniest single performance is Timoteo’s double-turn as King Louis, a preposterous narcissist who wears Sincennes’ most flamboyant costume, with its inflatable brocade bloomers, and dance steps by Anna Kuman.    

Daniel Fong and John Ullyatt in The Three Musketeers, Citadel Theatre. Photo by Nanc Price.

As the treacherous spymaster Cardinal Richelieu, commander of the withering look and the acid tone, Scott Bellis is excellent. And his formidable henchman Rochefort is nailed by the sneering swagger of John Ullyatt’s performance. The inevitable duel between d’Artagnan and Rochefort is a fight highlight; the outcome is up for grabs.

There’s capital R Romance, to be sure. It’s treated comically in the case of d’Artagnan instantly falling head-over-heels for his landlord’s daughter Constance (Jade V. Robinson), a ninny who sounds like a kewpie character out of a comic book. And it has a more exotic edge in Athos, whose aristocratic past includes a relationship with the femme fatale Milady De Winter (Bahareh Yaraghi). He is, to say the least, a bit musket-shy when it comes to affairs of the heart: “love is a lottery in which the prize is death.”

With the exception of de Treville, who seems to ask for no credit for rising in a man’s world, the female characters in the story, and in performance, are pretty insipid, in truth. So just sit back, buckle your swash, and follow the clanging steel. There are letters, poisoned lockets, secret tattoos, purloined diamonds, secret identities, spy vs. spy — and swords. Merci, M. Dumas. And there’s fun to be had in this zestful well-armed swashbuckler of an adventure show. Seek it out, and see it soon before the cast gets impaled.

Have you read 12thnight’s preview interview with fight director Jonathan Hawley Purvis?  Read it here.

REVIEW

The Three Musketeers

Theatre: Citadel Theatre and Vancouver Arts Club

Written by: Alexandre Dumas, adapted by Catherine Bush

Directed by: Daryl Cloran

Starring: Alexander Ariate, Braydon Dowler-Coltman, Darren Martens, Daniel Fong, Scott Bellis, Jade V. Robinson, Garett Ross, John Ullyatt, Farren Timoteo, Bahareh Yaraghi, Morgan Yamada, Nadien Chu, Alexandra Lainfiesta, Felix LeBlanc

Running: through May 12

Tickets: 780-425-1820, citadeltheatre.com

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En garde! The Three Musketeers at the Citadel, a fight director’s dream gig: meet Jonathan Hawley Purvis

Posted on April 24, 2024 by Liz Nicholls

Felix LeBlanc, Alexander Ariate, Darren Martens, Braydon Dowler Coltman, Garett Ross, Morgan Yamada in The Three Musketeers, Citadel Theatre. Photo by Nanc Price

By Liz Nicholls, 12thnight.ca

“Never fear quarrels but seek hazardous adventures….”  — The Three Musketeers, Alexandre Dumas

En garde. The actors are armed and dangerous.

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In the Citadel season finale (opening Thursday on the Shoctor stage), when you see light glint off steel blades, or hear the clang when blades cross, you’ll be seeing the intricate work of fight choreographer Jonathan Hawley Purvis.

The Three Musketeers, a high-speed high-spirited 2015 stage adaptation by the American playwright Catherine Bush of the 1844 historical swashbuckler by the French novelist Alexandre Dumas, is a veritable extravaganza of swordplay, with a story to match. And actor/ fight director/ stunt performer Hawley Purvis is in his element; The Three Musketeers is a swordplay connoisseur’s dream show. “It’s a swashbuckling adventure, fun to see, and fun to do live!”

“It’s a big show…. In the first act alone, there are five fights,” he says happily, making time to chat en route to a rehearsal day. “Every couple of pages, someone is trying to kill someone! (laughter). And there’s another four in the second act. It’s crazy!”

Romeo and Juliet and West Side story (both on the Hawley Purvis resumé) are loaded with hair-trigger violence and street combat, built into the plot. Julius Caesar and Antony and Cleopatra have their moments, to be sure. But The Three Musketeers is perhaps the ne plus ultra of combat challenges. And the Citadel/ Vancouver Arts Club co-production that Daryl Cloran directs is Hawley Purvis’s third version, all different adaptations, in all different assignments.

Fight director Jonathan Hawley Purvis

In his first, Bob Baker’s 2011 Citadel production of a Tom Wood adaptation, he played Jussac, a lieutenant of the villainous Cardinal Richelieu. At the St. Lawrence Shakespeare Festival, in an adaptation by director Rona Waddington, he not only played Aramis, one of the blue-chip ‘all for one/ one for all’ elite trio, but choreographed all the fights for everybody else, too. “It was fun to direct myself,” he laughs.

And now, a full-bodied version with a cast of 17, outsized action, unstoppable swordplay, treachery, romance…. “It’s got comedic moments that are really fun,” says Hawley Purvis, an actor first before he got captivated by swordsmanship in theatre school in Calgary at Mount Royal College (a semester with stage combat master J.P. Fournier was a turning point). “At the same time it doesn’t shy away from letting itself be dramatic and dark…. It’s like a really good adventure movie, Indiana Jones or Back to the Future. Real stakes, real drama.”

Daniel Fong, Alexander Ariate, Braydon Dowler-Coltman, Darren Martens in The Three Musketeers, Citadel Theatre. Photo by Nanc Price.

“It’s fast-paced, sticks to the plot,” says Hawley Purvis, of a version with “two different time lines, short scenes, scenes that are happening on top of each other, jumping from action to action. And it allows itself to get dark and sad and heartfelt, when it wants, and laugh at itself and be tongue-in-cheek, too.”

All of which “really encompasses a perfect adventure movie!” he declares. “Princess Bride!” And all of which resonates in the “tonality” (a favourite Hawley Purvis term) of the fight choreography. “Some of it is more flourish-y and fun,”  he says. “Some of it is darker and grittier….”

The biggest sword fight in the show? “Eight people, four against four. There are two other brawl-style fights that happen in various taverns that include even more people, 10 or twelve. And a couple of duels!” Yup, we’ve got a handful!”

Hawley Purvis has the kind of buoyant energy about him in conversation that makes you (briefly) wonder why on earth you didn’t take a turn or two with a foil yourself before now. He and director Cloran have collaborated in the past (Shakespeare in Love, for example). They held the Musketeer auditions together. “Everyone who came through the door we put a sword in their hand and (had them do) some sword fighting.”

As he points out, there are, routinely, dance calls for big dance musicals, like West Side Story; fight calls are much more rare. Everyone in the show we’ll see at the Citadel “has held a sword in their hand at some point in their careers. Which makes my job so much easier, and allows us to take it another level.”

The cast arrives at stage combat from different directions, with different skill sets, he explains. Hawley Purvis’s starting point was dance. He grew up in Calgary, a kid who was “pretty heavily into it, very busy with lots of competitions,” as he describes. “But in my heart I kinda knew I didn’t want to be a dancer as a career. I wanted to be an actor.”

“I totally fell in love with it and it made sense to me,” Hawley Purvis says of his theatre school discovery of stage combat. … I was always a huge nerd. Princess Bride was my childhood. I loved swords and knights in armour…. It took me on a long journey, as an actor who kept training (in combat workshops), into stunt work in film and TV…. I love action!”

In choreographing a show, Hawley Purvis, who moved back to his original home town Vancouver in 2018 with actor wife Alanna Hawley Purvis (their twins are nearly six, “can you believe it?”), is apt to borrow the dance lexicon in talking about stage combat. “Dancing more than fighting, as in martial arts or boxing… For one thing it’s something you’ve got to do with your partner,” otherwise, presumably, stages world-wide would be littered by punctured corpses.

The theatrical stylization of violence — “representing violence in a way that’s believable but comes from a place of storytelling and craft, the art and science of execution” — is at the heart of fight direction, as Hawley Purvis muses. “It’s problem-solving and it can get quite technical,” but the telling of the story is the thing.

There is never zero risk in stage combat, to be sure, although “risk mitigation” is central to Hawley Purvis’s line of work. That risk would seem to the outsider exponentially increased in stunt work (he did stunts for the TV series The Last of Us, filmed in Calgary).

Has he ever been terrified working in the stunt industry? Hawley Purvis pauses, and laughs. “The first time I was lit on fire…. Hmm, OK, not terrified because I knew what I was in for, and knew all the safety requirements were being met, but I remember being very aware that it’s taking a risk.”

“My first high fall into a pile of cardboard boxes…. You have to trust the people around you,” he says. “And they’re the most amazing people. Very cool, from very different backgrounds, smart, with amazing skill sets.” In Alberta many stunt people are “ex-rodeo folks, bull riders, chuck racers, often still with farms. In Vancouver, a lot of martial arts people, from gymnastics, a few dancers.“

In 2018 he and his wife, actor Alanna Hawley Purvis, who met in a Citadel production of Disney’s Beauty and the Beast, moved to Vancouver. “We wanted to start a family,” he says (their twins are almost six, “can you believe it?”), and film and TV contracts, shorter than theatre, are more amenable to home life. “And I’ve keep my foot in theatre through fight choreography. Something keeps driving me back!”

Daniel Fong and John Ullyatt in The Three Musketeers, Citadel Theatre. Photo by Nanc Price.

How does he start rehearsing a fight scene for the tumultuous world of 17th century France, as filtered through Dumas, Catherine Bush, and a cast of varied experience (including a couple of fellow fight directors) in gender-bending assignments?  Hawley Purvis’s mind works in questions. “I always come from story first. My first priority is ‘what is the point of this fight in the show? Why is it written in here, and what is the arc? Where does it begin? Where does it end? What is the arc?’”

And then, “‘what is the tone of the fight? how does it fit in tonally into the show?’” He doesn’t plan out individual moves in advance, though. He waits till he’s in the rehearsal room with actors, “discovering their individual strengths and weaknesses, what they’re comfortable with.”

Ah, and “what’s repeatable,” sword in hand. In theatre, unlike film, the actors perform live, eight shows a week, as we’re about to see. The theatre mantra belongs to the story: “All for one and one for all.”

PREVIEW

The Three Musketeers

Theatre: Citadel Theatre and Vancouver Arts Club

Written by: Alexandre Dumas, adapted by Catherine Bush

Directed by: Daryl Cloran

Starring: Alexander Ariate, Braydon Dowler-Coltman, Darren Martens, Daniel Fong, Scott Bellis, Jade V. Robinson, Garett Ross, John Ullyatt, Farren Timoteo, Bahareh Yaraghi, Morgan Yamada, Nadien Chu, Alexandra Lainfiesta, Felix LeBlanc

Running: through May 12

Tickets: 780-425-1820, citadeltheatre.com

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Populating a world and reclaiming the past, all on a bare stage: Basic Training, a review

Posted on April 21, 2024 by Liz Nicholls

Kahlil Ashanti, creator and star of Basic Training. Photo supplied.

By Liz Nicholls, 12thnight.ca

In Basic Training, the impressively multi-character solo play currently running as part of the Edmonton Fringe Theatre season, Khalil Ashanti tells a fascinating story.

It is his own. It’s the story of a childhood terrorized by an abusive ‘father’, and a kid who escapes to find another family — by joining the American military and finding a gift for stand-up comedy. It’s also the story of a man who finally discovers his real roots, hitherto shrouded in mystery, and returns home to reclaim his family and re-write the ending.

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The title is double-sided. Basic Training is named both for the official boot camp that reduces people to nothingness and turns them into  soldiers — and for the domestic boot camp from which, in the end, it’s much harder to graduate. And Ashanti, a winsome and comically dexterous performer, populates both with some 23 characters — of all ages, sexes, persuasions, ethnicities, voices, accents.

The night before he leaves for boot camp, Ashanti’s mother tells him casually, in passing, that the violent man who has persecuted both of them forever isn’t his biological father.  And this knowledge haunts him through a career in the American military that includes getting chosen for Tops in Blue, the touring Air Force entertainment unit.

The fabric of the show is Ashanti’s high-speed, inventively physical, comic portraiture of the characters he meets in the course of basic training and his graduation into Tops in Blue in the 1990s. The furiously foul-mouthed drill sergeant, who practically levitates on the jet stream of his own highly original scatology, a figure familiar in American film, TV, and theatre, is heightened into comedy in Ashanti’s performance. And we meet Ashanti’s new pals, one with Tourette’s Syndrome, one with a flamboyant flounce, en route to a happy ending. It’s a journey interspersed with phone calls back home to his mom, a sympathetic figure trying to survive an impossible home regime.

The audition scene, in which he and other hopefuls, wildly varied in their talents, try out for Tops in Blue, is a lot of fun. Race is a recurring focus for Ashanti’s humour (the Black analysis of pool as an inherently racist game, vis-à-vis the supremacy of the white ball, is inspired). After all, as one character points out, it’s no coincidence that Black History Month is February, the shortest month of the year. And the most dangerous part of their world tour, not surprisingly the Middle East, snatches comedy from extreme danger — a busload of Black performers trading Black jokes, and a bus driver who pushes his luck. Always at the back of Ashanti’s mind is the thought of a dad, somewhere, identity unknown.

Perhaps the boldest, and certainly the uneasiest, idea of Basic Training is to intertwine in quick-change back-and-forth scenes, the brute of a drill sergeant and the brute tyrant of a step-father. The one is designed to be comic (the cornerstone of basic training seems to be verbal insults inflated to a fine art), and the other, detailing child abuse, horrifyingly not. This back-and-forth structure creates a disturbing equivalence; it places both characters on the same spectrum of violence. This structure, for me problematic, ups the stakes for Ashanti’s coming-of-age triumph, true, but in the process seems to let the abusive step-father off the hook somewhat; is he just the domestic version of a drill sergeant? It’s an idea that would seem to invite further exploration, beyond the scope, perhaps, of a 60-minute show.

In any case, Ashanti’s expertise in multi-character storytelling is enhanced by the fact that it happens on a bare stage. One man, one chair: what could be more quintessentially Fringe? That’s where this live show, with its zest for cameo captures, was born, as a 2004 production that was a hit in Montreal, has played other Fringes, including Edinburgh, since. The creation of a world, through solo performance, is a specialty of Fringes; so is the personal quest for identity. And there is no denying Ashanti’s protean talents. And, structural oddities notwithstanding, this is an unusual show, unafraid of sentiment, in which comedy and tragedy mingle and any happy ending is hard won.

REVIEW

Basic Training

Theatre: Edmonton Fringe Theatre

Created and performed by: Kahlil Ashanti

Where: Backstage Theatre, Fringe Arts Barns, 10330 84 Ave.

Running: through April 27

Tickets: fringetheatre.ca

 

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Onstage in Edmonton this weekend, choices! A survey

Posted on April 19, 2024 by Liz Nicholls

Joe and Mister in Wonderful Joe, Ronnie Burkett Theatre of Marionette. Photo by Ian Jackson, Epic Photography

By Liz Nicholls, 12thnight.ca

Your biggest problem this weekend in this theatre town is … choice. That, and the moment of truth for procrastinators. And the possibilities are high-contrast, to put it mildly, from companies of every size, aesthetic, and budgetary heft.

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What’s happening onstage? Productions at Theatre Network, Northern Light Theatre, the Citadel, Theatre Yes, Edmonton Fringe Theatre, the Mayfield, Rapid Fire Theatre, and more.

It’s your last chance to see a beautiful story about an old man and his dog by a great Canadian artist (and played by cast of marionettes); a strange original prairie-goth horror story about growing up as an outsider; a breath-sucking provocation of a story about the link between life and art; a play about an American hero up against time and cultural history.

Kahlil Ashanti, creator and star of Basic Training. Photo supplied.

And opening tonight, two shows:

One, the Edmonton Fringe Theatre season finale, is a hit solo memoir of survival through comedy. Basic Training, by and starring comedian/ actor/ playwright/ ex-soldier Kahlil Ashanti. It’s a story of violent childhood abuse transcended by a gift for entertainment. And it runs at the Backstage Theatre through April 27. Check out the 12thnight preview interview with Ashanti here. Tickets: fringetheatre.ca.

The other is a crazily inventive Rapid Fire hit, Improvised Dungeons & Dragons, led by Mark Meer as the Dungeon Master, leading a cast of the company’s top improvisers. It runs at RFT’s Exchange Theatre through May 4. Tickets: rapidfiretheatre.com.

You’ve been waiting for the weekend to venture forth, right? And now it’s your last chance to catch …

Wonderful Joe, Ronnie Burkett Theatre of Marionettes at Theatre Network. Photo by Ian Jackson, Epic Photograpy

•Ronnie Burkett’s wonderful, wonder-filled Wonderful Joe, premiering at Theatre Network. The characters come to vivid life as puppets and marionettes in the story of an old man and his old dog, in a last grand adventure in the world — Joe’s life-filled multi-cultural urban ‘hood on the wrong side of the tracks. Exquisitely designed, as always from the Ronnie Burkett Theatre of Marionettes, it’s a beauty of a piece, generous, funny, imaginative. Have a peek at the 12thnight preview interview with Burkett here, and the review here. It runs through Sunday. Tickets: theatrenetwork.ca.

Candy & The Beast, starring Jayce McKenzie and Jake Tkaczyk Northern Light Theatre. Photo by Brianne Jang, BB Collective Photography

•Candy & The Beast, a new mystery thriller/ coming-of-age tale by Trevor Schmidt premiering at Northern Light Theatre. It takes us to a prairie small town where a serial killer, species uncertain, has been on the rampage. And we meet a couple of misfit kids (Jayce McKenzie and Jake Tkaczyk), who set about solving the mystery and finding themselves a place in their dark, eerie, exclusionary world. It runs through Saturday in a Schmidt production at the Studio Theatre in the Fringe Theatre Arts Barns. Tickets: northernlighttheatre.com. Have you read the 12thnight preview interview with McKenzie? The 12thnight review is here.

Brandon Mcpherson, Dayna Lea Hoffmann, Ruth Alexander in The Pillowman, Theatre Yes. Photo by Mat Simpson

•Martin McDonagh’s dark comedy The Pillowman, a queasily brilliant provocation that comes at you in a series of interlocking stories, each springloaded with horror, and questions about the relationship between life and art. In a police state, the writer protagonist is being interrogated for the uncanny similarity between a series of child murders in the town and her grisly fables. The Theatre Yes production directed by Max Rubin takes us to a venue we haven’t been before, the basement of the Pendennis Building downtown, lined with plastic for the occasion. Check out 12thnight interview with director Rubin, and the review. The Pillowman runs through Sunday. Tickets: theatreyes.com.

•The Mountaintop, at the Citadel through Sunday. By the American writer Katori Hall, the play imagines the last night on earth of a hero: an encounter between Martin Luther King and a mysterious housekeeper, as the great man arrives back in his Memphis motel room after delivering his “mountaintop” speech. The two-hander has the same director (Patricia Darbasie) and cast (Ray Strachan and Patricia Cerra, both experienced in the roles and both excellent) as Shadow Theatre’s 2022 production. Tickets: 780-425-1820, citadeltheatre.com. Read the 12thnight review. (The Citadel production of The Three Musketeers directed by Daryl Cloran starts previews Saturday, and opens next week).

cast of Grease, Mayfield Dinner Theatre. Photo by Marc J. Chalifoux

Continuing:

•at the Mayfield, Kate Ryan’s vivid high-energy revival of the nostalgia magnet Grease, in which a cast of 18 is set in motion by Julio Fuentes’ sexy and inventive choreography. It runs through June 16. Tickets: mayfieldtheatre.ca. Check out the 12thnight review.

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Survival through laughter, a true-life story: Basic Training at Edmonton Fringe Theatre

Posted on April 17, 2024 by Liz Nicholls

Kahlil Ashanti, creator and star of Basic Training. Photo supplied

By Liz Nicholls, 12thnight.ca

The 23 characters who we meet at the Fringe’s Backstage Theatre Friday in Basic Training — conjured by a particularly agile playwright/ performer/ comedian — have taken an unusually circuitous route to get here.

They’ve crossed borders, continents, oceans. Like their engaging creator they know, in a vivid way, the value of laughter. The characters who populate Kahlil Ashanti’s hit solo show live in a real-life story, on a spectrum that includes hilarity and heartbreak, violent abuse and redeeming creativity.

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“Survival,” says Ashanti succinctly of his entry point into showbiz, which came via Tops in Blue, the elite U.S. Air Force entertainment troupe. On the phone from Vancouver, his home base, he explains that his was the peripatetic childhood of a kid in an American military family. Born in Germany, where he lived till age three, he was in Japan till he was 11 or 12, and after that, he grew up in Davenport, Iowa.

“For a lot of American kids who aren’t rich, college isn’t an option,” he says of his younger self. “In the U.S. a university education is at least 10 times what it is in Canada.” Besides, “the military was the family business,” and signing up “was a way to make my dad proud.”

The night before he left for basic training, Ashanti’s world fractured. t“I have my escape plan. It’s 1992. It’s Davenport, Iowa. And six days after high school graduation I’m finally leaving!” And that’s when it happens. “My mother sees fit to let me know, ‘by the way the guy who’s been beating the shit out of you for as long as you can remember isn’t your real dad. I told you before; you probably just forgot’…. And that’s the beginning of the show!”

Ashanti hadn’t been a ‘performing arts kid’, he says. “That stuff costs way too much…. I played football, I ran track, but I was never really great at sports. Which is decidedly inconvenient when you’re Black and in Davenport, Iowa.” So, to return to his origins as a performer, “survival!” was the operative concept.

He describes being made to stand at attention overnight with his little brother, a belt across their feet, as their step-dad slept on the couch. “Because we’d done something wrong.” Like “I’d forgotten to paint the bottom of the rocks green.” The stepdad as an army man “insisted that everything be uniform. So the rocks around the edge of the lawn had to match the colour of the grass. That was one of my jobs.”

“If we were to move, the belt buckle would make a noise and we’d get a beating…. Crying was the ultimate betrayal. So if my brother started crying, I’d do impressions of my step-dad. Quietly. To make him laugh. Quietly.”

Though he can’t have known it at the time, a career was getting planted in this thorny home soil. “Helping other people forget about their pain was the first time I remember having a feeling of self-worth,” Ashanti says. And that feeling was duplicated at school in the ‘80s. “People would be in pain and I’d do my Eddie Murphy impression…. And then I got invited to do a talent show at school.”

Kahlil Ashanti, creator and star of Basic Training. Photo supplied

There was no conventional theatre education about this, needless to say, Ashanti laughs. When the Funny Bone Comedy Club opened in Davenport, “I was able to take this weird talent I have (forward)…. I got the opportunity to open for people like Jamie Fox,” and other alumnae of the In Living Color sketch comedy show, he says. “That was my high school job, performing at the Funny Bone, and I was able to hone my craft in a real way that wasn’t a performing arts school…. My friends weren’t old enough to get in because they served alcohol.”

Another eye-opener was “growing up seeing Eddie Murphy…. What? Comedians can be actors?” A revelation, and it came “much to the chagrin of my mother,” who’d envisaged her kid, who had a knack for drawing, becoming an architect, with all the perqs. But “the performing bug had caught me.”

Kahlil Ashanti (right) and a Tops in Blue cohort “somewhere on tour.” Photo supplied.

When Ashanti got out of the military, he performed as a magician, in Japanese, at Caesar’s Palace in Las Vegas for three years. And then, “lo and behold,” he moved to L.A. And he did what showbiz hopefuls have always done, he took an acting class. What we’re going to see, in Basic Training, Ashanti says, is “the result of a storytelling exercise in Jeffrey Tambor’s acting class . where you’d have to come onstage and tell a story, the only stipulations being that the character leaves the story knowing something they didn’t know at the beginning.”

The early version of Basic Training “was just the funny parts; I didn’t have any of the abuse in there, the domestic violence,” Ashanti says. “Jeffrey pushed me to remind people, through my writing, the price I’d paid….”

“So I was living in L.A. And I couldn’t get hired to save my life,” he says. “I was going to have to figure it out on my own, and create my own opportunities. Of necessity.” And that’s where the Canadian Fringe circuit enters the Ashanti story, thanks to one of his classmates in Tambor’s acting course.

He took Basic Training, then called Father’s Day, to the Montreal Fringe in 2004, where it scooped up an impressive assortment of awards and ticket sales stats, and closed on … Father’s Day. And it played the Vancouver Fringe, too, an experience that comes with its own network of connections. Ashanti has remained a close friend of the Canadian Fringe stars master storyteller T.J. Dawe, and soloist Charlie Ross (of One-Man Star Wars Trilogy fame).

Ashanti has since taken Basic Training to the Off-Broadway Barrow Street Theater in NYC; he’s taken it to Australia; he’s taken it to the Edinburgh Fringe twice. And he’s signed a movie deal, too. Meanwhile he moved to Canada, to Vancouver. “It always seemed to come up in any of the lists of the five best places in the world to live” that he researched in the library. And, as he says, it was lot more accessible than Auckland or Bern.

The Fringe experience has inspired Ashanti in practical ways, too. He’d started Javascript coding in 1998 to support himself, and turned this expertise to creating “a digital pay-what-you-want solution for the arts” in 2018, an app he called We Show Up. “We’re growing up with a generation who have entertainment at their fingertips. And it’s never been harder to get your kids, or anyone under the age of 15, to care about theatre. Their spending habits reflect that…. And I don’t know if theatre can survive it.”

“This generation is used to controlling the narrative. They get to pick what series they’re going to binge today, as many episodes as they want for one price. And I decided to try that with theatre.” The idea of We Show Up (he shut it down when the pandemic descended) is that “you pay a couple of dollars up front, you come and see the show, and as you leave you get a text asking how much you thought the show was worth.” Fringe festivals, he says, “did not pick up on it.”

“I always stand at the exit after the show, and thank everyone who came to see it. And they tell me ‘I would have paid more for that!’.”

PREVIEW

Basic Training

Theatre: Edmonton Fringe Theatre

Created and performed by: Kahlil Ashanti

Where: Backstage Theatre, Fringe Arts Barns, 10330 84 Ave.

Running: through April 27

Tickets: fringetheatre.ca

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Back to our alma mater, for a class reunion at Rydell High. Grease at the Mayfield, a review

Posted on April 15, 2024 by Liz Nicholls

cast of Grease, Mayfield Dinner Theatre. Photo by Marc J. Chalifoux

By Liz Nicholls, 12thnight.ca

We all went to Rydell High. And none of us ever graduated.

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That’s the thing about Grease: every production of the 1972 musical by Jim Jacobs and Warren Casey is a class reunion, so to speak. Face it, You’re The One That I Want and Summer Nights have taken up permanent residency in your brain in a way that the periodic table, the subjunctive, or the plot of Beowulf never did.

“Grease is the time, is the place, is the motion,” as one of the opening numbers declares in the revival directed by Kate Ryan that’s currently running — and also leaping, bouncing, hand-jiving, twisting, doing back flips, all at a sensational rate — on the Mayfield stage. That, incidentally, is a location where it hasn’t been seen for the last 31 years. And Ryan’s cast of 18 is making up for lost time, in a go-for-the-gusto way.

Grease was always nostalgic, from its modest moment of origin (in a Chicago nightclub). And it’s a celebration and amiable spoof of the ‘50s that’s only gotten spoofier every decade since, especially after the John Travolta/ Olivia Newton movie of 1978. In the high-spirited Mayfield show, two competing planes of nostalgia intersect in the design by Lieke Den Bakker and Ivan Siemens, animated by Matt Schuurman’s cunning video design.

One is set in motion when the “kids” arrive — well, explode, dancing up a storm — into a brick inner-city courtyard, to announce that summer’s over and school’s back in. There’s urban grit in the look, but West Side Story this isn’t designed to be. The other is the fantasy that the famous soundtrack, with its heady nostalgic topnotes of young romance and angst (Raining on Prom Night), is coming at us direct from the giant car radio that dominates the stage. And it’s equipped with its own urbane conjuring genie, radio announcer Vince Fontaine (Vance Avery), with songs and worldly advice like “first day of school, play it cool.”

The costumes by Deanna Finnman are a riot of colour and crinolines, tight capris and pink satin bombers, black leather, pumps and saddle shoes. The spirit of showbiz, ‘50s nostalgia department, lives in these clothes; they’re always fun to look at. And when you see Ryan’s the cast dance and move in them, they really come into their own.

cast of Grease, Mayfield Dinner Theatre. Photo by Marc J Chalifoux

Julio Fuentes’ sexy, inventively athletic choreography — a departure from the long line of Grease productions which are considerably less demanding — captures the combination of brash exhibitionism and retreats that pretty much cuts to the chase in Grease. The plot, after all (to speak solemnly of something pretty blithe and airy), is based on the way its teen characters are torn between being their own individuals who “take no crap from nobody” (as Mark Sinongco’s Sonny LaTierri puts it) and the comfort of being part of a gang, like the T-Birds or the Pink Ladies. The choreography of peer group pressure, both the resisting of it and the succumbing to it, is the keynote of Ryan’s stagecraft too.

Take the principal love story, between hipster Danny Zuko (Kory Fulton) and the new girl in school, wholesome Sandy Dumbrowski (Kate Blackburn). Fulton’s performance is full of swagger, and uncertainty, confidence and ruefulness. His ventures into romance are always one step forward two back, with quick looks over his shoulder to make sure no one is looking.

Louise Duff (centre) and the cast of Grease, Mayfield Theatre. Photo by Marc J Chalifoux.

Uncertainty only comes later for the sardonic, apparently invincible tough cookie Rizzo, who makes even her Pink Ladies cohorts a bit nervous. She’s played with a range of mocking grins by Autumn-Joy Dames. And Trevor Coll is very funny as tough guy Kenickie, proud possessor of the broken down beater he’s christened Greased Lightning. He poses only at sharp diagonal angles and chews off every consonant like he was spitting tobacco.   

In a cast of strong singers and indefatigable dancers (Rydell is a high school of the performing arts?), the performances are fashioned in a comical mix of the cool and the sweetly earnest. May I single out Ryan Maschke as the moonstruck Roger and Jill Agopsowicz as the appealingly wide-eyed Jan, who serves Twinkies with Swiss Colony plonk because it’s “a dessert wine”? Chariz Faulmino as Frenchie, the dimbulb chronic drop-out, who got her name when she perfected “French inhaling,” is a hoot. Melissa MacPherson doubles as the cartoon purse-lipped teacher Miss Lynch, and a sultry Teen Angel who descends from the car radio to deliver her career counsel in Beauty School Dropout, surrounded by a chorus of angel cohorts in diner waitress (hey, it’s the ‘50s) uniforms.

The music values are, as always, high at the Mayfield, as led by musical director Jennifer McMillan and a band of five.

Consider if you will the hilarious manifesto of Grease authenticity: “we start believing now that we can be what we are.” Hmm. Think about that for a second or two, but not too hard. Do not ask why-y-y-y-y. It’s playful, yes, and nostalgic … about nostalgia. It good-naturedly spoofs its own kind of coming-of-age musical theatre, in an evening of high-spirited entertainment, expertly presented by a first-rate cast.

REVIEW

Grease

Theatre: Mayfield Dinner Theatre

Written by: Jim Jacobs and Warren Casey

Directed by: Kate Ryan

Starring: Kory Fulton, Kate Blackburn, Autumn-Joy Dames, Louise Duff, Vance Avery, Melissa MacPherson, Trevor Coll, Jill Agopsowicz, Ryan Maschke, Louise Duff, Ashley St. John, Mark Sinongco, Chariz Faulmino, Christine Desjardins, Cameron Chapman, Devin Alexander, Evan Taylor Benyacar, Sarah Dowling

Running: through June 16

Tickets: mayfieldtheatre.ca, 1-888-783-5076

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On the dark side of the fine art of storytelling: The Pillowman at Theatre Yes, a review

Posted on April 12, 2024 by Liz Nicholls

Brandon McPherson, Dayna Lea Hoffmann, Ruth Alexander in The Pillowman, Theatre Yes. Photo by Mat Simpson

By Liz Nicholls, 12thnight.ca

There’s a hooded figure, head bowed, waiting for us in a grim basement downtown. It’s a mysterious place we’ve never been before, and, ominously, it’s lined with plastic. Uh-oh.

With Martin McDonagh’s 2003 The Pillowman, Theatre Yes and director Max Rubin step up to a dark comedy with its own queasy brilliance. It’s a cunning set of interlocking stories — a veritable extravaganza of storytelling — each of them spring-loaded with horror, and with questions that seem to have answers. And then don’t.

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We are in an interrogation chamber in a totalitarian state (a completely convincing design by Heather Cornick). The prisoner, a writer (Dayna Lea Hoffmann), and her brain-damaged brother Michal (Kaden Forsberg) have been thrown in prison for reasons that elude her. True, you don’t really need a reason to get arrested in a police state; just ask Kafka. But there’s this: In the town, the horrifying child murders in Katurian’s (mostly unpublished) fables have been duplicated in real life. And a pair of menacing, and very funny, cops — the ‘good cop-bad cop’ team of Tupolski (Ruth Alexander) and Ariel (Brandon Mcpherson) — are toying with her before the inevitable execution. She can hear the sounds of her bro being tortured in the next room (hair-raising sound effects by Erik Richards).

Brandon Mcpherson, Dayna Lea Hoffmann, Ruth Alexander in The Pillowman, Theatre Yes. Photo by Mat Simpson

“I’m not trying to say anything!” Katurian argues on behalf of her gruesome stories, with their complement of severed toes, swallowed razor blades, premature burial. They’re not some how-to guide to murder. “Are you saying I shouldn’t write stories with child killings because in the real world there are child killings?”

“I don’t have themes,” Katurian adds. “Some poor little kid gets fucked up…. That’s your theme,” declares the jovial Tupolski, played with a hilarious and unsettling combination of good humour and hidden razor blades (so to speak) of exasperation by Alexander. Tupolski is constantly tussling with the more ferocious, cold-eyed Ariel, who’s itching to dispense with the prelims, and get to the torture. He’s played to a fine point of tension and danger by McPherson. Think of them as a vaudevillian pair, if you’re tuned to the key of dark.

And in the storytelling puzzle that is The Pillowman it turns out that the back stories of the two cops are germane, too. The literary ambitions of Tupolski are of maximum hilarity, masterfully delivered by Alexander.

Hoffmann, one of our most watchable young actors, is terrifically unsettling as Katurian. She argues, with some heat, for the vital importance of the imagination and storytelling, in life and in art. She’s willing to make any sort of deal, when the ultimate fate of her oeuvre comes up, a certain kind of literary fanaticism. The priority she places on her literary legacy, over everything including life, goes beyond mere dedication to craft, although the interrogation does make time for some judicious literary assessment. In this layered performance Hoffmann’s reassuring tone as a storyteller is both comical and sort of appalling. And as the child-like brother whose attention is constantly diverted, and whose great fear is boredom, Forsberg is touchingly wide-eyed and frightening in equal measure.  

Dayna Lea Hoffmann in The Pillowman, Theatre Yes. Photo by Mat Simpson

The plethora of grisly stories within the story, which get told, or re-told with crucial amendments, in some cases acted out in puppetry form, resist moralizing, to say the least. The title fable, which involves a soft, caring, and comforting childhood companion who counsels children towards suicide, so they can avoid the pain and suffering of the real world, is a leading example. There’s even a Shakespeare story that will make you laugh (OK, smile). The endings of these bedtime stories for insomniacs always have a malign screwball logic of their own, as you might expect if you’ve seen other McDonaghs (think of the fingers in The Banishees of Inisherin; no, try not to). Connoisseurs of being offended in the theatre will find a lot to work with here.

Have the last couple of decades diminished the shock value of McDonagh’s dark and disturbingly playful comedy? There’s a question to consider. And I’d have to say, as an audience member, it’s still a provocation in our moment, especially in the drift toward cultural fascism. The questions that get gleefully tossed up by The Pillowman continue to land just out of reach; it seems deliberately calculated to be a test case for all of them. Are artists responsible for the effect their work might possibly have on every possible audience? Are audiences not to be trusted to think what they think? Is prescriptive art a cop-out, or a bore, or an intrusion? Are true artists created by their own suffering?

You think you know what you know, especially about happy endings. And then you leave wondering.

REVIEW

The Pillowman

Theatre: Theatre Yes

Written by: Martin McDonagh

Directed by: Max Rubin

Starring: Dayna Lea Hoffmann, Ruth Alexander, Brandon Mcpherson, Kaden Forsberg

Where: Pendennis Building, 9660 Jasper Ave.

Running: April 11 to 21

Tickets: theatreyes.com

   

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On the frontier between hilarity and horror: Martin McDonagh’s The Pillowman at Theatre Yes, a preview

Posted on April 9, 2024 by Liz Nicholls

The Pillowman, Theatre Yes. Photo supplied.

By Liz Nicholls, 12thnight.ca

Get your shudder muscles ready, Edmonton, for the (very) black and disturbing comedy that opens Thursday in a production from Theatre Yes. As in Yes, The Pillowman is coming for you.

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The 2003 play by the Brit playwright/screenwriter Martin McDonagh — the name is your tip-off that hilarity will come with a major flinch factor — begins in an interrogation. In an unnamed totalitarian state, a writer and her mentally challenged brother have been arrested and thrown in prison for questioning. In the town there’s been a rash of murders that bear an uncanny resemblance to those laid out in her memorably gruesome fables which lean into crimes involving children. Bedtime stories they’re not.

Max Rubin, the new co-artistic director of Theatre Yes (with his wife Ruth Alexander), has wanted to do The Pillowman for 15 years, long before the family relocated to Edmonton from the U.K. in 2017, with their theatre company Lodestar in tow. “It’s one of my favourite plays of all time,” he declares. “And it’s an incredibly uncomfortable play to watch in many ways.”

director Max Rubin. Photo supplied

“What I see in the play, at the centre, is that though all the characters do and say awful things at different times, they are all victims, or products, of their awful totalitarian environment.” Which puts us, the audience, in a bind when it comes to indulging our natural tendency to pick a side.

“I don’t really think the play is a political warning against extremism, although the results of that are evident on the stage. It has less to do with ‘content’ than what it confronts the audience with: all the characters are so deeply relatable,” says Rubin. “ It’s so skilfully written it’s almost impossible not to empathize with each of them.” And in a play that alights on

“At one moment you’re laughing, at something very human, the next… abhorrent cruelty.” Rubin says. “I think (McDonagh) never lets you settle on a point of view in the play. And I don’t think there are enough plays like this that genuinely challenge the audience to examine themselves in quite as direct a way. It’s that that excites me most about this play!”

Though issues around freedom of expression and censorship linger in The Pillowman, and in an age where authorities have returned to book-burning, how can they not? But Rubin argues that “it’s not in direct response to something that’s happened, it’s more universal than that.”

Our natural tendency, as Rubin puts it, “is to side with the good-ies. But we don’t have that privilege here… Our expectations are confounded constantly.” This is a play that makes you ask hard questions about what is wrong and what is right — in the play world, and our world too.”

“And at the same time it’s hilarious! Deeply funny and warm and tender. I’m just in awe of it as a piece of theatre writing,” says Rubin. The McDonagh signature — witness a canon of theatre and film that includes The Beauty Queen of Leenane, The Lieutenant of Inishmore, A Skull in Connemara, The Hangman, The Banshee of Inisherin — is to play along the treacherous, unstable frontier between the hilarious and the horrifying.

“He mixes comedy with unsettling content so skilfully. And nowhere in his work is it more on show than in this play,” says Rubin, “a cross between an early Pinter comedy of menace and a Quentin Tarantino or Guy Ritchie movie.”

Ruth Alexander in Dead in the Water, Lodestar Theatre and Theatre Yes. Photo supplied

When Rubin and Alexander jointly took on the artistic directorship of Theatre Yes in 2023, they started with Alexander’s original solo cabaret Dead in the Water. And last fall, for The Play’s The Thing, they invited 20 Edmonton stage companies, of every size and aesthetic, to perform one scene each from Hamlet, in their own signature house style. The result was a de-constructed re-constructed two-night production of Shakespeare’s most illustrious heavy-hitter.

The Play’s The Thing, Theatre Yes. Photo supplied.

So, as Rubin points out, The Pillowman is their first bona fide Theatre Yes production, “the first time we’re able to say Edmonton ‘this is our style. This is the kind of work we intend to make’.. And it’s a great vehicle for us because it allows us to be really inventive.”

The show “continues the Theatre Yes tradition of using non-theatre spaces,” says Rubin, who was delighted to discover the Pendennis Building, a renovated early 20th century hotel downtown which will eventually contain multiple venues, of many sizes and shapes. Theatre Yes, whose history includes producing plays in elevators, warehouses, a parkade,  opted for the basement (with seating for 50 max). “Vast, concrete feature-less … a perfect interrogation chamber,” Rubin says. “Creepy! So cool! It feels dank, oppressive, and claustrophobic!”

The Pillowman unfolds in a swirl of naturalistic scenes and scenes that replay, or at least conjure, Katurian’s horrifying fables, “that feel almost as if they’re dreams, or nightmares, or parts of he subconscious…. It’s been a thrilling challenge for us , how to tell these stories in a truly frightening and spectacular way with our tiny budget.”

“We’re really excited about the solutions we’ve found…. It’s all about economy and simplicity, about doing as much as we possibly can with as little as we possibly can.”

“We’re looking forward to sharing that with Edmonton,” the home, after all, of the mighty Fringe, where theatre gets made on a shoestring. “You don’t have to have a big budget, or any budget at all, to make something that’s truly compelling!”

Next up for Theatre Yes (either in November or next February, depending on venue availability), and in high contrast to The Pillowman, is An Oak Tree by the Brit playwright Tim Crouch. At each performance, an actor, who plays a hypnotist, is joined onstage by a second actor who has never seen the script and who doesn’t know the back story. “Ten performances, 10 actors of different genders, ages, ethnicities…. It will be fascinating to see how the performances are different and how they are the same,” says Rubin.

“We want to apply our style to a vast range of work, and keep our audience guessing!”

PREVIEW

The Pillowman

Theatre: Theatre Yes

Written by: Martin McDonagh

Directed by: Max Rubin

Starring: Dayna Lea Hoffman, Ruth Alexander, Brandon Mcpherson, Kaden Forsberg

Where: Pendennis Building, 9660 Jasper Ave.

Running: April 11 to 21

Tickets: theatreyes.com

  

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On the outside looking in: Candy & The Beast, a new Trevor Schmidt thriller at Northern Light Theatre, a review

Posted on April 7, 2024 by Liz Nicholls

Jayce McKenzie and Jake Tkaczyk in Candy & The Beast, Northern Light Theatre. Photo by Brianne Jang, BB Collective Photography

By Liz Nicholls, 12thnight.ca

It’s a dark and threatening world, a miasma of secret dangers and fear, in which we find ourselves in Candy & The Beast, a new and multi-faceted mystery thriller by (and directed by) Trevor Schmidt premiering at Northern Light Theatre.

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In the murk, a couple of dozen grotesque heads on long spikes leer down on us (a world designed by Schmidt and lighted eerily by Alison Yanota). This is the season’s only two-actor many-head thriller. And the Studio Theatre in the Fringe Arts Barns has never been foggier.

Welcome to the small prairie town of Black Falls, which is about as far from Grover’s Corners as you can get. A serial killer, species unknown, has been on the loose, picking off townspeople of a particular type — young, female, blonde, lower class.

“Some people are worth more,” concludes Candy Reese (Jayce McKenzie), a smart and snarly Goth kid from the poor side of town. Her eyes are open to both the selective habits of the mysterious (“his her their its”) monster)and the selective lameness of the official investigation. She and her little brother Kenny (Jake Tkaczyk), who’s been smeared with the nickname The Beast by the town bullies for his ungainly size (early onset puberty), live on the margins, where people mysteriously vanish, or get disappeared.

Wolves run in a pack (a chorus of howling that’s part of Dave Clarke’s eerie soundscore), and either kill dogs (do they do people?) or, in the case of upper-class canines like Reggie the poodle, recruit them.   

Candy & The Beast, starring Jayce McKenzie and Jake Tkaczyk Northern Light Theatre. Photo by Brianne Jang, BB Collective Photography

Played by the petite firecracker McKenzie, who gives off sparks, Candy is the fierce if reluctant guardian of her gentle giant bro. He’s played with a combination of tentative and slightly dazed by the statuesque Tkaczyk, as a little boy in a man’s body. And McKenzie’s performance is a smart capture of teenage alienation.  What are you going as on Halloween?” asks the guileless Kenny. “Same thing I am every day,” snarls Candy, “nothing.”

Candy & The Beast, starring Jayce McKenzie and Jake Tkaczyk, Northern Light Theatre. Photo by Brianne Jang, BB Collective.

Candy is determined that they be “seen” in a world that seems to prefer them invisible. Their clothes are costumes (by Schmidt); they appear in scary masks from time to time. Their parents, and authorities like the dismissive Sheriff Lau (“fingers, eyeball, or what-nots…”), are present onstage only as voices on a ghetto blaster.  If Candy and Kenny can catch the killer, thinks the former, their outcast status will change.

The scenes happen in a volley of oblique shafts, with sudden scary head-ons, in Schmidt’s strange, resonant, small-scale thriller. We get glimpses of life lived from the outside looking in. At Candy’s part-time job, at the Pine Cones ice cream shop, for example, she doesn’t get her own company polo-shirt. Hers has the name tag of the killer’s last victim, who did one shift there before she disappeared. Real estate agent matrons, on the other hand, can get blonde highlights with impunity.

Jake Tkaczyk and Jayce McKenzie in Candy & the Beast, Northern Light Theatre. Photo by Brianne Jang, BB Collective Photography.

In this exclusionary world, coming-of age and the disconcerting transformations thereof are a web of doubts for the characters. Candy, perpetually angry, battles increasing uncertainty; she thinks “maybe I’m the real monster.” Kenny has terrible dreams, and wonders if he’s actually a beast: is he turning into a werewolf (all that new hair)?

Suddenly he finds himself at a microphone singing about “a dreadful change … a turning of the page” to a rock beat that appears out of thin air. Later he’ll sing a song, to the same beat, about pain that “pushes your teeth into fangs” and “sharpens your nails into knives.” You could call Candy & The Beast a musical, maybe, but it’s an unconventional, impulsive one. The only character who sings does that suddenly, without warning, and exclusively at nightmare moments.

Jake Tkaczyk and Jayce McKenzie in Candy & The Beast, Northern Light Theatre. Photo by Brianne Jang, BB Collective.

The stylized staging by director Schmidt has the siblings at opposite ends of the stage for much of the time. They’re  together rarely, only when there are psychological interventions and they play each other’s nightmares or unspool each other’s fears.

It’s theatrical and meaningful in conjuring the fracture lines in a splintered life. If you’re looking for an escape from the stresses of the urban, it’s possible small-town life, prairie-style, is not the way to go.

Candy & The Beast is a mysterious, weird, and shivery little two-hand thriller, and you’ll find yourself oddly moved.

PREVIEW

Candy & The Beast

Theatre: Northern Light Theatre

Written and directed by: Trevor Schmidt

Starring: Jayce McKenzie and Jake Tkaczyk

Where: Studio Theatre, Fringe Arts Barns, 10330 84 Ave.

Running: through April 20

Tickets: northernlighttheatre.com

 

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The gift of belief: unmissable Wonderful Joe, The Ronnie Burkett Theatre of Marionettes at Theatre Network

Posted on April 5, 2024 by Liz Nicholls

Joe and Mister in Wonderful Joe, Ronnie Burkett Theatre of Marionette. Photo by Ian Jackson, Epic Photography

By Liz Nicholls, 12thnight.ca

Something wonderful, and wonder-filled, happened last night at Theatre Network.

We found ourselves on Eileen Street, in a miniature urban neighbourhood on the wrong side of the tracks. Where the homeless are home, and the misfits and the oddballs of every age, colour, ethnicity, gender, point of origin, struggle to survive and dream on the margins, and quite literally hang out. And we were on “a grand adventure” there in the company of an old man and his old dog, who’d just been evicted that very morning from their apartment.

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The characters come to life first as hand puppets atop a theatre of magical transformations, where Sonny, the friendly South Asian building manager (in a tiny perfect puffer vest and ball cap), imparts the bad news about the tear-down of the building. And then they take over the stage below as marionettes, which is to say people, in a ‘hood teeming with raucous life.

With Wonderful Joe, the latest from the Ronnie Burkett Theatre of Marionettes, the master puppeteer/ playwright/ designer/ actor returns to Edmonton — and to Network, where we’ve seen seven of Burkett’s productions since 1990. And after nearly a decade in which he’s created wildly entertaining hit cabarets, Burkett and a cast of diminutive cohorts come this time with a real play, a funny, thoughtful, and deeply poignant one, that cuts to the heart of a multicultural city like the one we live in.

It’s a beauty of a piece, in its generosity of spirit and affection for the urban demimonde, imaginative in conception and creation, and impeccable in design and craftsmanship. Burkett’s formidable marionette technique is always, and precisely, in the service of the characters.

Young Joe in Wonderful Joe, Ronnie Burkett Theatre of Marionettes. Photo by Ian Jackson, Epic Photography.

The movement of the puppets onstage is uncannily expressive. Wait till you see old Joe’s stooped shuffle, his bent knees, his quizzical inclines of head, the way he leans into conversations when he’s curious. In an oeuvre that includes Happy with its pensioner hero, and the blind title character of Penny Plain in a boarding house at the end of the world, Burkett has always had a particular affection (and an unsparing eye) for the way old age hangs on the human frame, bending it, pulling flesh down. The tentative arthritic walk of the ancient canine Mister is a little choreographic symphony in itself, not to mention the way he shakes out his tangled fur.

This magic is materially assisted by costumes created by Kim Crossley, who evidently thinks nothing of making to-scale roll-up jeans, or an age-worn tweed sports jacket for Joe,  or a “white girl” plastic prom dress custom-made by an Indigenous dominatrix for herself. And then there are Camellia Coo’s heartbreaking miniature Crocs and Blundstones, or the little Fluevog-style pumps on a gender-fluid trans performer.

The eyes through which we experience the denizens of Eileen Street in Wonderful Joe belong to the old fellow of the title, with his special ability to see the human gold in a harsh and tarnished world. It’s not as if Joe asks for much for himself. He doesn’t mind sleeping on the floor with Mister, who’s too creaky to get up on the bed. “We take turns being the pillow.” Are you OK? Joe’s friends ask him. “No, I’m wonderful,” he invariably says.

This goes well beyond the pathos of “making the best of things,” as more banal advice would have it. Joe’s is an active capacity for wonder, a personal optic that transforms belief into reality and gives dimensions to the fantastical. That this transformation also speaks to the magical art of breathing life into exquisitely detailed, fully committed actors on strings pulled from above, gives the whole experience of Wonderful Joe an extra frisson of delight. Kudos to John Alcorn’s captivating and lyrical score, worldly but transporting, infiltrated by veins of humour.

In shadow at the top of theatre is the virtuoso string puller, God so to speak, who’s human-sized, flat-out busy (there are 17 marionettes and six hand puppets in the show), and amazingly easy to forget all about after a minute or two. If Burkett puts down the strings, the characters have time to do nothing, to be still and daydream, as Joe says of himself. Not running, or meditating, or plotting, “just thinking of things.”

And when the characters are just hanging out offstage (literally, from hooks in the theatre framework fashioned by Burkett), they’re lighted, by designer Kevin Humphrey, with an atmospheric kind of urban shadow and glow that feels like a city, with a populated vibe.    

Joe’s fellow evict-ees, of every age and station on the spectrum of eccentricity, are all grappling with residual post-pandemic loneliness. We meet a breezy chatterbox teenager with a Fraggle Rock obsession. And you’ll love Margaret, elderly and dotty, who’s spent the pandemic cultivating sourdough starter.

Joe and Mister are out in a ‘hood with downmarket entertainment options. They run into Santa, the Tooth Fairy, and Jesus, all of them very funny, in a gay bar, in their respective off-seasons. Burkett’s theatre is always audacious in its juxtaposition of puckish or riotous comedy and darker more tragic tones (sometimes within the same throw-away line). The Tooth Fairy, for example, a hilariously mouthy muscle-bound tough in a tutu, with a disdain for entitled bourgeois kids who leave a note with bank e-transfer info, is the purveyor of anonymous kindnesses too.

Minnie Shingles, the truculent “directrice” of a troupe of homeless actors, is an inspired creation. The through-line for the latest from The Trash Alley Players, a collective, is the apocalypse (“And then the meteor hit….”). Devoted to the Canadian theatre as she is, Minnie don’t take no shit from divas. “You’re an actor; you sleep with what you’re given,” she says sternly to a member of the company.

Mother Nature in Wonderful Joe, Ronnie Burkett Theatre of Marionettes. Photo by Ian Jackson, Epic Photography.

The most startling performance, a headline act at the Boulevard of Broken Queens Show Bar, is Mother Nature, old, bald, skinny, nakedly vulnerable. Her song Look At Me Now, a Weill-esque Alcorn number, is a bristling confrontation with despair. “The air gets thicker, and here’s the kicker….”

Perhaps the most memorable scene, equally comic and heartwarming, happens late in the play, with Joe and a sulky, skeptical teenage girl, Getty (Serengeti Levin-Woo), together on a park bench. Can the magical gift of transcendent belief be given to others? Joe has a go at it. And it’s a question for all of us who live together in the world.

What a thrill it is to see a Burkett play — and see that world, in all its beauty and heartbreak, its cruelty and its absurdity, imagined up close and created in miniature, with real dramatic force, by one of the country’s great originals. Don’t miss your chance.

REVIEW

Wonderful Joe

Ronnie Burkett Theatre of Marionettes at Theatre Network

Created and performed by: Ronnie Burkett

Music composition and lyrics: John Alcorn

Where: Roxy Theatre, 10708 124 St.

Running: through April 21

Tickets: theatrenetwork.com

Warning: children under the age of 16 will not be admitted.   

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