‘Everyday horror’ mined for comedy: that’s Girl Brain, and they’re back

Caley Suliak, Ellie Heath, Alyson Dicey of Girl Brain, in the luxury bathroom at Theatre Network. Photo by Brianne Jang, bb collective.

By Liz Nicholls, 12thnight.ca

There’s nothing like a pandemic to make a sketch comedy trio revel in being together again — in person, in a spanky theatre, rehearsing a new show, with a fog machine. 

“Where are we?” says Ellie Heath in something like wonder. “The delight! The excitement! We’re like little girls at a sleepover putting on a show for our parents….”

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Where Girl Brain is this weekend, Thursday through Sunday, is the beautiful Lorne Cardinal black box theatre at Theatre Network’s Roxy. Where Heath, Alyson Dicey and Caley Suliak were to be found Monday afternoon is in their separate apartments, in the living room called Zoom sharing a screen. 

It’s especially sweet to be doing a live in-person full-length show, says Suliak, after a summer of busy-ness in which the three had very separate gigs, positive reinforcement for the link between sketch comedy and theatre. Both she and Heath had solo Fringe shows, The Paladin and Fake n’ Bake respectively, the one at La Cité francophone and the other at the Roxy. Dicey got bronzed out in the sun in a perpetual motion multi-tasking assignment running the KidsFringe. They’ve been writing sketches for the new show ever since. 

Togetherness, just hanging out, seems like a treat. “So great to be collaborating with my besties,” Suliak says. “Having somebody to pump you up backstage … after doing a solo show and being by myself in the dressing room,” the very definition of solitude,   

After a couple of years of bizarre, often lonely, and far from comical, pandemic separateness, they wondered (as we all do) who they are and what still makes them laugh in the fall of 2022. “The heart of what we do remains intact!” she says. 

Caley Suliak, Alyson Dicey, Ellie Heath of Girl Brain, at Theatre Network. Photo by Brianne Jang, bb collective

The three actors/ writers/ best friends who share Girl Brain specialize in mining the “ordinary” absurdities and hypocrisies of the world. Which, unsurprisingly, have not gone away. You know, those familiar moments of life when, as Dicey says, “you wish you could just dissolve into the wall.” Or moments of maximum irritation when regular people overstay their welcome and turn into  “nightmare people.” And as for dating? An endless treasure trove of embarrassment, aggro … and sketch possibilities. 

All of the above find their way into the Girl Brain show we’ll see at the Roxy, a mix of the new and “the re-vamped and improved,” as Dicey says. In honour of the spooky season, they’d originally thought of “true crime” as a through-line. Now it’s a a riff on Halloween that she calls “everyday horror.” 

Naturally, Dicey’s thoughts turned instantly to costumes. ‘What is my biggest pet peeve? I’ll dress as that…. People who don’t follow through with the promises they make to you.” Costume concepts don’t come more impossible than that. Not going to happen. Incidentally, feel empowered to attend Girl Brain wearing a costume yourself; there’s a costume contest, with prizes, every show.

“All our shows are scary, kind of spooky in a way,” Dicey laughs, “because we’re always talking about the things that annoy us, things in life that are scary…. Yup, everyday horror.” 

“The Overstayers,” for example, was inspired by her brother’s experience on a joint cabin holiday retreat with another couple and their kids who more or less moved in, ate all the food, drank the booze even though they had their own cabin. And how’s this for everyday horror? “The ex- of the guy you just started dating shows up at a party, and you think, at the moment, ‘this is the worse moment of my life’…. Later, it’s ‘what was I thinking? If only I could have seen how silly it really was’.”  

Suliak plays “a lot of men in the show,” she says. “Which is not horrifying to me, but might be them!” (laughter all round). “One sketch took me quite a bit of time to write because it was actually very personal, dredging up those feelings…. How do I make this funny? I don’t want to revisit this. But I should. Because I think it’s relatable.” 

And “relatable” is a veritable mantra with Girl Brain. As Heath says, “it’s fun to find parts of our every day lives that get under our skin…. In rehearsal, we get together and have creative conversations about the little things that make us laugh….” It’s how Girl Brain came into being in the first place. 

They play a wide assortment of characters in the sketches they write, sometimes for themselves to play and sometimes with each other in mind. Heath’s specialty, she thinks, is “high-strung female characters. I like really wacky, crazy characters. Kooks…. Actually I think we all do. That’s probably why we get along.”

Favourite characters in the show? For Dicey it might be the woman who’s unstoppably excited about her Bosch washer and drier, “Inspired by my mom but bigger and sillier!” For Suliak “there are so many lovable, ridiculous, and yes hatable characters in the show that I can’t pick just one.”  

As for Heath, it’s “The Weeping Vag,” a recurring sketch she narrates, à la Masterpiece Theatre, “as a storytelling nymph.” Her Girl Brain cohorts nod their assent. For the new show designer Tessa Stamp has fashioned them a handsome historical tome, a volume apparently direct from the medieval period. It looks “so ancient, so precious,” as Dicey says, “containing the stories and traumas of womanhood we need to pass on.…” 

Stamp wondered if she might decorate the grand volume “like an ornate vagina,” Heath reports. “Absolutely!” Then “is a tampon string hanging from it too much?” Nope, “great!” was the response.

“With a book mark that’s furry,” smiles Heath sweetly, and pauses. “Yup, we’re back!” 

[And they’re back again at the Roxy with another new show Dec. 16 to 18, too]. 

PREVIEW

Girl Brain

Starring: Alyson Dicey, Ellie Heath, Caley Suliak, with special guests Natasha Lyn Myles (Oct. 27) and Tiff Hall (Oct. 28 to 30)

Where: Theatre Network at the Roxy, 10708 124 St.

Running: Thursday through Sunday 

Tickets: theatrenetwork.ca

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A cutting edge artist in her own right: Dora Maar: the wicked one, at Workshop West

Dora Maar: the wicked one, Workshop West. graphic by db photographics

By Liz Nicholls, 12thnight.ca

In the solo play that launches the Workshop West Playwrights Theatre season Thursday you’ll meet a remarkable artist, a multi-media groundbreaker in the ‘30s and ‘40s. She was a cutting edge photographer with commercial cred and a unique vision, an accomplished painter, a leftist political activist, a poet.

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You might not know her name. 

In a Paris cafe in 1935, Dora Maar met the most famous artist in the world, Pablo Picasso, and fell in love. And both their lives changed.  

In Dora Maar: the wicked one, by the playwriting duo of Beth Graham and Daniela Vlaskalic (The Drowning Girls, Comrades, Mules), the woman herself, played by Vlaskalic, talks to us. The production, the work of the playwrights’ GAL Productions and Calgary’s Hit & Myth, is directed by Blake Brooker, a playwright of note himself and the co-founder of the zestfully experimental performance theatre company One Yellow Rabbit. The three made time to chat on Zoom on a break from rehearsals in Calgary. 

The play, which premiered at the delayed spring edition of the High Performance Rodeo in Calgary, isn’t the first time Graham and Vlaskalic have put Dora Maar onstage. She was one of the five talking paintings in The Last Train (Shadow Theatre, 2003), a Nazi train filled with looted “degenerate art” including Picasso’s fractured portraits of his lover and muse, and bound for possible oblivion. 

“We weren’t done with her,” says Graham of their undimmed attraction to their subject. Dora Maar “is one of those artists.… We were intrigued by her sensibility, her photos and her art work” — her paintings in a striking variety of styles, photographs that marry the eye of the camera to Surrealism. “One of the few women working in that medium at all, she bridged the two worlds and she was commercially successful. Such an interesting woman.… We wanted to crawl into that mind, that world. And we’d just scratched the surface.” 

Daniela Vlaskalic in Dora Maar: the wicked one, GAL Productions with Hit & Myth. Photo supplied.

What interested the playwrights, too, was “how that vibrant, exciting new artist disappeared,” says Vlaskalic. “If people know her at all, it’s for The Weeping Woman and other multi-angled faces in Picasso paintings. But they don’t anything about the woman.” Only in the last few years, as she notes — a 2019 exhibition at the the Pompidou in Paris and the Tate Modern in London — has Dora Maar’s independent profile as an artist has started to be visible on the international stage.

Ah yes, a liaison with Picasso that has left him with Maar’s photo-documentation of his masterwork Guernica and her with the label ‘muse’. Graham, whose play Weasel premiered at Studio Theatre two weeks ago, says “one of the things that interested us was her relationship with fame…. Picasso was already famous when she met him and entered into that relationship. She already had this artistic identity; how does it bump up against someone that famous? How does she navigate that? Such an interesting thing to explore.” 

“Who’s the most famous and powerful artist in the world now?” Brooker wonders. The answer isn’t obvious. “Who’s the Picasso … Banksy? Jeff Koons?” Drake maybe? “But Picasso and Maar were in the same medium, and that’s different,” as Graham points out. 

“They deal with this (question of fame) in such a fascinating way,” says Brooker of the playwrights. “Original, idiosyncratic, very pleasing.” The setting, too, 1935 to 1945 in Paris, is resonant. “A time of great upheaval in the Western world… And here we are, finding ourselves back at a moment, or series of moments, of great upheaval. The terms and conditions of this play cleave into notions of artistic creation, censorship, warfare, occupation, the rising right….” 

Ring any bells? The leitmotif of the play, as Brooker puts it, is the Spanish Civil War, and the fit with the moment, including the brutality in Ukraine, is unmistakeable. “Part of the beauty of Dora Maar,” says Graham, “was the way her art work was responding to the politics, the rising fascism, of the time.” 

“These guys,” he says affectionately of Graham and Vlaskalic, “have caught this. And I think it’s lightning in a bottle… not least of which is finding a personality as magnetic, as storytelling-worthy, as Dora Maar.” 

Daniela Vlaskalic in Dora Maar: the wicked one, GAL Productions with Hit & Myth. Photo supplied.

“So many dramatic angles,” he says of the multiple facets of Dora Maar’s story. “The City of Light in black-out, the pressure-cooker of Occupation….And everything about her story is so sexy. An incredible artist, friends with all the cool Surrealists (like) Man Ray and Marcel Duchamps. Love, heartbreak, obsession.… A snapshot of 10 years in 78 minutes! It deserves a mini-series.” Vlaskalic laughs and nods. “A lot does happen within the world and within the art.”  

Vlaskalic, whose play Sleight of Mind, premiered this month at Western Canada Theatre in Kamloops, explains that Dora Maar: The Wicked One is the joint cross-country work of the pandemic. “A Zoom-created play I guess,” originally scheduled for the Rodeo’s original January slot then delayed for COVIDian reasons till May. She and Graham, the one Toronto-based and the other in Edmonton, enlisted One Yellow Rabbit’s Brooker, who has a long and distinguished history with new plays. He’d directed a version of The Drowning Girls for Vertigo Theatre. He’d directed Vlaskalic in Karen Hines’ Drama: Pilot Episode. 

“He’s really pushed us to find the voice of the piece,” says Graham, “the voice of the character and what we want for our voice within the piece.” 

For his part, Brooker says “I consider these two among the finest dramatists on the scene in Canada … an almost undiscovered treasure of beautiful writing and ideas. And I also consider them to be very intuitive and accurate with the zeitgeist.”

“This play comes to grips with really serious notions around a creative life, and also the ongoing, amazing danse macabre, the crazy energy between men and women that drives the world…. There is nothing more interesting than observing another human being concentrating and going through problems. We love to watch the concentrated presence on stage.” 

PREVIEW

Dora Maar: the wicked one

Theatre: GAL Productions with Hit & Myth, presented by Workshop West Playwrights Theatre

Written by: Beth Graham and Daniela Vlaskalic 

Directed by: Blake Brooker

Starring: Daniela Vlaskalic

Where: The Gateway Theatre, 8529 Gateway Blvd.

Running: Thursday through Nov. 6 

Tickets: workshopwest.org

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Who am I really? Squeamish, a scary solo thriller from Northern Light. A review

Davina Stewart in Squeamish, Northern Light Theatre. Photo by Ian Jackson, Epic Photography

By Liz Nicholls, 12thnight.ca

There’s blood, a lot of blood, dripping and pooling and trailing through the macabre one-woman thriller you’ll find in the near-dark of the Studio Theatre in the ATB Financial Arts Barn. You can practically taste it.

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Which is weird, since Squeamish is a story. And the storyteller, Davina Stewart in a bona fide 90-minute tour de force, is just sitting in a chair in the shadows, talking. There’s atmosphere aplenty in Trevor Schmidt’s production. The room has an eerie sort of elegance, beautifully designed by Schmidt. Chris Dela Cruz’s lighting, which brings colour to the dark, is a virtuoso display of unease in itself, with its single light source.

Side note: never let it be said that Northern Light Theatre doesn’t embrace the spirit of the season. In 2020 about this time of year, in honour of scaring the people, they premiered Trevor Schmidt’s solo gothic thriller We Had A Girl Before You.   

In this ever-creepier monologue by the New York playwright Aaron Mark (who seems to specialize in such matters since Squeamish is the third of a trilogy), Sharon, an Upper West Side therapist, has arrived at the home of her own therapist in the middle of the night.  

Sharon hasn’t seen Dr Schneider for five months, but this is an emergency, and “I’m a totally different person.” Just back from Texas and the funeral of her nephew Eddie, who’s committed suicide, she’s telling her fellow shrink what’s been happening to her, culminating in the fateful trip. For one thing she’s discovered the disturbing coincidence that Eddie died bleeding out in a bathtub, covered in cuts — just the same way Sharon’s own suicidal mother was found years before. Is it in the blood?  

As Stewart’s virtuoso performance conveys, Sharon may look confidently Upper West Side (black dress and shoes, chic silver coif, expensive purse), but she seems anxious, rattled, breathless. She talks, spontaneously, in a volley of fragments, add-ons, and cavils as  details occur to her. Her hands, pale and lit in the dark, are in constant motion, fluttering, gesturing, signalling. Listening to anxious smart people is anxiety-producing, don’t you find? 

Davina Stewart in Squeamish, Northern Light Theatre. Photo by Ian Jackson, Epic Photography.

Davina Stewart in Squeamish, Northern Light Theatre. Photo by Ian Jackson, Epic Photography.

Anyhow, we learn that Sharon — recovered alcoholic, extreme hemophobe (a mosquito bite throws her into a frenzy of revulsion), and coffee junkie — comes from a family with a history of mental illness, suicide, and addiction. Inspired by the oddly serene Eddie who’d visited her in New York months before, Sharon’s taken herself off the psychotropic drugs she’s been on since she was 13. “I needed to find out who I really am. Now. Without dependence on some chemical substance….”

That’s the (blood) red-alert state in which Sharon arrives in Lubbock, from whence she’d fled to New York and a professional career decades before. A certain morbid sense of humour attaches to her views of Texas. “Maybe it’s not sad to die in Texas,” she reflects. The Lubbock chamber of commerce will not be using this slogan any time soon. 

Stewart conjures the characters, including her blood relatives, that Sharon meets, with minimal but telling adjustments of voice and hands. Cara, Eddie’s girlfriend, is warm and empathetic, and shows up later by the pool in the hotel where Sharon is staying. “We’re kindred spirits,” says Cara, a consoling sort of person who counsels balance and eats only healthy food.   

And secrets about Eddie begin to unspool. I can’t tell you more particulars about the story of Squeamish. Except that it escalates — from unsettling to disturbing to horrifying. If you feel queasy and have to avert your eyes when they extract a routine blood sample at the lab (guilty), you’ll think of the title often. I did.  There was one walk-out on opening night, and I suspect that’ll happen at every performance.   

Squeamish is not about the fear of the creeping stalker with the knife. Fear lives closer to home than that (and it suggests, vividly, that there are worse addictions than caffeine). In his notes the playwright argues that phobias and compulsions are two sides of the same coin; I’d have to think more about that. But this play speaks to that view (or rather, it whispers that in your ear). “I wanted to find out who I really am,’ says Sharon to her shrink. “Now I have my answer…. I am a horror.” 

It’s in the blood. 

REVIEW

Squeamish

Theatre: Northern Light Theatre

Written by: Aaron Mark

Directed and designed by: Trevor Schmidt

Starring: Davina Stewart

Where: Studio Theatre, ATB Financial Arts Barns, 102330 84 Ave.

Running: through Nov. 5

Tickets: northernlighttheatre.com

   

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‘Imaginative solutions for impossible scenarios.’ The Wrong People Have Money at Shadow Theatre, a review

Elena Porter, Andrea House, Julien Arnold, Steven Greenfield in The Wrong People Have Monday, Shadow Theatre. Photo by Ian Jackson, Epic Photography.

By Liz Nicholls, 12thnight.ca

“In this class,” says star professor Martin Delancey of York University in The Wrong People Have Money, “we’re going to explore the impossible. We’re going to ‘tether the moon’.”

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It’s a course, standing room only, in creative thinking, in devising “imaginative solutions for impossible scenarios.” And one of those is moving Greenland, lock stock and iceberg, a couple of thousand miles south in the Atlantic Ocean.  

In Reed McColm’s comedy, launching the Shadow Theatre at the Varscona in a John Hudson production, an international investment consortium with deep pockets, NexThought, takes the good professor at his word. In an assignment that’s pure Delancey, a mysterious and glamorous Mme d’Aulnoy challenges him to investigate the feasibility of a Greenland relocation to somewhere nicer, greener, more habitable (and hence profitable). Actually, the greening of Greenland is probably already in progress, thanks to global warming, but never mind…. 

Anyhow, Mme d’Aulnoy pays Professor Delancey handsomely “to explore the question.” As she says, “when you are funded you are credible.” That’s the proposition on which McColm’s satire is built. 

What starts in the alluring pedagogical idea of putting human creativity up against probability — “every daring progression in history began as a crazy idea” — gets fast-tracked by money. It starts in the (pretty much instant) co-opting  of academia, amusing in itself. Then interest expands exponentially on the global stage. International media, scientists, pop-culture gurus, late-night comics, Christian churches, big oil, Oprah, whole countries … everyone wants a slice of the action. Economic summits, innovation conferences, meet-and-greets in Dakar, ensue, and Delancey is awash in interviews.

It’s only well into the launch of the sensation that someone on Delancey’s team pauses to say, with a certain incredulity, “there are people in Greenland?” Who knew? 

The fun is in the comic performances. A cast of five is led by Julien Arnold, perfectly professorial as Professor Delancey. He positively exudes academia, in all its pomposity, practised geniality and noblesse oblige. After an introduction by one of his two enablers, teaching assistant/class advisor Conrad (nailed amusingly by Steven Greenfield), Delancey’s first entrance, to us students in the class, is a practised and lordly combination of anecdotes, stories about improbable scientific achievement, timed performance gestures, and the obligatory professorial touching of the tortoiseshell glasses.

Julien Arnold, Steven Greenfield, Andrea House, Linda Grass in The Wrong People Have Money, Shadow Theatre. Photo by Ian Jackson, Epic Photography

His assistant and go-fer Annie is played by Andrea House, all droll pseudo-deference, confidential eye-rolls and whispered asides. She knows more about the world, and her boss, than the people around her: “you never heard of Wikipedia?” Annie and Conrad, Delancey’s roadies so to speak, are charged with ensuring that no student ever gets to actually meet him in person. Clearly, he’s used to student adulation, from afar. “He doesn’t take walk-in’s,” says Conrad when Mme d’Aulnoy (Linda Grass in slinky red lipstick mode with an unidentifiably international accent) approaches him after a class. 

Interestingly, the only character who wonders about the ethics of just taking an autonomous country “with real people in it” and moving it is a lawyer, Sutton, convincingly played by Elena Porter. 

The seduction of Delancey by the dual prospect of big money and female glamour happens so fast you’ll wonder if you blinked and missed it. So much for lofty academic perspective when money is involved, I guess. Anyhow, suddenly the professor is in an imperious frenzy, bombarding Conrad, Annie, and Sutton with orders. Darrin Hagen’s sound score overlays human breath over exotic tracks.

Steven Greenfield, Andrea House, Elena Porter in The Wrong People Have Money, Shadow Theatre. Photo by Ian Jackson, Epic Photography.

The most broadly comic performances, sketch-worthy and detachable, are from House and Greenfield as they populate a mythical “Greenland” (“the Land of Great Length”) cartoon-style. This is an amiably scatty sort of play. Greenfield beams beatifically as the Minister of Fishing, surprised to be visited by a human and not a goat. House is the morose Minister of International Relations and Tourism (there isn’t any).

She is seething with anti-Canadian resentment, in a show-stopping rant, that includes such sacred Canadiana as curling and the CBC. “You Canadians. You think everyone likes you. Always wearing a maple leaf on your lapel flaunting yourself. ‘Look, I’m from a country with trees. Nyah Nyah’.” Later House plays an unstoppably pushy American presidential spokesperson on an interview show, who constantly interrupts to note that America, and The President, have already thought of everything smart.

CM Zuby’s bi-level design doesn’t exactly reek of global consortium money, in truth, but serviceably takes the action from classroom to well-heeled high-rise Toronto to the mythical Greenland of the play. Leona Brausen’s costumes are genuinely amusing — the taupe fashion lexicon of academia, fur ear flaps, the elegant evening wear of Mme d’Aulnoy. I particularly enjoyed Annie’s auburn wedge hair, solid as a pyramid. 

The escalations of the comedy are calibrated to the deceptions and corruptions of money, as the title suggests, rather than human ingenuity. So the ending got away from me, I think. But there’s fun to be had in watching actors rise to the lure of peopling a multi-national trend.

Speaking of tethering the moon, might Canada be moved a little farther from the U.S.? Sounds impossible, I know, but…. “Listen to everything after the ‘but’,” as Professor Delancey tells us.

Have you seen 12thnight’s interview with playwright Reed McColm? Check it out here.

REVIEW

The Wrong People Have Money

Theatre: Shadow

Written by: Reed McColm

Starring: Julien Arnold, Linda Grass, Andrea House, Steven Greenfield, Elena Porter

Where: Varscona Theatre, 10329 83 Ave.

Running: Oct. 20 through Nov. 6

Tickets: 780-434-5564 shadowtheatre.org

 

 

 

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You go girls: The Wolves at the Citadel, a review

The Wolves, The Maggie Tree in the Citadel Theatre Highwire Series. Photo by Nanc Price for the Citadel.

By Liz Nicholls, 12thnight.ca

“Teamwork makes the dream work,” says the teenage captain of the Wolves, #25, quoting her coach dad, and applying herself sturdily to holding the soccer team together through every kind of teenage girl friction. “Hustle ladies, hustle.”

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The Wolves immerses you — no exposition and no names, only numbers — in the world of teenage girls. And it’s a full-body dunking. There are nine teenage characters, players on an indoor soccer team,  and they chatter and banter and argue over top of each other constantly as they warm up in sync for their weekly Saturday games. The tenth character, the only adult, is a soccer mom who appears very late in the play. 

What makes the Pulitzer-nominated play by the young American writer Sarah DeLappe (her first to be produced) so intriguing to experience is the gradual, sneaky way that individual characters emerge from the “team.” For 20 minutes you think you’re drowning in cross-hatched fragments of conversations that loop back to each other or refer to offstage events. And then, as you’ll see in Vanessa Sabourin’s Maggie Tree production (part of the Citadel’s Highwire Series), it dawns on you that individual people have emerged from the ensemble buzz of talk and movement, and you don’t need names to differentiate them. 

By the time the characters don team jackets, and thus hide even the numbers on their jerseys, you know them a bit, for their distinctive locations in the rocky terrain between childhood and adulthood, where identity is formative rather than finished. They’re emerging personalities, confident and assertive one moment and crushed into partial retreats the next. The kind of attentiveness this invites — well, requires — of us is live, and fun.

So there we are, improbably in the Citadel’s small downstairs theatre, the Rice, on either side of an Astroturf field (designer: Whittyn Jason). And we’re tuning in to teen girls, in perpetual motion (movement director Amber Borotsik), arriving from their weekday lives on successive Saturday morning sessions. The scenes are separated by an ominously thudding sound score (Kiidra Duhault) I didn’t really get.  

The Wolves, a Maggie Tree production at the Citadel Theatre. Photo by Nanc Price for the Citadel.

It all feels unfiltered, in both subject matter and tone. Earnestness and teen girl off-handedness swirl together. The smalltalk is a melange of the particular and glimpses of the great big world — periods, life-sized zits, and Cambodia, the pronunciation of Khmer Rouge, the detainment of Mexican children in cages at the border, whether they have Twitter in China. “The internet isn’t the internet everywhere you guys,” says #25, who seems to have a reserve of resistance in Marguerite Lawler’s appealing performance. 

To throw out a small selection of examples, #11 (Pauline Miki) is a study-er, with opinions about the world and its moral complications. #13 (Michelle Diaz) is a wiseacre, the class clown with the arsenal of comebacks. #8 (Asia Weinkauf-Bowman), a late-bloomer, relies on references to Harry Potter and the Shire. “I don’t get the big deal about self-knowledge.” Fragile #2 (Sokhana Mfenyana) has a possible eating disorder. The anxiety-plagued goalie, #00 (Dean Stockdale), doesn’t speak; she rushes off the field to throw up before every game.

The most aggressive one, #7 (Daniela Fernandez), who has a college boyfriend and a predilection for the  F-bomb, resorts to macho-style mockery when challenged. #14 (Jameela McNeil), whom her teammates think is either Mexican or Armenian, defers to #7 — until she doesn’t. The outsider, #46 (Kaeley Jade Wiebe), is a mystery to the others, home-schooled, living in a yurt, with a formidable array of soccer skills that threatens the existing pecking order. “Is she even like American?” wonders one of her new teammates.  

The Wolves, a Maggie Tree Production at the Citadel Theatre. Photo by Nanc Price for the Citadel

They seem to have assigned roles in the great scheme and teen idiom of things. But — this is one of the beauties of the play — they can surprise you, each other, and themselves.

Fernandez’s #7, for example, who seems set forth as the A-type Mean Girl, rises unexpectedly to passion about the political limbo of immigrant kids on the border, a view possibly inspired by her dad. Wiebe’s #46, the tentative outsider, steps up to the team joke about her with a chant, as she demonstrates her fancy footwork. “I live in a yogurt; my feelings don’t get hurt.” 

The Wolves, in short, is a trickier, more intricate acting assignment than just having youthful, fresh, hormonal energy. And the ensemble gathered by The Maggie Tree, warmingly diverse as it is, and dotted with actors to keep your eye on, is variable in experience and skill. And that unevenness does show, in truth. Some of the characters do seem more inhabited than others, more able to negotiate the transitional teen mix of earnestness, bad jokes, spontaneous reactions, automatic throw-aways. Whenever the production seems careful, or delivered as a text, it falters. 

Having said that, though, I really appreciated the immersive experience. and its authentic texture of insights in the jostling camaraderie of Sabourin’s production. The jarring arrival of the soccer mom, played beautifully by Lebo Disele, in the play’s only real plot development makes you realize how fully engaged by the characters you’ve been for 90 minutes. It’s the most obliquely delivered bombshell ever.

The Wolves gives us a world in motion, not a story. Being a teenage girl, both an individual and a member of a team, en route to adulthood, is stakes enough.

REVIEW

The Wolves

Theatre: The Maggie Tree in the Citadel Highwire Series

Written by: Sarah DeLappe

Directed by: Vanessa Sabourin

Starring: Michelle Diaz, Lebo Disele, Daniela Fernandez, Marguerite Lawler, Jameela McNeil, Sokhana Mfenyana, Pauline Miki, Dean Stockdale, Asia Weinkauf-Bowman, Kaeley Jade Wiebe

Where: Citadel Rice Theatre

Running: through Oct. 30

Tickets: 780-425-1820, citadeltheatre.com

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‘I would never do that.’ A different kind of horror in Squeamish at Northern Light Theatre

Davina Stewart in Squeamish, Northern Light Theatre. Photo by Ian Jackson.

By Liz Nicholls, 12thnight.ca

A couple of weeks ago director Trevor Schmidt and an actor friend were driving back from a day’s excursion to Calgary where she had an audition. “It was getting dark, and we put on a recording of Squeamish,” he says. “And Kristin nearly drove us off the road.”

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“It’s ‘Oh no no NO. O no, you’re not gonna …’ (breath intake, wince … ) Schmidt says of the line-crossing escalations of the one-woman horror story by the New York playwright Aaron Mark, launching the Northern Light Theatre season Friday.

Davina  Stewart, who stars in Schmidt’s production of Squeamish, says that when she first picked up the script she couldn’t read it straight through. “There was a moment I had to put it down for a while. It was … too much.” Stage manager Liz Allison-Jorde nods. So does Schmidt. “It gets ya!”

When rehearsals started, it was on Zoom because Schmidt was out of town, on the stage himself in a Calgary production of The House of Bernard Alba at Sage Theatre. The cast and crew watched each other flinch in horror reading the script.    

Squeamish comes equipped with a content warning to the squeamish: there will be blood. But it’s not a matter of buckets of it, or a stage awash in gore. “It’s all words,” says Stewart. It’s storytelling. “Yup, it’s just a story,” says Schmidt cheerfully. “And it gets creepier and darker and scarier.”

Stewart plays Sharon, a New York Upper West Side therapist who has shown up in the middle of the night at the home of her own therapist. She’s just back from Texas and the funeral of her nephew, who committed suicide. And, “shrink to shrink,” she’s telling the ever-more terrifying story of what’s happened on this trip. Sharon never  leaves her chair — possibly (as Stewart points out) the modern New York equivalent of the campfire around which scary stories traditionally get told.

Horror for the stage takes a deft hand — especially if it’s a one-hander. Schmidt has written one-woman horror plays before now. We Had A Girl Before You — a Gothic thriller in which we’re never sure if the woman before us, telling us the story, has cast herself as the heroine of a romantic novella — was a Halloween season hit in 2020. 

As you quickly find out in Squeamish, Sharon’s is a family with a long history of mental illness, addiction, and suicide. An extreme hemophobe and recovered alcoholic, Sharon has been on psychotropic drugs since she was 14. And, in an urge “to find out who she really is,” beyond the agents of numbing as Stewart puts it, she makes the decision to go on the fateful trip without them. “Maybe I’m some alien creature,” says Sharon, “and I’m just not fundamentally equipped to participate in this indulgent, needy, whiny, vain, overmedicated digital age, where nobody can sit still for five minutes, nobody knows to have a basic human interaction anymore….”

“We talk about things being second nature,” says Stewart. “So what is our first nature? How do we discover what has been suppressed? Finding out what’s ‘normal’ is a big part of it: what does it even mean to be normal post-trauma in a toxic world?   

“To me, it’s a play about addiction, and the horror of what we put ourselves through. Even though we know we are harming ourselves and others. Even though we know it will end badly.” Coffee, binge-watching, smoking, video games  … we all have our addictions, she argues. Without acknowledging, or facing, the need to escape or numb our pain, we just keep trading one for another.

The confidence that we are in control is a kind of arrogance. As Schmidt says, “you go ‘I would never do that. I would never cross that line; I would never go that far’…. And then you find yourself going that far.”

“What is your true nature? Who are you really?” Squeamish is horror that’s scares you in a much different way than sci-fi horror or supernatural horror, or being chased by a killer down a cul-de-sac. Schmidt calls it ‘body horror,” a sub-genre occupied by the Saw movies, Black Swan, Kafka’s Metamorphosis, Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, all with disturbing violations of the body  

“I can be startled by Alien. But this is the kind of horror story that really scares me,” says Allison-Jorde. “This is real horror.” In her work, she always worries about accidentally dropping spoilers at home with the family. With Squeamish? “Absolutely not going to happen.”

 “The choices we make lead us to the horror,” says Stewart. “And these are real, possible choices,” says Schmidt.

PREVIEW

Squeamish

Theatre: Northern Light Theatre

Written by: Aaron Mark

Directed and designed by: Trevor Schmidt

Starring: Davina Stewart

Where: Studio Theatre, ATB Financial Arts Barns, 102330 84 Ave.

Running: Oct. 21 to Nov. 5

Tickets: northernlighttheatre.com

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Crazy or inspired: the what-if? of The Wrong People Have Money, premiering at Shadow Theatre

Linda Grass and Julien Arnold in The Wrong People Have Money, Shadow Theatre. Photo by Marc J Chalifoux.

By Liz Nicholls, 12thnight.ca

Here’s a what-if? to stop you in your tracks and make you smile. What if you moved Greenland south to the middle of the Atlantic? Think of the benefits, for human habitation and commerce.

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In The Wrong People Have Money, the comedy launching the Shadow Theatre season Thursday, that’s the assignment a professor presents to his “tethering the moon” class on speculative thinking and human ingenuity. After all, as a character will argue later in the play, “all great innovations started out as crazy ideas.” 

Playwright Reed McColm is something of a connoisseur of outrageous claims and absurd provocations. “Moving Greenland: I used to do it as a party joke,” he says. “Whenever I met a scientist I’d ask them about something absurd. Silent gunpowder for example (also mentioned in his play). And I’d ask is this possible?” 

The reactions were varied, says the jocular McColm. They included “why are you asking me such a stupid thing?” But frequently, “in the course of outlining how things were impossible, they’d start thinking how they were possible. Which is exactly what I wanted them to do…. So that’s how the play started,” he says of The Wrong People Have Money, which would have opened the 2020-2021 Shadow season had the world been different. 

“In my lifetime I’ve seen some things I didn’t think were possible.…  I guess I wanted to know if there were limits,” he says. “Are there actual ‘can’t do that, ever’ restrictions?” Cellphones, check. Human teleportation, likely in progress. Well, live theatre has some. He teases set designer Cindy Zuby with outrageous design requirements, “you know, a water buffalo ballet, or a fully functional swimming pool that appears only in the first scene.” She hasn’t strangled him yet. 

McColm, who grew up here and went to Harry Ainley High in the days of legendary theatre guru Ken Agrell-Smith, returned to his home town nine years ago after 32 in the U.S., mostly in L.A. He came back with a master’s degree in professional writing from USC, and — since he wrote for TV, including episodes of Star Trek: The Next Generation — an expansive view of possibility. Question for the Star Trek writer’s room: “why do we even have shields when they’re always down to 30 per cent; one hit and they’re down!” McColm wants to know. Anyhow, that’s where he met John de Lancie (Q in various Star Trek series), whose name is in the dedication to the play along with Shadow director John Hudson. 

When McColm started writing The Wrong People Have Money, it was with de Lancie in mind, he says of a friend he admires as “endlessly curious and SO knowledgeable. But “it’s evolved quite differently. It was supposed to be about how Professor Delancey’s strange ideas have made him mad. It’s not that any more. The idea of moving Greenland was so strong it kind of took over the play.” Is it lunacy, or is it an attractive business opportunity?

Among his other negative accomplishments, Trump has done huge damages to satire world-wide, “mainly by exceeding it,” as McColm says. What outrageous claim can survive a Trumpian assault on reality? “When Trump explored buying Greenland from Denmark, or swapping it out for Puerto Rice, I thought he’d killed my play….But really, Greenland is just a prop for making a larger point, the one in my title.” McColm laughs.
“I deal in absurdities. And there are plenty to choose from….” 

In The Wrong People Have Money, a deep-pocketed financial consortium, NexThought, led by the mysterious Mme D’Aulnoy (Linda Grass), is intrigued by the profit potential of Professor Delancey’s class assignment. She challenges him to conduct a serious feasibility study of an idea that had been designed as an intellectual workout. “I wanted to write about Delancey’s own circuitous journey toward believing something. I wanted him to have a journey of faith, from a character who is cynical and faith-less…. And he comes closer to believing something than he ever thought he could.” 

“I hope people are moved to thought and conversation,” says McColm of his play, his first to hit the stage in his home town in a professional production. “I want people to talk: ‘here’s something I like; here’s something I question’.” In Spokane, he was artistic director of the now defunct Interplayers Theatre. He remembers a member of the audience querying why he’d programmed a certain play. ‘I don’t go to the theatre to think’, the man said. I told him ‘well, where do you go and I’ll meet you there!” 

“I got into this for the same reason everyone does. And that’s the money,” McColm jokes. “The money and the awards! I’ve been doing theatre for a long time and I’m still waiting for either….” 

When he lost his work visa in his ‘50s and came back here from the States, “I felt a little bit at sea, after 32 years in the U.S.,” McColm says. “Everyone has a story; that’s life…. But I had a hard time finding my footing and starting again from scratch, and proving myself.” He’s had to step up to the question “what relevance do you have now?”  He’s very grateful for the liveliness of theatrical activity here, and for the chance to have a play professionally produced at Shadow. 

The contributions of the Shadow actors and director Hudson count big with him in honing and refining his play, “The cast (led by Julien Arnold as Professor Delancey) is as professional and adept as any I’ve ever worked with in my career!”

PREVIEW

The Wrong People Have Money

Theatre: Shadow

Written by: Reed McColm

Starring: Julien Arnold, Linda Grass, Andrea House, Steven Greenfield, Elena Porter

Where: Varscona Theatre, 10329 83 Ave.

Running: Oct. 20 through Nov. 9

Tickets: 780-434-5564, shadowtheatre.org

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Fending off the weasel en route to the stage: Weasel, noun, verb, and now Beth Graham play, premiering at Studio Theatre

Aaron Refugio, Karen Gomez Orozco, Yassine El Fassi El Fihri in Weasel by Beth Graham, U of A Studio Theatre. Photo by Brianne Jang, BB Collective.

By Liz Nicholls, 12thnight.ca

The Beth Graham play that premieres Thursday on the Timms stage takes us into the heart of a mysterious world that is collaborative but hierarchical, creative but rule-bound, populated by high-octane people pretending to be someone else.

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Weasel (“a noun and a verb” as the playwright notes, laughing) is about theatre. It’s a view from the inside out, where the actors live, and rehearse and perform. Commissioned from the U of A’s multi-award-winning playwright-in-residence, it’s custom-made for the cast of this premiere production, the 14-member class of BFA student actors, eight women and six men, who’ll graduate from the university’s theatre school in the spring. 

It’s a world Graham knows well; she graduated from the U of A as a BFA actor herself in 1998, before she would have called herself a playwright. Before she and her theatre school classmate Daniela Vlaskalic co-created the hit The Drowning Girls (then Comrades, Mules, The Last Train). And years before such award-winning plays as Victoria’s Terrifying Tale of Terrible Things (with Nathan Cuckow), The Gravitational Pull of Bernice Trimble,  Fortune Falls, and many more. Her latest collaboration with Vlaskalic, Dora Maar: the wicked one, launches the Workshop West season Oct. 27. 

Graham connected with the actors on Zoom, then in person. “We talked, got to know each other…. I asked them their expectations of the project, what kind of theatre got them going.” And she heard things like ‘edgy, risky, funny, something to stretch themselves’. She went to all their class presentations, their Greek monologues, movement pieces, plays; she saw their version of Our Town, outside of necessity, in a little park on campus. 

“A weird time, I know,” smiles Graham of the moment Weasel began to take shape in 2020, the start of the punishing pandemical era in which live theatre’s identity, its very existence, were open to question — and playwrights-in-residence were in-residence at home. “What I wanted to write about was my relationship to theatre; what was it then? what is it now?. Why had I become so jaded about it? That’s what I was grappling with,” she says.  And in a way, it was the right time for creating a play about theatre, Graham muses. “It gave me an appreciation for what wasn’t there any more…. And I realized there was a longing.”  

“I just started, and (suddenly) I had heaps of scenes … and I had to populate them. ” 

Weasel by Beth Graham, U of Studio Theatre. Photo by Brianne Jang, BB Collective.

Which brings us to another improbability of Weasel, written as it is for 14 (!) actors — in a period when three or four actors onstage counts as Size Medium.  Characters immediately started to emerge from the agile Graham brain and gather, “all kinds of different characters.” Soon there were 36 of them, “some just little fragments in short scenes…. It was hard to keep track!” There are moments in Weasel when we’ll see all 14 on the stage at once, a rare sight in Canadian theatre. And Graham began to wonder “why am I not just writing seven two-person scenes?”

“I’d been back to the university, of course, and done things as an actor there,” says Graham. “But this was different, going in to write…. I looked at all the faces, thinking ‘that was Me’…. What would I say to my younger self? Who was that person? Who am I know? What did I extract from the theatre? What did I want from it?” 

After their first in-person meeting she remembers sitting in her car in the Timms parkade thinking she’d just met her younger self times 14. “OK, this is weird. Unsettling and a bit exciting!” 

Playwright Beth Graham. Her play Weasel premieres at Studio Theatre.

With commissions, of which Graham has had more than a few, playwrights can sometimes struggle to find a fit with their own voice. No such problem with Weasel.  “Oh, I get where I fit. I get that time in my life!” she says. And who was that young Graham, training for a career in theatre? “Idealistic, hopeful, eager to take on the world…. Theatre was power.”

Each draft of the play was “drastically different,” she reports. The two university dramaturges, Kenneth T. Williams and Kate Weiss, though strikingly different artists in their approach and thinking, “picked up on a through line.” And that was Charlie.

We follow Charlie, an actor (who’s been a theatre school student) “trying to step onto the stage, and finding it very difficult.” What is the source of this mysterious fear? The character tries to understand where the feeling comes from. It’s not at all chronological, says Graham of Weasel. “I was trying to capture the save the panic-struck, trauma- and fear-filled mind works, the non-linear illogical way we think.” 

There are scenes with directors, other actors, her aunt, past and current relationships. Some scenes take Charlie into rehearsals. “I used Charlie as the main seed, and branched out from there.”

In writing Weasel Graham found herself exploring how theatre works. “The way power works in the (rehearsal) room, what we learn, how we behave as actors…. I recognized that I wasn’t going into the room the way I used to. I was going into the room defeated. I called it ‘doormatting myself’. And I’d witness it in other actors too. And I wondered what’s going on here? What had I chosen to learn, and how can I unlearn that?.” 

“It’s changing,” she thinks of the power structures of theatre. “And it’s complicated, too…. Some things that happen in difficult (rehearsal) room are incredible!” She muses. “When we look back,” as Charlie does, “we try to simplify, but it’s complicated.”

“Why is there only one way to do it? How do we work differently? I like there to be a decision-maker in the room. But sometimes we’re trained as actors to just obey…. We’re taught to serve the play and realize the director’s vision.” 

In Weasel, four different actors play Charlie; sometimes they’re onstage  at the same time, different versions of the character. “It’s really interesting when actors share a role…. Tricky, yes, but something to be inspired by; it’s got a special kind of theatricality to it.”  And there are four weasels, too. “Interesting, disturbing, exciting!” 

”Fourteen voices in a room make a lot of noise!” Graham laughs. In one draft all 14 actors played weasels, a veritable chorus of weasels. “I almost called the play that, A Chorus of Weasels.”

As an actor Graham, who returns to acting this season in a revival of Catalyst’s Nevermore at Vertigo Theatre in Calgary, had heard actors refer to “the weasel of fear” before they went onstage — as in  “the weasel of fear is with me tonight.” And she assumed it was an expression shared by actors everywhere. “Nope. It’s an Edmonton thing.” 

At the end of writing Weasel, what does Graham think of her chosen profession? “It turns out that I do have a love of theatre. It still exists within me! I know it’s there!” She smiles. “I don’t have to LOVVVVVVE it. I can just love it, and find the joy in it.” 

PREVIEW

Weasel

Theatre: Studio Theatre, U of A drama department

Written by: Beth Graham

Directed by: Kevin Sutley

Starring: the U of A’s graduating class of BFA actors

Where: Timms Centre For The Arts, 112th St. and 87th Ave. 

Running: Oct. 13 through Oct 22

Tickets: ualberta.ca/arts/shows/theatre  

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The soccer field and the planet of teenage girls: The Wolves at the Citadel, a preview

The Wolves, a Maggie Tree Production at the Citadel Theatre. Photo by Nanc Price for the Citadel

By Liz Nicholls, 12thnight.ca

The Wolves, opening the Citadel’s Highwire Series Thursday, does something no production has ever done at the big brick-and-glass playhouse downtown. It turns the Rice, the smallest of the Citadel’s theatres, into an indoor soccer field, complete with AstroTurf.

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That’s where we’ll see, up (very) close from the sidelines, nine teenage members of a girls’ soccer team, 16- and 17-year-olds, warming up for games on successive Saturdays. One is an outsider, struggling to find a place in an established team. Later they’re joined briefly by a tenth character, a soccer mom. 

“A planet of teenage girls”: that’s how the young American playwright Sarah DeLappe puts it in introductory notes to her 2016 Pulitzer-nominated play, amazingly her first to be produced. There are no fathers, or boyfriends, or teachers. “We meet them with each other. We’re on their turf. They’re not on ours.”

It’s a Maggie Tree production, part of a Citadel initiative to collaborate with smaller companies and amplify their audiences and profile. With The Wolves, originally planned for 2020, the indie company — started by Kristi Hansen and Vanessa Sabourin to produce and showcase the work of female artists — is back. 

Director Vanessa Sabourin, The Wolves, The Maggie Tree at the Citadel. Photo supplied

Sabourin is directing; Hansen is producing. We caught up with the pair pre-rehearsal this past week to talk about a play that takes us into the world of teenage girls on the move, both physically and emotionally, as they stretch and jog, converse and interrupt each other, about teen things and about the world and their place in it. It’s a view from the confusing coming-of-age bridge they’re about to cross. 

“That’s the beautiful thing about the piece,” says Sabourin. The players “are trying to get ready physically for a game, of course, warming up; they have a goal. But they’re also dealing with big questions in the world.” Says Hansen, “it’s thresholds! thresholds they’re about to cross.”

producer Kristi Hansen, The Wolves, The Maggie Tree at the Citadel. Photo supplied.

The most obvious is that they’re pre-game. “But there’s also childhood into adulthood,” says Sabourin. “Being responsible for things you say, between understanding political as a global thing but also understanding it as a personal thing. This is teens trying to figure out how and where they fit in the world — what they think as opposed to saying the things their parents say. Figuring out what happens when someone holds you accountable for something; the ‘oh, I don’t know if I can back that up’.”

Ten actors? In the Rice? The Maggie Tree partnership with the mighty regional is mutually beneficial, both parties have said. “In the theatre eco-system where we co-exist,” as Sabourin points out, “indie companies can have an agility that institutions sometimes have to work a little harder to achieve.” 

It was Citadel artistic director Daryl Cloran who proposed the script originally. And its appeal to Sabourin and Hansen, who often use the term “community-building,” was multi-faceted. “We liked the idea of giving a group of young performers at various stages of their craft and careers the opportunity to dive into something that was both physical and had so many layers of story to it.” The “integration of text and movement” gave the Maggie Tree the chance to work again with long-time collaborator Amber Borotsik, a choreographer with an expansively creative sense of what that term means.

The Wolves, a Maggie Tree production at the Citadel Theatre. Photo by Nanc Price for the Citadel.

Written, astonishingly, in three weeks (“the first scene written on a train, on a phone!” Hansen marvels), The Wolves presents a unique sort of ensemble-building challenge. The players are identified by numbers, not names. And, as you’ll discover in the script, they seem to all talk at the same time, over each other, in a cross-hatching of simultaneous conversations and fragments. 

“It only started to  be clear when people were moving, on their feet,” says Sabourin, who made photo tags for the actors, to put faces to the numbers. Gradually, even in reading the script, you begin to distinguish the individual personalities.  

Their original audition call elicited 140 applications. “We could have cast the show ten times over,” Hansen says of the response. Some of those actors have inevitably moved on since 2020. The cast we’ll see, a mix of Equity and non-Equity actors, are all local, from a variety of backgrounds and theatre experience. No  soccer expertise was required; Sabourin’s cousin, a long-time coach to teenage soccer teams, came in to help out with skills.   

The only requirements were “being able to pick up movement, and not be afraid of the ball,” Sabourin laughs. “In auditions we heard ‘OK, I don’t know how, but I’m going to go after that ball!’” 

There are improv stars like Marguerite Lawler (who plays the captain #25), for example, and musical theatre triple-threats like Jameela McNeil (#14) and Michelle Diaz (#13). “It’s very helpful,” says Sabourin who’s discovered “a certain musicality” in the script, and the way it builds and subsides.

The rhythms of the play are complicated, she says. One moment there’s an exchange about how to pronounce Khmer Rouge, the next about pads vs. tampons. The players “warm up, they get distracted (by talk) on another path, they come back together…. It’s about finding the ebb and flow of that, and how the movement informs it.” 

“It has to breathe and be in motion: so much fun for a director.” 

A soccer “team” on the field and a theatre “team on the stage? Not a big stretch, of course. “One of the crucial questions for us,” says Hansen, “was what’s this team we’re going to make? What’s the experience we’re going to offer? Where can we give? Where can we take?” The idea is ‘to care for our team as best we can.”

When The Wolves was postponed indefinitely in 2020, Hansen says they wondered “could we do this outside? in a park? in a field? But it’s such an intimate script.” Sabourin says they even thought, for a second, “could we do this with a camera? Uh, no.” 

“When we came back to the script after the pandemic, we were all different. Something (about everything) feels different…. A theme we heard so often at auditions was ‘transition’, ‘transformation’, A lot of people are carrying grief they weren’t carrying before. We’re all  managing so much more than we did before.….”

There’s a kind of gradual immersion experience in The Wolves, as Hansen describes. People are talking all at once. “It starts out ‘my ears don’t understand! How do I listen to and watch this play?’ It’s a bit like Shakespeare that way,” she laughs.

The Wolves, a Maggie Tree production at the Citadel Theatre. Photo by Nanc Price for the Citadel.

In a succession of Saturday morning warm-ups, “each scene is a little bit different, in how it focuses, in its rules of theatricality,” says Sabourin. “People are talking all at once, and then it’s ‘oh, there’s a story here’. At first you’re super-attentive and then because you can’t follow it all anyhow, you take a step back, and you start to surf. And it’s fun!” 

“You’re listening in a different way…. I can literally feel my ears shift in their listening!” Hansen, who’s been watching rehearsals, calls it “releasing yourself into the experience.” 

And in the end, there’s an unpredictable cast member you can never quite control. The ball. “Balls don’t always do what you want them to,” grins Sabourin …. They require the performer to be alive and in the moment. Balls don’t let you go on auto-pilot.” 

PREVIEW

The Wolves

Theatre: The Maggie Tree in the Citadel Highwire Series

Written by: Sarah DeLappe

Directed by: Vanessa Sabourin

Starring: Michelle Diaz, Lebo Disele, Daniela Fernandez, Marguerite Lawler, Jameela McNeil, Sokhana Mfenyana, Pauline Miki, Dean Stockdale, Asia Weinkauf-Bowman, Kaeley Jade Wiebe

Where: Citadel Rice Theatre

Running: through Oct. 30

Tickets: 780-425-1820, citadeltheatre.com

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Let the spirits move you: Dead Centre of Town returns to Fort Edmonton to haunt a theatre

Colin Matty, Dead Centre of Town, Catch the Keys Productions. Photo by Marc J Chalifoux

By Liz Nicholls, 12thnight.ca

“Every good theatre has its ghosts,” says playwright Megan Dart, an intrepid explorer of haunted terrain over the  past dozen years.

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Which is why it was only a matter of time till Catch The Keys Productions ventured into the Capitol Theatre on 1920 Street in Fort Edmonton Park for edition XIII of Dead Centre of Town. They are, after all, specialists in ghostly exhumations in the boneyard where our own civic history, with all its macabre secrets, lies buried. 

Theatre: there is a reason that the single caged bulb that burns on the stages of dark and possibly empty theatres is called a “ghost light.”   

The Capitol is an elegant reproduction of the vintage vaudeville theatre c. 1929 that once stood on Jasper Avenue, in the heart of a flourishing Edmonton theatre district. “It’s been on our wish list forever, the opportunity to haunt that space,” says Dart, the indefatigable researcher who unearths our ghosts, and writes scripts for the Catch The Keys expeditions into our past. The other half of Catch the Keys is Dart’s sister Beth Dart, who directs the immersive roving thrillers that take us deep into the eerie darkness of fall nights in the river valley. 

Thirteen spooky seasons ago, Dead Centre of Town got its inspiration and title from the morbid nickname of early last century for the intersection of Jasper Ave. and 109th St. A mortuary, one of this town’s first, stood on the corner, surrounded by coffin shops and embalmers. And business was brisk; the train stopped there to unload dead soldiers from the century’s assorted wars. By the time Catch the Keys disinterred this macabre history, the mortuary was a nightclub, the Globe. And Dead Centre of Town was a one-night only event.

Christine Lesiak, Dead Centre of Town, Catch the Keys Productions. Photo by Marc J Chalifoux.

Since that first edition, Dead Centre of Town has haunted an abandoned train station, an ex-cinema, a former tinsmith shop, among other eerie buildings with lurid pasts. And at Fort Edmonton, in the flickering light of bonfires, Dead Centre of Town has occupied a ghost carnival, a defunct air hangar, and in 2019 (the last Dead Centre before it went … underground) the Mellon Farmhouse at the top of 1920 Street. “The spaces do so much of the work for us,” says Dart happily.

This time, starting Wednesday as the veil between present and past grows thinner and thinner, the locale is a theatre; “the research this year was a lot of fun,” says Dart. Though a mere youngster as cities go, Edmonton has a lot of theatre ghost potential as she points out. “We were always a theatre town,” so lots of ghost-in-residence positions available. There are stories of ghosts at the Princess, the Garneau cinema (what happened to the projectionist?), Walterdale (an ex-firehall haunted by the ghost of a dead fireman), and the Bus Barns, headquarters of Fringe Theatre (of which Dart is the executive director). 

At the Capitol Theatre itself, says Dart, “we’ve heard tell of a rambunctious playful spirit who might appear in a mirror behind you, or be giggling somewhere near…. It’s the best backdrop.” Stories, as she says of the evocative mixture of urban lore and historical fact, “are part of our collective history. And they live on in their telling.” 

“There is unfinished business,” a shivery thought which might, come to think of it, be why there are ghost lights in theatres. And in a way they are haunted spaces by very definition, since actors inhabit other people and breathe life into them.

Adam Keefe, Dead Centre of Town, Catch the Keys Production. Photo by Marc J Chalifoux

Since the Darts, their actors, and their crew are theatre people, “it’s very nice to be in a space we know well.” And, ah, the notion of ‘inside’ speaks powerfully to a company that has “chased people through fields or shoo-ed goats off the ‘stage’ at times. I seem to recall warming my hands over an assortment of fires (“we’ve lit a few,” says Dart). In Dead Centre of Town X, the year of the Johnny J Jones midway at Fort Edmonton, the only part of the experience that wasn’t under the stars, if memory serves, was briefly inside the giant glass box where the classic ghostly merry-go-round dreams its decades away.

The core company returns year after year to disturb your equilibrium. Colin Matty, a genuinely unnerving presence, returns for his ninth year as narrator. Improv skills are required; we’re up very close to the action. Christine Lesiak, artistic director of the Play The Fool Festival, has been part of the cast for 10 years; Adam Keefe has found himself at the Dead centre of town since the very beginning 13 years ago, says Dart. The cast of seven this year, working two shows a night, includes Sarah Emslie, Dayna Lea Hoffman, Murray Farnell, Max Hanic, and Jake Tkaczyk. 

Back with the company are the special effects team of John and Kat Evans, along with Ian Walker (Dart calls him “our impossible machine wizard”). And since ghostly tales demand rarefied sound effects, sound designer Michael Caron “builds our world every year,” says Dart. 

PREVIEW

Dead Centre of Town XIII

Theatre: Catch The Keys Productions

Written by: Megan Dart

Directed by: Beth Dart

Where: Capitol Theatre, 1920 Street Fort Edmonton Park

Running: Oct 13 to 30, 7:30 and 9:30 p.m.

Tickets (which can be bundled with Dark): fortedmontonpark.ca

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