Putting the grit into dark comedy: Mules, a Fringe review

Kyra Gusdal and Miracle Mopera in Mules, Edmonton Fringe 2022. Photo supplied.

Mules (Stage 4, Walterdale Theatre)

By Liz Nicholls, 12thnight.ca

Mules, a tense and suspenseful two-hander by the actor/playwright team of Beth Graham and Daniela Vlaskalic (who starred in the 2006 premiere), puts the grit back into dark comedy.

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Its entry-level mystery, so to speak, is a mysterious odd-couple sitcom encounter, at first comic, between two women, high school classmates who haven’t seen each other in a decade — in the women’s can at Vancouver airport. And it just keeps escalating in a farcical high-stakes way that leaves “it seemed like a good idea at the time” in the dust. 

One character, Cindy (Kyra Gusdal), is a stripper, a hard-edged chick, on a fuse that isn’t long and gets a whole lot shorter in the course of Mules. The other,  Crystal (Miracle Mopera), a single mother with a cheery air of normalcy about her, has a germ phobia about using public washrooms, which certainly puts a damper on the urgent task at hand. Her erstwhile classmate has sent her on a drug smuggling mission to Bogota, and retrieval of the illegal import, as the title tips off, is at hand, assisted by Ex-Lax.  

“Life is going to get a lot better for both of us,” Cindy insists. As one thing after another goes way wrong, this will start to seem, well, ill-advised, crazy, and probably doomed, a bit like the unravelling heist that David Mamet’s inept lowlifes in American Buffalo are plotting. 

What sticks with you about Mules, as Kevin Sutley’s production confirms, is that it frames a story that emerges, in bits and pieces, little exchanges, revelations and silences, of girlhood hopes shut down, dreams delayed indefinitely, friendships abandoned and betrayed, the sense that life somehow just isn’t as good as it should be, and still could be — if only. 

Kevin Sutley’s production is both supple in its rhythms and intense in momentum, between moments of comedy. And two very watchable young actors, newcomers to the scene, bite into this demanding material in compelling ways. Gusdal convincingly charts the rocky two-way route between tension, panic and desperation. Mopera is entirely convincing as the struggling single mom who has dared to reimagine a future beyond the scramble of the present. 

 

     

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Epic in scale (and complication). Horror, mythology, folk tale, social satire in a new musical… The Erlking, a Fringe review

The Erlking, Scona Alumni Theatre Co. Photo supplied

The Erlking (Stage 23, Strathcona High School)

By Liz Nicholls, 12thnight.ca

There’s a fascinating ambition about the mélange of horror, mythology, folk tale and social satire in this new musical (book, music, lyrics) by Chris Scott.

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In a small town outside a city, children have been disappearing, right at harvest time. The mayor is a fascist who hates poor people and the lower classes generally, the Catholic priest is creepy, and there’s a peculiar stranger in town with a grievance and a proposition for kids. Ah, and everyone has stopped believing in magic. 

No, my friends, we’re not in Brigadoon any more. We’re not even in that midwestern town in Footloose where the mayor is dead set against rock n’ roll and dancing. 

The Erlking is an original, and it’s epic (a Fringe rarity) — not only in conception, in cast size (12 performers), in sound (big electronic orchestral tracks that, alas, in the opening performance’s sound mix tended to drown out the lyrics), but in plot complications. 

The opening scenes of the Scona Alumni Theatre production, which review the fateful events of the year before, set forth a rigid class system where the poor kid outcasts sing and dance in rambunctious fashion, and the compliant upper-class kids form prim quartets and sing like church choirs. Scott’s music, which includes a kind of operatic recitative to propel the narrative, is unfailingly inventive.

The mayor (Annette Loiselle) talks the talk: children are our future, children are the preservers of our way of life, etc. etc. she says on more than one occasion. But as for walking the walk … well, we meet her own children. Michael is a conflicted young man since his best friend is lower-class. Michael’s sister is a steely-eyed upholder of the maternal orthodoxy, without her mother’s beaming smile and fake charm.

The stranger in town (Natalie Czar), as you quickly glean (not a spoiler), is the Erlking, After a lot of teasers to everyone onstage, it transpires they’ve come to correct a myth maladjustment in which they are routinely maligned as an evil elf who lures kids to their deaths. Their goal is to restore the lustre of their ancient reputation and make life better for everyone, by reinstating magic. But they’re unwilling (unable?) to use their powers right away. Why? Possibly it’s because they rely on faith and belief, and both have atrophied, as the characters reveal in a somewhat repetitive sequence of scenes. 

Anyhow, the Erlking, who prefers to go incognito, uses a variety of aliases (“just another grain inspector,” they say, “making her way through the void of capitalism”). The story unfolds in a series of repeated musical argument scenes to reinforce the set-up — between Michael and the other kids, the Erlking and skeptical kids, the mayor and the kids, the kids amongst themselves, the mayor and the mayor’s empathetic maid.… 

There’s no shortage of juicy ideas and vivid characters here. But since the Erlking, who’s high-spirited, recruits one kid at a time, with lots of scenes devoted to second thoughts and re-tries, the serial, looping nature of the storytelling makes the whole thing feel a bit over-extended, in truth. It takes quite a while to build — there are a lot of entrances and exits — and might fruitfully be condensed. And there are big rewards to be had in doing that, I think.

You’ll enjoy the spoken dialogue of the script with its barbed comments about education cuts, pedophile priests, the inequities of the economic status quo. There’s an unusual and impressive musical here in the making, a couple of drafts from its final form. Hey, that’s the magic of the Fringe. 

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A smart, fun, dark new ‘relationship’ musical: Conjoined, a Fringe review

Seth Gilfillan and Josh Travnik in Conjoined: A New Musical. Photo supplied.

Conjoined: A New Musical (Stage 13, Servus Theatre, La Cité francophone)

By Liz Nicholls, 12thnight.ca

There’s always someone to block your sun. And, be honest, wouldn’t your heart feel lighter, your spirits rise, your life be just better without that someone weighing you down, smudging your prospects, thwarting your dreams, clouding your blue skies?

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This clever, darkly funny little original rock musical by Stephen Allred and Seth Gilfillan, is about that. Unfortunately, for Pat (Josh Travnik), the someone who’s casting a perpetual shadow over him is his handsome, buff, conceited, bossy, smug twin brother Braxton (Seth Gilfillan). And worse, they’re attached, permanently. Which certainly ups the ante on sibling rivalry and the classic struggle for self-discovery.  

Braxton and Pat are not a two-man democracy. The former, whose self-esteem knows no bounds, is a gung-ho achiever, a repository of up-and-at-‘em aphorisms, who makes all the decisions — when they get up, when they go to sleep, when they brush their teeth and do cross-fit. By his own admission Braxton is “popular, successful, and everyone loves me.” 

Well, not quite everyone. Pat is simmering with exasperation and resentment; he was shortchanged on everything, including his name. “Look at him, look at me,” he laments in one of the show’s witty, cleverly rhymed songs. And resentment, as set forth in song, is gradually turning into murderous fantasies as Travnik conveys in a captivating junior Sweeney Todd escalation. “What if the source of all your problems just disappeared?”

How do you grow up, discover your sexuality, find love, make your own choices, when I is we? Now there’s a pronoun problem for you. Could they be separated? Braxton is devoted to the dying wishes of their mother, who was religious (“she marched against gun control,” says Pat) and prescribed eternal togetherness. Medicine offers a way out. Will ‘they’ take it?

There’s a kind of macabre hilarity to the storytelling, and the graphic way, heartfelt but amusingly unsentimental, that it twists a universal coming-of-age and relationship problem into a new shape.  

The tricky bare-stage stagecraft and choreography by Allred in this Straight Edge Theatre production is ingenious. And Gilfillan and Travnik, strong singers both, are real firecrackers onstage. 

The music, accompanied by a live onstage three-piece band with chops,  propels the story in an accomplished and catchy mix of  musical theatre-type dreamer songs (“If I were me, just me …”), pop ballads, driving rock numbers…. Conjoined is startling, smart, and fun — a brand new musical it’s exciting to find at the Fringe. You’ll leave smiling.

 

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Creating ‘the impossible, mysterious sound’: The Hunchback Variations, a Fringe review

The Hunchback Variations. Poster photo by Ian Jackson, Epic Photography.

The Hunchback Variations (Stage 3, Studio Theatre)

By Liz Nicholls, 12thnight.ca

A curious pair arrives onstage at the start of this smart, touching, genuinely odd, sometimes trying two-hander comedy. “Good evening and welcome …” says the brisk, professionally genial guy in the business-casual suit at the outset, evidently a veteran of such occasions. “I am Ludwig Van Beethoven, composer, and on my left is Quasimodo,  hunchback and former bell ringer for Notre Dame de Paris.”

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The absurdist premise of The Hunchback Variations, an enigmatic 2002 comedy by  Chicago playwright Mickle Maher stops you in your tracks: it’s a panel discussion on sound delivered by two of history’s most famous Deaf artists.

Unlikely collaborators, they’ve been working to create the “impossible, mysterious sound” demanded by Chekhov’s famously elusive stage direction at the end of Act II, and again the final scene, of The Cherry Orchard: “Suddenly a distant sound is heard, coming as if out of the sky, like the sound of a string snapping, slowly and sadly dying away.”

Ian Leung and Dave Clarke, The Hunchback Variations. Photo supplied.

Directed by Davina Stewart originally for the Northern Light Theatre season just past (a COVID cancellation), the piece unspools in 11 variations, with minor adjustments. The grotesquely masked Quasimodo (actor Dave Clarke, ironically a sound designer himself) presides over a table of assorted noise-makers — rolls of cellotape, a melodica, a bell, finger harp, coconut shells … — and sounds them at random intervals. 

In each case Beethoven — veering between abrupt dismissal, condescension, bemusement, and enforced affability in Leung’s perfectly pitched performance — says “that is not the sound.” Sometimes Quasimodo, an earnest and lyrical participant once he starts to roll reads from prepared statements about artistic failure — the types of it, the ways to make it more pleasant (“I believe everything would’ve gone a lot better if we had not rehearsed at my house”), the inevitability of it. Would it have mattered if Beethoven had actually read The Cherry Orchard? Possibly. Nah, not really. “Our collaboration was doomed,” says Quasimodo.

Art about the intricacies of failing to create art: there’s a certain dry origami wit to that sort of rueful, nagging artistic introspection. Is all artistic creation, in a sense, absurd, since it can never arrive fully at the capture of feeling beyond the human capacity to express it? The Hunchback Variations persists with questions like that, and leaves you with them. .

Not every audience will have the patience for it, in truth. But the insights are moving. And so is the portrait of the artist as perpetual quester, imprisoned by a crazy need, in the face of inevitable failure, to “express the inexpressible,” as Beethoven puts it, or “solve the impossible problem,” as Quasimodo says. You keep trying, knowing “that is not the sound.”  

Where do all the failures go? wonders Quasimodo. “Where is the place for the uncreated?” This elliptical set of variations is all about building it. And in its strange way, that’s a fascinating project. 

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Weird and wonderful, a human vaudeville under the skin: Epidermis Circus, a Fringe review

Ingrid Hansen in Epidermis Circus, SNAFU. Photo by Jam Hamidi.

Epidermis Circus (Stage 18, The Luther Centre)

By Liz Nicholls, 12thnight.ca

There’s a nutty and ingenious self-reliance built into this “spicy puppet cabaret” from Victoria’s SNAFU Society of Unexpected Spectacles (Little Orange Man, The Merkin Sisters). Let’s just say that the relationship between puppet and puppeteer has never been closer.  

In the course of it, both live and magnified onscreen, in cunningly angled cameras and mirror images, we see Ingrid Hansen, presiding from a table of simple found objects, create characters from her own hands, fingers, tongue, and (as in the case of razzmatazz stand-up comic Lenny the Boob) other body parts. And she sets them in motion in a saucy and jostling vaudeville of ‘stars’ who are related under the skin, very literally. 

Florence McFingernails, an earthy stage-struck ancient with an insatiable appetite for the limelight and a taste for old-school bad jokes, is the M.C. who can barely bring herself to introduce the talent. “Up next … not me!”

The precise physicality attached to Hansen’s imagination (the show is co-created with director Britt Small) is mesmerizing. We get the fun of sudden recognition as characters emerge into miniature worlds from a palm and its fleshy attachments. 

Epidermis Circus, SNAFU. Photo by Ingrid Hansen,

We meet a pair of mismatched dogs doing doggie things in a dog park. We watch a sinister, worldly baby pay unsettling homage to vintage vaudeville by taking a bubble bath on stage. Florence, incidentally, a veritable repository of grievances, is unimpressed. “So, the baby took a bath. Who am I to judge what is art?” 

The tone is sassy; Epidermis Circus is full of Fringe jokes for your enjoyment (lordie, it’s good to be back and hear the hallowed name TJ Dawe from the stage!). The sense of humour runs to dark and macabre. There’s a whole Romeo and Juliet ballet with vampiric top notes, and a post-apocalyptic vision that emerges from the puppeteer’s mouth. It’s 2022 and we know that world; Epidermis Circus steps up and finds a way to be playful about it. There’s a kooky, energizing joy about rediscovering the human potential right there, just under the skin, and populating worlds with it.    

The human body, says Florence, is “a big ol’ bag of meat.’ Epidermis Circus gives it the finger; it’s a post-pandemic celebration of our own weird possibilities. 

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Be very pumped: further thoughts on a big Fringe opening night

Ten: The Show. The Little Red Ball Company. Photo supplied.

By Liz Nicholls, 12thnight.ca

Tonight’s the night: the biggest opening night in town, by a considerable margin. Come 8 p.m. Destination Fringe, with its 164 shows on 27 venues (artfully scaled down from the gargantuan 2019 edition) is up and playing. The great thing about the Fringe is that you can devise a logistically sound, viable plan to see shows (without roller-skates, I need hardly add), sure, or you can improvise.

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Don’t be overwhelmed; be pumped. 12thnight.ca has already posted a selection of promising prospects for your consideration. Have a peek here. And a further cluster of shows I’ve enjoyed at previous Fringes, or even in the season. Have a look here.  

Here are some further thoughts for finding yourself a route to your Destination Fringe. 

The Fringe’s only … circus show. That would be Ten: The Circus Show, the work of Calgary-based The Little Red Ball Company. Kate Ryan (not the Edmonton Kate Ryan we know, the artistic director of the Plain Jane Theatre Company) explains that, in a reverse of the usual migration of theatre onto film, the show is the stage premiere of an award-winning 35-minute digital film. 

The rigging in the Westbury Theatre (Stage 1) is up, with its 4,000 pounds of weights, for a cast of six performers with impossible  virtuoso skills. “We challenge ourselves,” says Ryan, who’s worked with Edmonton’s Firefly Circus Theatre before now and regards Annie Dugan as a mentor. 

The show is a way, she says, to channel “the pain and negativity of (the last two years) into an opportunity for growth and creativity…. We’ve all been suffering through some kind of grief.” 

Ah yes, grief. In March of 2020 The Little Red Ball Company went from doing 250 shows a year to … two. “I didn’t experience it in seven stage, but 10.” Hence the name of the show. Ryan gave each of her ensemble a word, with the challenge “make something, create something, put it out there…. Move through it; play with it. And they did, beautiful pieces.” They are, she says, “a tribute to human resilience…. The audience leaves feeling empowered.” 

Each performer has two acts. Ryan herself opens and closes the show. Ryan herself, a specialist with hula hoops: she has somehow mastered the rarefied skill of balancing a hula hoop on her face while other performers dive through it.  

The Fringe’s only … controversial very tough-minded solo polemical play. My Name Is Rachel Corrie is fashioned from the diaries and emails of the astonishingly committed young idealist activist killed by an Israeli army bulldozer in 2003. Emma Ryan, a theatre veteran who’s just graduated from U of A theatre school, stars. 

Fags in Space, Low Hanging Fruits. Photo supplied.

The Fringe’s only … hybrid of sci-fi and gay rom-com. That would be Liam Salmon’s Fags in Space. The workings of intergalactic romance are as yet mysterious. 

Ghouls Ghouls Ghouls, Send in the Girls Burlesque/ House of Hush. Photo supplied.

The Fringe’s only … marriage of burlesque and ghost stories, Ghouls Ghouls Ghouls by Send In The Girls Burlesque and House of Hush. Like so many shows how can that even work? Guess you have to be there to find out. 

Rebecca Merkley in Jesus Teaches us Things, Play The Fool Festival. Photo supplied

The Fringe’s only … opportunity to actually see Jesus, substitute-teaching a Sunday School class. Jesus Teaches Us Things is the inspiration of Rebecca Merkley, the winner of this year’s Gerald Osborn playwriting award. It started out as a short entry in the Play The Fool physical comedy festival. Now it’s a full show. 

 

      

   

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Be a patron, please support theatre coverage!

Hello theatre friends!

Did we just imagine the last two years? Suddenly, magically, it’s the opening day of the Fringe. Edmonton’s mighty summer theatre festival, the oldest on the continent, is back — not epic in size but BIG. 

 And with it, the unmistakeable sign that the live theatre experience, with live audiences, in person — hey, a concept with legs! — is happening. It’s the right moment to thank you, dear readers of 12thnight.ca, for your support and encouragement, for sticking with me through a time of devastation, the toughest of challenges for the performing arts. It’s been inspiring to see the ingenuity and persistence our valiant theatre artists in this exciting theatre town have brought to meeting them. And it’s been my joy and privilege to write about it.

Covering theatre, independently, outside the vagaries of the mainstream media, is what 12thnight.ca is for. I hope you’ve been enjoying the content which has been, so far, free. And I’m hoping that you’ll be up for chipping in a monthly amount to my Patreon campaign to enable 12thnight.ca coverage of Edmonton exciting theatre scene to continue. That support from readers is, solely, what makes it possible. Here’s the link (www.patreon.com/12thnight). Spread the word. 

If you’re already signed on as a 12thnight.ca patron, I’m so grateful. 12thnight can’t continue without it. 

Meanwhile, we’re off to the Fringe, in the place where that name became a verb. We’ll see each other, in person, in a theatre soon. 

gratefully, Liz 

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‘A space of possibility’: The Péhonán Series at the Fringe

Dallas Arcand Jr. in the Fringe’s péhonán series. Photo supplied.

By Liz Nicholls, 12thnight.ca

The TeePee: there it stands, a striking 16-footer right in the heart of the Fringe, a tangible symbol of Indigenous presence at our summer festival of artists.

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Péhonán (Cree for gathering place, waiting place), last year’s initiative in dedicating a venue to Indigenous programming, was a grand success, says Josh Languedoc, the Fringe’s director of Indigenous Strategic Planning. For this year’s 41st annual edition of the Fringe, péhonán expands its reach outdoors, and weaves its way through the festival. It’s an eight-show series with performances on the ATB Outdoor Stage, the péhonán TeePee, the KidsFringe stage — all featuring local Treaty 6 artists.

Josh Languedoc in Rocko and Nakota: Tales From The Land. Photo supplied.

For Languedoc, an Anishinaabe playwright/ performer whose own hit Rocko and Nakota: Tales From The Land arrives back at the Fringe (Stage 16) from dates across the country, péhonán “is a space of possibility.” He thinks of it as “an incubator” for Indigenous artists, “a showcase to highlight them and let try out their ideas.”  

That’s what happened last year, in the series of one-off performances at the Roxy on Gateway (this year, the Gateway Theatre). Bear Grease, for example, a 10-actor Indigenous adaptation of the famous musical, “was an immediate sell-out, every performance,” says Languedoc. And the show has since played to sold-out houses on both sides of the border. “And now he’s taken the next step,” says Languedoc. A new solo play from its creator MC RedCloud, Evandalism, inspired by his own story — “he’s a charismatic, natural storyteller,” says Languedoc — will premiere in the upcoming Fringe Theatre season of curated productions.

Poet Naomi McIlwraith’s part in The Sash-Maker, with Rebecca Sadowski, at péhonán in 2021,  “has taken on a life of its own, too,” says Languedoc. This time the poet brings a performance of her own, The Language of Silence, a poetry collection which touches on reconciliation and is as current as the Pope’s recent visit, is at ᐄᓃᐤ (ÎNÎW) River Lot 11∞ Aug. 19 at 9 p.m. 

The series opens Friday on the ATB Outdoor Stage with a performance by Chubby Cree, a four-member family drumming group, followed by singer-songwriter Kaeley Jade and her band. Sampler Cafe has “a drop-in jam” at the TeePee Saturday afternoon, with a concert in the evening on the ATB Outdoor Stage. 

Omisimawiw by Shyanne Duquette, Péhonán Series, Fringe 2022. Poster image supplied.

Shyanne Duqette’s Omisimawiw (Cree for elder sister), which got a staged reading at Nextfest in June, gathers an audience to hear the second draft ( River Lot Aug. 19). Her play about Indigenous identity tells the remarkable true-life story of how she met her sister for the first time — in a chance encounter on the LRT. 

The series also includes a matinee performance Aug. 20 on the Kids’ Stage by Dallas Arcand Jr., a world-champion hoop dancer and musician who has just produced a kids’ album. And the grand finale Aug. 20 is a 12-performer spectacular from Indig-Hauz of Beaver Hills, an Indigi-queer collective of 2Spirit and drag performance artists, featuring  Indigenous “kings, queens, and everything in between.”

Seelee Matreese, a member of Indigi-Hauz of Beaver Hills, Péhonán Series at the Fringe. Photo supplied.

Each Friday and Saturday of the Fringe (6 p.m.) there’s a gathering at the TeePee, with smudging, bannock, and a sharing circle. “We’ll gather,” says Languedoc, “and travel together to the (evening’s) performances. 

All péhonán performances are pay-what-you-will, with gifts welcome in lieu of financial contributions. “It’s more about an exchange between audience and artists,” as Languedoc puts it. “It’s a softening” of the Fringe free-enterprise marketplace. “No, a kind-ening.” 

More information about the péhonán series, and a full schedule: fringetheatre.ca.  “Tatawaw. Welcome. There is room.” 

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Where do new musicals come from? Meet the creators of The Erlking and Conjoined at the Fringe

Seth Gilfillan and Josh Travnik in Conjoined: A New Musical. Photo supplied

By Liz Nicholls, 12thnight.ca

Where do new musicals come from anyhow? The 2022 Fringe has a surprising number. What sort of theatre  artists are moved to complicate their lives immeasurably by channelling their storytelling through music and lyrics?

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12thnight caught up with a couple of them this month, agile, innovative, multi-faceted young musical theatre talents — triple threats both (book, music, lyrics)  — to ask. 

Chris Scott’s The Erlking is his own original, expansive departure from the European tale, best known in its Goethe incarnation, of the malevolent elf who lures children on adventures that involve them being dead. He’s written it for a cast of 12 (one of the largest at the Fringe). In Conjoined, Straight Edge Theatre’s Stephen Allred, who co-writes with partner Seth Gilfillan, has given a new musical a dauntingly intricate small-scale challenge: a cast of two in which the characters struggling for the upper hand (and other body parts) are conjoined brothers. 

The journey that has brought The Erlking to the stage in a Scona Alumni Theatre Co. production, has a strange time-lapse story of its own. “I wrote the original at 17,” says Scott, a student at the time in Linette Smith’s theatre classes at Scona High. “And we put it on at a one-act play festival. A very angst-y show.” He and his smartie friends (“into shocking humour at the time — you know, teenage boys in Alberta!”) “made a short animation to show the class.” 

That was 12 years ago. And The Erlking slumbered away as Scott went east, got his BFA in musical theatre at Berklee College of Music in Boston, moved to New York and “auditioned like mad,” then arrived in Toronto for an ill-fated contract. Until Edmonton and the pandemic. “The melodies of two of the best songs, the catchiest, are the same from the original version,” says Scott. “I completely re-wrote the ending of (one of them) last night in time for  rehearsal.”

“I’ve learned a lot since then,” Scott says, musing on the origins of the musical a lifetime ago. And his story of a town at the edge of a metropolis where the regime is oppressive, the social structure is punishingly hierarchical, and the Elf King’s legend has been blackened by ruling classes and priests, has gained in nuance, he thinks. “And it grew over the course of the pandemic, and working several part-time jobs I hated, and experiencing the adult world (laughter).…”

“Classism, old culture vs. new … that’s in it. But at its core it’s still about power and the balance of power and power structures, the abuse of power.” 

Was Scott the kid who grew up playing in garage rock bands? “I was never that kid!” he says cheerfully. In Boston he threw himself into the craft of acting. “I wanted to be on Broadway; I wanted to be in The Book of Mormon.” He was in the cast of his first musical The Killing Jar, “a cyber-punk electronica type of musical” as he describes, which played the Fringe in 2019. “I wanted to do something wild and interesting…. The story was fine; the plot I didn’t execute properly.” 

Scott thinks big — big cast, big song-list (19 or 20), big sound. It’s film-type music that attracts him now, the lure of digital composition and its alluring possibilities in creating lush, textured orchestral sound. “I had to learn to mix and master,” he says of his pandemic self-education. 

“My hope,” he says of The Erlking (which landed a six-month workshop at Berklee this past year), “is to submit it to larger theatre companies…. I think it has a lot to say, light-hearted but serious, a lot of exciting and touching moments.” 

The provenance of Conjoined couldn’t be more different. For one thing Allred falls into the very exclusive, possibly unique, subset of musical theatre creators with a day job as a dentist. A 2015 dental school graduate who toyed briefly with a career in theatre, he’s been in ELOPE and Foote in the Door Productions. He and director Bethany Hughes, the founders of the indie troupe Straight Edge Theatre, have been doing musicals since 2014. Most recently Imaginary Friend played the 2019 Fringe; Daniel Belland composed the music. With Conjoined, says Allred breezily (as if this were the easiest, most natural progression in the world0, “we thought why not try to write the music ourselves?” 

“Our shows seem to always have five or six, seven or eight people. What if we did something smaller? Something we could maybe tour, and pay the actors more?” 

Allred, who credits the concept of Conjoined to Gilfillan, does concede that a two-hander where the characters are joined does up the ante on both storytelling and stagecraft. “It restricts what you can do; we had to be more creative,” not least because of Straight Edge’s preference for theatre that shows instead of tells: “something active and happening onstage,” not mere narrative reportage of what’s happened offstage.

The Straight Edge muse runs to dark comedy, especially the kind that skews towards camp — witness an archive that began with Bat Boy and includes Adam Gwon’s Ordinary Days and Evil Dead: The Musical. Their original musical Cult Cycle, says Allred, had its inspiration in “is walking out of a spin cycle class thinking ‘what if it were a cult that murders people for not fitting in?’” The concept of Conjoined — two fractious joined-together brothers, one of whom resents, possibly homicidally, getting dominated by the other — has that vibe, too.

“When you don’t have other characters to create the action … that was a challenge as well,” says Allred. “How do you build a story arc? How do you have a villain and a hero within the story when there’s only two people there?” 

So, who’s the protagonist? Good question, says Allred. The audience perspective on “who to root for” changes in the musical’s weave of solos and duets. Each brother gets a journey, he says. The struggle to be an individual gets pretty intense when “one brother is speaking in the other’s ear the whole time…. Every decision is a group decision.”

And as for the music Allred and Gilfillan have written (which gets played by a live three-piece band), the former describes it as “a combination of classic musical theatre music and, as the plot develops, more of a rock/grunge influence, and jazzier vibes…. It’s a rock musical.”

Conjoined runs Thursday through Aug. 20 at La Cité francophone (stage 13). The Erlking runs at Strathcona High School (stage 23) Friday through Aug. 20. Tickets and full performance schedule: fringetheatre.ca 

 

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The marriage of drag and theatre: Guys in Disguise celebrates 35 years at the Fringe

Trevor Schmidt, Jake Tkaczyk, Jason Hardwick in Crack in the Mirror, Guys in Disguise. Photo by Ian Jackson, Epic Photography.

By Liz Nicholls, 12thnight.ca

“You do know this is a theatre festival, right? You can’t just do a drag show….” 

Words that would have a major impact on the civic culture and the theatre scene in this town. It was Fringe time in 1987. And the in-house troupe of drag queens at the long-defunct gay club Flashback got it into their heads to take a show to the festival that was drawing massive crowds to Old Strathcona.

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“I’d never been to the Fringe before; we were downtown girls,” laughs playwright/ director/ actor/ composer/ sound designer/ gay activist and historian Darrin Hagen, possessor of the statuesque queen alter-ego Gloria at the time. “Whyte Avenue? That was a whole town away!” 

They christened themselves Guys in Disguise for the occasion (a name borrowed from a gay senior citizen polka band). And Hagen and his drag colleague Twiggy found themselves writing a play, under the tutelage of the then-Northern Light Theatre artistic director Jace van der Veen. Delusions of Grandeur, with its cast of eight, was half an hour long, “basically squeezed between the two acts of a drag show,” recalls Hagen. The production, which ran at Ming’s, an ex-Chinese restaurant, upstairs where Chapters used to be, lasted two and half hours. Curtain time: midnight. Fringe  audiences staggered out at 2:30 a.m. 

Darrin Hagen in the 1987 Fringe Parade. Photo supplied .

At the Fringe 35 years ago, a company was born that would marry theatre and drag in a way this theatre town had never seen before. Of the 60 productions Guys in Disguise has done in the three and a half decades since, 50 were at the festival, says Hagen, usually two per Fringe and sometimes three.

This year there’s a pair. One’s a comedy (Crack in the Mirror, the third of Hagen and Trevor Schmidt’s Orchard Crescent trilogy). The other, The Pansy Cabaret, is a re-creation devised by Hagen of the songs, monologues, comedy routines of the pansy bars that were all the rage in the New York of the ‘20s.

In 1996 The Edmonton Queen, spun for the stage from his own story — the small-town Alberta kid who arrived in the big city and found his new family in the showbiz drag world — marked a turning point for Hagen. Till then, “I’d lurked in the background of theatre,” he says, composing music and doing the odd drop-in drag gig. “It was the start for me as a writer … the first time drag and theatre came together for me,” says Hagen. He told his partner Kevin “I’m going try this ‘play thing’.”

The very next Fringe, sequins and stilettos gave way.  Tornado Magnet: A Salute to Trailer Park Women, inspired by his own boyhood, was “so scary for me,” says Hagen, who played formidable Mrs. Dotty Parsons, queen of Tupperware, with strong views on loaf tins. “Not glam. Rural-based. There I was onstage in my gardening shoes and a denim skirt.”

Since then, occasionally the Guys have dipped into the existing theatre repertoire (Michel Tremblay’s Damnée Manon Sacrée Sandra and La Duchesse de Langeais, for example). Mostly, though, they’ve created their own. And a continuing pursuit through this distinctive catalogue has been satirizing gender roles, Hagen thinks. “Drag is such a powerful political and social tool … and the way women respond has been fascinating.” 

Brian Dooley, Trevor Schmidt, Darrin Hagen in Flora and Fawna Have Beaver Fever & Fawna Have Beaver Fever (and so does Fleurette), Guys in Disguise. Photo by Ian Jackson, Epic Photography.

Flora and Fawna does that,” he says of women’s reactions to a series led by the earnest 10-year-old founders (played by co-authors Hagen and Schmidt) of the NaturElles, a girl collective devoted to progressive ideas, cultural diversity and inclusiveness (with one significant exception: No Mean Girls).

Trevor Schmidt and Darrin Hagen in Don’t Frown At The Gown, Guys in Disguise. Photo by Epic Photography

The Orchard Crescent trilogy takes us to the same American suburb in three different decades. Prepare For The Worst (2016), set in the ‘50s, has the ladies addressing a sadly neglected aspect of nuclear apocalypse preparedness: hostess snacks. Don’t  Frown At The Gown (2019) takes us into the ‘60s wedding vortex. Now, Crack in the Mirror revisits the ‘70s feminist idea of ‘putting women in touch with their sexuality.” Hagen calls it “a precursor to The Vagina Monologues.”

“It explores the changing role of women…. Every decade women have come up against a new set of (social) expectations,” says Hagen of the trilogy. “Inch by inch they discover individuality, empowerment, a bit of freedom from the patriarchy…. Some characters are more reluctant than others to explore!” 

Bert Savoy, 1929, The Pansy Cabaret, Guys in Disguise. Photo supplied.

For Hagen, an indefatigable queer history researcher, The Pansy Cabaret, starring Zachary Parsons-Lozinski and Daniel Belland, showcases a mind-blowing discovery. “It was an entire world I hadn’t heard of before. So rich!”

While he was writing a (yet to be produced) play about Mae West — her showbiz persona, including the signature walk, the sassy attitude, and many of her famous aphorisms — he uncovered the history of a bona fide showbiz craze in New York. It was the flowering of queer and drag culture in “pansy bars,” in Broadway shows, in vaudeville, featuring some of highest paid entertainers in showbiz of the day, a century ago during the Prohibition years.

“It just goes to show how effectively institutionalized homophobia can completely erase a culture in a decade…. When Prohibition ended, you couldn’t get a licence if you had an ‘unruly’ establishment (if you had homosexual performers).” Says Hagen, ‘they were chased off Broadway…. Careers ended; it was shockingly sad.”  

Karyl Norman, “the Creole Fashion Plate.” Photo supplied.

“In our 45-minute cabaret we bring some of their material back to life — comedy routines, monologues, funny songs by huge stars of 100 years ago who died in obscurity, erased by homophobia.” The material is “so ahead of its time in many ways.” Hagen predicts we’ll find it “amazingly new-sounding…. You’d swear The Lavender Song (first line: “we’re not afraid to be queer and different”), for example, was written last month…. I was blown away by their courage — in a world where they were illegal.”

Crack in the Mirror runs at the Varscona (Stage 11) Friday through Aug. 20. The Pansy Cabaret is at the Nancy Power Theatre in Theatre Network’s Roxy (Stage 27) Friday through Aug. 21. Tickets and full schedule: fringetheatre.ca

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