Cracking up, a black comedy about glueing ourselves together: The Man Who Fell To Pieces, a Fringe review

The Man Who Fell To Pieces, Fairly Odd Productions. Poster image supplied

By Liz Nicholls, 12thnight.ca

The Man Who Fell To Pieces (Garneau Theatre)

The man we meet in this absurdist black comedy by the Belfast playwright Patrick O’Reilly has gone to pieces. Literally. He’s cracked up, and his body parts are in a bag on his mom’s kitchen table.

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“Are you too warm in there?” she asks him. “Could you speak more clearly?”

His fiancée Caroline (Dayna Lea Hoffman) is all for taking him to the hospital for repair. But Alice (Liz Grierson) has done what any loving mother would do under the circumstances. She’s called a handyman (James Hastings). “You can fix anything,” she says, sending Henry for his tools.   

John (Ben Osgood) appears onstage to introduce himself and tell his story, how he cracked up and ended up in the bag. The storytelling happens in an inventive, highly entertaining whirl of dance and red-nose clowning, circus acrobatics, plate-spinning, and juggling in Kate Sheridan’s production. It introduces a well-named new theatre indie in town, Fairly Odd Productions.

John explains that he started cracking up at work one day. His job? Telephone cold-call life insurance sales. A crack appeared in his face, and one of his ears flew off. That was just the start. “Fractures kept appearing everywhere.”

The more he denies that anything’s wrong, and patches himself together with cellotape and staples, the more he splinters his relationship with Caroline, who’s feels rejected and furious at his lies. They break up. Even his home is cracking up. He comes from a broken home — literally. His single mom regularly smashes up the furniture with her twirling baton so that Henry can come and fix them.

A crack-up is never a one-man show: John is a spreader of chaos; there’s a price to be paid for going it alone.

The four actors, who share a startling skill set, step up impressively to the fast and furious, ever-changing, very demanding physicality of the storytelling. A climactic breakup sequence, in dance, between John and Caroline is a knock-out. And the characters, even the handyman, have dramatic weight and dimension, emotional heft, in this literal deconstruction of a mental breakdown.

The ending, in which John, a one-man crack-up on (temporary) legs, will leave you thinking. A very cool theatrical way to spin a metaphor and be thought-provoking about a serious subject. It speaks in an ingenious, non-hectoring way to a moment in history where we’re all trying to glue the pieces back together.

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Taking sword in hand. Win The Warrior: a King Arthur Tale, a Fringe review,

Katie Yoner in Win the Warrior: A King Arthur Tale. Photo supplied.

By Liz Nicholls, 12thnight.ca

Win the Warrior, Vanta Group Outdoor Stage

The 12-year-old heroine of Ellen Chorley’s new play Win The Warrior: A King Arthur Tale, for kids and the adults they tend to bring with them, has a particularly tricky modern challenge. How to satisfy her appetite for heroic action when her video game device melts down (the horror, the horror!) on a trip abroad with her professor dad. Is a book, a gift copy of the Arthurian Chronicles, a worthy replacement?

Judging by the look on her face when she sees the book Arwen (Katie Yoner) has her doubts. We all have our doubts. But never underestimate the magic of location location (as real estate agents in every period, including the medieval, have always known). The kid’s in Arthurian country.

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Soon she has imagined herself into the world of young Arthur, the magus Merlin, and the knights of the round table. Captivated, she’s taken on the cause, and the persona, of the boy who pulled the sword from the stone and landed a major royal gig. And she’s entered full-throttle into the sword-fighting and duels, in demanding sequences designed by fight choreographer Janine Waddell for Elizabeth Hobbs’ production.

Curiously, Arwen is only momentarily taken aback, along with us, by the implications of the Lancelot-Guinevere story for her own life; they’re inserted rather out of the blue into the play.  I guess she’s taking the magnanimous Arthurian position on the relationship she discovers between her dad (Aaron Refugio) and his research assistant (Kristin Unruh).

There are acting challenges for the trio in this enterprise. Prime among them is how to portray kid energy and enthusiasm without  making the audience want to hand you over to the Lady in the Lake for storage underwater. Yoner is delightful throughout, exuberant in her physical choices, and judicious in her “kid” vocal inflections and gestures. The counterpart to the cliche “kid role” is the cliche “dad role,” the dad who actually uses the term “quality time” with no irony to describe his parenting goal on the research trip. Refugio doesn’t overdo it. Both he and Unruh (who has fun with accents and sword-wielding) have multiple assignments in the storytelling, and rise to them with confidence and humour.

The framing of the play, between real life situations and Arthurian legend doesn’t really  hold together. But it’s lively, full of action; the kid wins; there’s a book in it. And there’s this: Win the Warrior: A King Arthur Tale will be the only play of this Fringe, possibly any Fringe, with the line “I found Excalibur! I found Excalibur! I have to go find Dad!”

  

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A fizzy offshore reunion: Destination Wedding, a Fringe review

Destination Wedding, starring Michelle Todd, Cheryl James, Kristin Johnston. Photo supplied

By Liz Nicholls, 12thnight.ca

Destination Wedding (Westbury Theatre)

Like the drinks at a tropical all-inclusive — where you have no serious cultural obligations except buying jewelry with seashells in it and having fun — the clues keep coming in this fizzy comedy-with-a-twist by Trevor Schmidt.

Three old friends of middle years, sorority sisters of yore, have been invited to a destination wedding. Their long-time-no-see pal is tying the knot again, after untying several previous knots.

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And after a few (quite a few) margaritas), an innocuous oddity turns into a mystery that turns into a whodunnit. The details of this intriguing progression are safe with me (though for an Aperol spritzer on a Strathcona patio …). As in the best mysteries, Destination Wedding keeps you re-spooling to re-think casual throw-aways that might be clues, as the list of characters increases, and the net of possible culpability spreads wider and wider. Which isn’t the original meaning of ‘all-inclusive’, but whatever.…

Anyhow, in addition to the fun of discovering a puzzle that you don’t realize at first is one, there’s the all-inclusive entertainment value in this Whizgiggling production of seeing what three expert comic actors make of the characters. Amazingly, Kristin Johnston, Cheryl Jameson and Michelle Todd, who drink cocktails out of plastic pineapples, never leave their deck chairs. Their arrival catch-up, to the sound of waves, is a very funny cross-hatching of memories and barbs.

Like the costumes (designed by director Schmidt), the performances are a riot.  Johnston, in black, is an artist and the fiercest of the three, who has one of those steely gazes that could lift an acrylic nail off a pinky finger at 100 paces. Todd is the one who’s always taking offence: “what’s that supposed to mean?” or “I’m always the last to know….” Jameson is the dim and daffy one, in pink, always beaming, who’s always a step behind the gist of things. “Things have evolved,” she’s admonished on the subject of women taking their husband’s names. “But I haven’t!” she says brightly. Exactly.

The interplay is funny. And the circle is widened when each of the actors plays, and zestfully, another character in the story. A comedy based, like many wedding parties, on the proposition that we might not know our friends as well as we think we do is put together expertly. Larky fun.

Incidentally, you can vote for the guilty character on Whizgiggling Production’s Facebook page. The results will be revealed at the end of the Fringe.

  

  

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The Deaf world, from the inside out: Deafy, a Fringe review

Chris Dodd in Deafy, Follow The Signs Theatre. Photo supplied

By Liz Nicholls, 12thnight.ca

Deafy (Backstage Theatre)

Then character we meet in Deafy is droll, wry, a master of the eye roll/shrug combo, a guy who’s in touch with the absurdities of his world.

Nathan Jesper is Deaf. And his world isn’t easy to live in. It’s filled with non sequiturs and obstructions of all shapes and sizes, minor aggravations to major blockades. It’s riddled with reminders, as if he needed them, that he’s on the outside looking in. And they cumulate.

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That Deafy is multilingual — in spoken English, sign language, and captioning — is to the point, theatrically and dramatically. Nathan, who has a gig as a Deaf public speaker and educator, lives in three languages. And he’s in a fractious power struggle with his captions; who’s in charge? He glances suspiciously over his shoulder at them from time to time to head off insurrection.

Nathan’s dreams are heartbreakingly ordinary (being Deaf ups the ante on Seinfeldian comedy). He wants to hang out with friends, have a few beers at his local with his buddy Len, get a driver’s licence. And as he recounts, in funny stories with an absurdist edge, things go awry. The bartender claims he can’t turn on the TV captions on the hockey game, and Len, a Leafs fan, is outraged. No interpreters are allowed for drivers’ tests (whaaaat?), so Nathan recount’s Len’s crackbrained plot (and we all learn the sign for “completely insane”).

Chris Dodd’s very funny, very moving tragic-comedy arrives at the Fringe in a crack production directed by Ashley Wright. The play is gracefully formed, and vivid in capturing quotidian reality through Nathan’s eyes. Dave Clarke’s sound score, an elusive aural landscape of vibrations, heartbeats, far-away bells, is meaningful. And Dodd, who’s Deaf (he’s founder of the SOUND OFF Deaf Theatre Festival), is an exceptionally expressive, physically dexterous actor. In one scene, he conjures an entire room of Deaf people signing — “six pairs of arms!” — at a living room TV watching party.

He has one of those malleable faces that registers incredulity, or mounting exasperation, in a delivery you associate with the Borscht Belt comedians of old. And it makes him a captivating eyeball-to-eyeball storyteller, a sad clown with an air of “I rest my case.”

The colour palette darkens, the ripples spread. And it’s for us to figure out how much. Nathan drifts toward isolation, caught between the excluding impulses of both the hearing and the Deaf world. Loneliness, the need to belong … they’re not exclusive Deaf property. Nathan’s silent encounter with a homeless man in an airport will break your heart.

Wright’s production, a rhythm of pauses and frantic physicality, gives those moments room to breathe and sink in. A rich, entertaining Fringe experience. Highly recommended.

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A collision of worlds and cultures: Chanzo, a Fringe review

By Liz Nicholls, 12thnight.ca

Chanzo (Backstage Theatre)

Guilt, grief, and responsibility, the enduring triple-crown of family dysfunction world-wide: that’s the emotional infrastructure of Chanzo. And since this new play from the Kenyan-Canadian playwright/ dramaturge Mūkonzi Mūsyoki, in a fluid mixture of Swahili and English, is set at a high-collision intersection of worlds and cultures, past and present, the potential for explosion is enhanced exponentially. And it increases with every secret revealed.

In the aftermath of his father’s death, the title protagonist (David Shingai Madawo), who’s been away at university in Canada, has come back to Kenya — with his Canadian girlfriend (Jasmine Hopfe). “I’m here — finally,” says the troubled young man to his late papa when he gets up the nerve to visit the mortuary.

Whoever said that absence makes the heart grow fonder was undoubtedly a foundling. Chanzo’s formidably fierce sister (Onika Henry) is unremittingly hostile, to a mysterious degree of intensity. ”I’m not going to waste my time on this!” she says dismissively taking a strip off her bro, and exiting abruptly. Family problems, she says on another occasion, “can’t be paused like in a movie.”

She’s particularly enraged by his behaviour at the funeral. Chanzo argues he was being himself when he announces his break with Christianity. She argues that he was setting up the family for public ridicule.

His girlfriend tries to fit in and make peace, in a conciliatory, ineffectual, might we say Canadian?, sort of way. “Is everything OK?” she keeps asking. Well, no, actually. She’s game, and her intentions are honourable, but she seems to have a knack for entering at exactly the wrong time when the sibling shouting matches are reaching peak intensity. Anyone for tea?

What do we owe our families? What do we owe our individual selves? How do we find our true selves in the universal, complex and negotiable questions of identity that Chanzo wonders about? The two cultures have dramatically different expectations. And in Jeong Ung Song’s production, the actors, all three, really dig into the multi-faceted struggle Mūsyoki sets forth. And even though the production lags from time to time and is inclusive — which may of course be the point since Chanzo’s problems may always elude resolution — the performances do have the feel of authenticity about them.

Chanzo is an intricately constructed web of concealments, partial truths, game-changers, secrets and partial revelations, and it has special relevance for us in a country built on the concept of multi-culturalism to know how universal the coming-of-age struggles of families really are. You’ll swear you’re learning Swahili.

  

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Burlesque meets accordian: Squeezebox Cabaret, a Fringe review

By Liz Nicholls, 12thnight.ca

Squeezebox Cabaret (Garneau Theatre)

“We wrote a song about COVID for you…. Just kidding.”

There is some mesmerizingly kooky about a burlesque cabaret that’s presided over by a flamboyant accordionist, doing squeezebox covers of pop songs, annotations, introductions as the dancers arrive onstage. Is it the instrument itself folding and unfolding as it does (a possible metaphor)? Is it the unusually exuberant personality of Tiff Hall, who presides with good-natured gusto, and volume, over proceedings?

It gives you some idea of the general demeanour of Squeezebox Cabaret, this new House of Hush burlesque, that she kicks off with a rendition of Rihanna’s “work work work work work.” Yup, as long as there’s a tassel to be twirled and a feather boa to be flung, a burlesque artist’s work is never done.

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Anyhow, burlesque is by nature a teasing and playful sort of vaudeville. The art is in the rhythm of cover-up and reveal, which, come to think of it, is a quality it shares with theatre as diverse as murder mysteries and one-person confessionals. As Chekhov noted in a somewhat different vein, if there’s a gun in Act I, it has to be shot in Act II. In burlesque, if there’s a corset lace, it must be unlaced. A zipper must be unzipped, a strap unstrapped.

But I digress. The Squeezebox Cabaret (named for the double-entendre Pete Townshend song?) features four of Edmonton’s burlesque artists accompanied by the irrepressible accordionist, who has a delivery about as shy as a wrestling commentator. She tucks full-on into songs that have an amusing relationship to the progressive doffing in progress.

A veteran of such historically adventurous burlesque ventures as Send in the Girls’ Tudor Queens and the Brontë Burlesque, LeTabby Lexington, a House of Hush co-founder, does a vintage peek-a-boo double-fan dance, to Let It Down Easy (“and show me what you got”). Scarlett Fussion, in Western mode, takes off pretty much everything except the cowboy hat, to the strains of Lil Nas’s Old Town Road (“I’m gonna ride till I can’t no more”).  Amusingly, Holly Von Sinn performs to Dancing on My Own, with the tortured look and operatic gestures more usually associated with the fall of the House of Atreus.

In fact, curiously, there’s a lot of tragic intensity associated with many of the numbers. The funniest might well be Judy Lee’s straight-faced burlesque account of the Miley Cyrus song Wrecking Ball.

You have to admit that the musical conundrum “should I stay or should I go” as delivered on the accordion has special meaning in a burlesque cabaret. And should you? Depending on your tolerance for repetition, a hoot-and-holler diversion from your more serious Fringe pursuits.

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The body-shaming knot unravelled, in a cunning little play: Woman Caught Unaware, a Fringe review

Davina Stewart in Woman Caught Unaware, Edmonton Fringe 2021. Photo supplied.

By Liz Nicholls, 12thnight.ca

Woman Caught Unaware (Varscona Theatre)

In this surprising, cunningly written little 2018 play by the Brit writer Annie Fox, an older woman (a woman of a certain age, the delicate way of saying over 50 and under 90) makes a horrifying discovery.

She’s an art history prof, and as the title, borrowed from her field, suggests, that will figure in the way things play out. “I’m sorry to be the one to tell you,” says the student who comes to see her in out-of-office hours.

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It’s with the unwelcome news that a photo of her, naked in a changing room, has been taken without her knowledge and posted online. And the viral sharing, the mocking hashtags (#crone #witch #nevergetold), and the laughing emojis have begun.

What action should she take? That’s the question Professor Conté must grapple with in Woman Caught Unaware. In Trevor Schmidt’s production Davina Stewart captures so convincingly the wry but thoughtful reticence, the analytical habit, the dry self-assessment and reserve of the career academic, you’ll remember all those times you handed in an essay late.   

The social media reaction to the photo is, of course, an indictment of body-shaming, the vilification of the aging female body, the implication that a woman’s worth is in direct equation to appearance measured against the cruel youth/beauty standard. But more than that, social media hashtags reflect a prevailing cultural attitude in representations of older women, as an art historian is well-positioned to know. “When we age, you flinch,” she says appraisingly.

There’s no shortage of allies in the professor’s “civilized” world for  a spirited response to her “ordeal,” a legal fight perhaps, some sort t of retaliation in the media. And it’s amusing to see that world of academia, in all its petty jealousies, one-upmanship, and liberal persiflage, conjured with such dexterous economy. Being a victim of an unwanted revelation, though, in a way accepts that occupying an aging female body is a humiliation. So …. how will Professor Conté react?

Woman Caught Unaware explores all this in a multi-angled way, surprising and provocative at every turn. Schmidt’s production, and this very fine performance by Stewart, build beautifully to a slow reveal.

Sometimes live theatre just knocks you out the way it can jolt you out of one way of thinking and open up other possibilities. This is one of those those times.

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“Leaders wanted!” Sing a song of regicide: Freewill’s Macbeth, a Fringe review

Laura Raboud, Nadien Chu, Rochelle Laplante in Macbeth, Freewill Shakespeare Festival. Photo by Marc J Chalifoux.

By Liz Nicholls, 12thnight.ca

Macbeth (Freewill Shakespeare Festival at the Old Strathcona Performing Arts Society)

“Leaders Wanted.” “Why Not You?” “Volunteer Here.” At the start of Macbeth, three raffish figures in scavenged combat gear stand onstage holding signs and eyeballing us. They’re recruiting from the audience. “So much potential!” declares one, encouraging a possible candidate. “And courage. And look how humble!”

One of a pair of small-cast fleet-footed productions brought to the Fringe by the Freewill Shakespeare Festival, Macbeth is an inventive, very intelligible three-actor adaptation, riotous but thoughtful, of Shakespeare’s dark and hurtling tragedy. And Horak’s all-female cast does it proud, as black comedy, tragedy, and satire.

I saw it at an outdoor preview. But it should interact with audiences really well indoors, too.

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As Macbeth production history worldwide attests, there are many ways to consider the terrifying descent of a decorated war hero, “valour’s minion” into “hell hound.” A toxic moral flaw perhaps? “Vaulting ambition” as Macbeth cautions himself at the outset? Human corruptibility? (Celtic bloodlust caused by excessive bagpipe music?).

Kerry Frampton’s adaptation (licensed from the Brit company Splendid Productions) boldly zeroes in on the very nature of leadership, the metastasizing corruption built into power, acquiring it, maintaining it, justifying it, rebelling against it. And it’s knowing, too, about our fatal drift to follower-ship. “And so it begins again.”

Not only do Laura Raboud, Nadien Chu and Rochelle Laplante play the characters, they play the bouffons who provide the stage directions aloud: “the wise slash foolish king makes an announcement” or “a meeting between Banquo and Macbeth. Two friends pretend that everything is fine.” And they annotate the action admiringly. “Leaders make difficult decisions. Like stabbing your friend in the back. Stab Stab Stab.”  Or “everyone admires a rueful leader.” As complications escalate, they’re on it. “Leadership: if it wasn’t hard, Everyone would do it.” They’re also the Unknowns, a version of the the witches, whose prophecies are either supernatural or an eruption of Macbeth’s own secret desires.

At moments of major dramatic tension, “it’s time for a song!” cry the bouffons. And one will haul out a ukulele for the jaunty “Regicide” or “The Song of the Murder of Duncan.” All good macabre fun.

The actors are excellent, in all their assignments. As Macbeth (“solder slash hero slash villain”) Raboud is casual, rather matter-of-fact, even soft-spoken at the outset. The declension of the leader into murder will be precipitous and deep. Laplante, a newcomer to the scene, is a forceful, confident Lady M who becomes unglued in a striking way. And Chu, in great form, attacks her multiple roles with inventive economy and comic zest, as Duncan, Banquo, Macduff and others.

It’s not often you get to say of Macbeth that it’s laugh-out loud funny at times. And it’s rarer still that it’s interspersed with cynical Weill-esque ditties, or fashioned as a repeating cycle of assassination, chaos, leadership.

All very entertaining and insightful.

   

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Celebrating the return of actors to the stage: Freewill’s Much Ado About Nothing, a Fringe review

Ian Leung, Christina Nguyen, Sarah Feutl in Much Ado About Nothing, Freewill Shakespeare Festival. Photo by Ian Jackson.

By Liz Nicholls, 12thnight.ca

Much Ado About Nothing (Freewill Shakespeare Festival on the Vanta Outdoor Stage)

For the first time in a 32-summer history, the Freewill Shakespeare Festival has arrived at the Fringe — and it’s in runners, carrying a couple of fake potted plants, a whole bunch of hats, and a trunk full of jackets.

It’s a 75-minute adaptation (by Freewill artistic director Dave Horak) of Much Ado About Nothing, Shakespeare’s witty and mirthful mid-period comedy with its dark difficult knot at the centre. I was kindly allowed to attend the outdoor preview in Louise McKinney Park; you’ll find it on the Fringe’s outdoor stage, where it should flourish.

It’s comedy as farce, and farce as a showcase primarily for actor dexterity. The shortness of time and the smallness of cast propel five agile, extremely busy actors, changing characters and genders through 20 roles, round and round designer Megan Koshka’s cheery pink screen at such a frenetic pace that in one climactic scene an actor will play two characters talking to each other, simultaneously.

In this giddy feat Troy O’Donnell plays both an aggrieved father sending a villain’s henchman to the slammer AND the henchman.There is no time for a change in hats. There must be something in the water in Messina, and maybe it’s Red Bull. Pay attention, you there at the back, or you’ll miss the plot.

The setting Horak has chosen for his Much Ado (one of the two Freewill small, fast Shakespeares touring to backyards, patios and parks this summer) is Right Now. Which is why the actors are overjoyed to find themselves together again onstage at the outset, after a long pent-up pandemic hiatus. Some are wearing masks, others not. All are wearing summer clothes, not costumes. Exuberant greetings all round, as they choose a play to perform, and divvy up the parts.

It’s a hoary old play-framing device, to be sure. But it has a special resonance in this second pandemic summer when months and months of Zoom-laden isolation are finally giving way. It’s all about the joy of seeing actors return to what they do, become other people, a lot of other people. “Let’s do it!” is the opening line. And they’re off.

Of the two courtships in the play, it’s the verbal jousting between the reluctant lovers Beatrice and Benedick — the “merry war” as Leonato calls the thrust and parry of their barrage of wit — that gives the play its comic fizz. They both have the gift of the gab but in different ways. Sarah Feutl is a winsome, feisty, bright Beatrice, and there’s a rumpled, breezy charm about Yassine El Fassi El Fihri as Benedick, who looks for reinforcement from the audience allies in the audience whenever he’s outfaced. And every once in a while, the perpetual motion machine of the production stops whirling to give these two a precious moment to assess each other — before they have to become other characters.

The double-/ triple-casting has a kind of nutty impossibility about it that’s part of the fun; there are many near-misses with hats and jackets, entrances and exits. And it pretty much gives the production a pass on the perpetual challenge of Much Ado, the ugliness of the deception that’s played on the other pair of lovers, Claudio and Hero, and especially the cruelty of Claudio’s denunciation of his beloved.

Feutl is also Claudio, and smartly she plays him the way Beatrice would, as a comic character, a swaggering ninny posing with his sunglasses. So when he behaves badly, it doesn’t detain the production very long. Christina Nguyen is not only the abused Hero, but is the lead buffoon in the comically inept local constabulary team of Dogberry and Verges.

The generations, amusingly, are distinguished by their verbal styles. Ian Leung and O’Donnell as the two dads, Don Pedro and Leonato (among their multiple assignments), have a more formal “Shakespearean” way with the text.

What you don’t get, naturally, is the full colour palette of Much Ado, a big rich handful of a comedy. What you do get is a celebration of the return of the craft of acting (and over-acting), in all its playfulness. “I cannot woo in festival terms,” laments Benedick, rueful about his lack of prowess with rhyme. That’s where you’re wrong Benny. You’re in a show that’s all about wooing in festival terms.

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It’s Fringe Eve, the moment to consider intriguing prospects in a year to experiment

By Liz Nicholls, 12thnight.ca

It’s Fringe Eve (the night the green onion fairy leaves a special stay-awake pill under your pillow). And lordie lordie, our giant summer alternative theatre extravaganza is turning 40. The big four-oh? During a pandemic? A festival whose double-signature is huge crowds mingling outside, or crammed rib-to-rib in often tiny make-shift theatres inside?

After the collective heartbreak of a cancelled edition last summer, The Fringe That Never Was, Edmonton’s most influential idea and its biggest grassroots success ever has figured out how to be back, and live (with a mix of digital shows too): Together We Fringe.

Artist-run, the oldest and biggest Fringe on the continent has wrapped its creative wits around the big pandemical problem of gathering — accessibility, travel restrictions, rehearsing, audience confidence — for fringers and artists by going smaller for 2021’s unique edition. Strikingly smaller. With intricate modifications and constraints for safety. The Alberta government may have turned its back on public safety, but the Fringe hasn’t.

As you’ll notice from the listings and schedule online at fringetheatre.ca,  at 50-plus shows, Together We Fringe has less than a quarter the number of the productions of the dauntingly epic 260-show 2019 edition, Where The Wild Things Fringe.

Instead of some 50 indoor venues, there are 11. The usual 11 official Fringe venues, programmed by lottery, are down to three — plus a fourth, the Roxy on Gateway renamed pêhonân (Cree for gathering or waiting place) dedicated exclusively to Indigenous artists. See the 12thnight feature here. There’s an outdoor stage (Vanta), too. And the rest are curated BYOVs, with fewer shows. All indoor venues are down to 60 per cent capacity, with masks compulsory inside. Many of the shows (and all of them in official venues) have been filmed for online viewing.

You even have to have a timed two-hour ticket ($20) to get into the ATB Park (aka the Gazebo Park, gated for the first time), catch a couple of shows there, have a beer, a snack, and hang out Fringe-style. At night ($25) two bands do sets, and the window is a little longer.  More details here.  

After the devastation of the last 18 months in the performing arts, when an entire industry suddenly shut down, Fringe artists need your support. It’s a year for you to experiment. That’s what the Fringe is doing, and that’s what the artists have done to arrive on stage this August. I haven’t seen these shows either yet, so we’ll be experimenting together.

So in that spirit, I’m throwing out some ideas for you to consider, intriguing prospects, plays or premises that caught my eye, actors or directors doing something bold, or unusual or weird (or responsive to the time without putting COVID into the dialogue over and over). Some of the Fringe faves, including Guys in Disguise, Teatro La Quindicina, and the Plain Janes, are notable by their absence this year. But, hey, there’s the excitement of new talent. As Fringe director Murray Utas puts it, “the young ones are coming for all of us….”

Stay tuned for discoveries and reviews on 12thnight.ca.

•The Man Who Fell To Pieces, a 2018 Irish “comedy” of absurdist stripe about a man falling apart, takes on new resonances in the late-pandemic summer of 2021, when everyone is struggling to retain their identity and “emerge.” It’s produced by a new company in town (with a great name), Fairly Odd Productions.

•How can you not be intrigued by the billing of Merk du Solapocalypse, a “one lady circus spectacular with no circus and more than one lady”? Not least because it involves the loss of a theatre, and the attempts to undo the catastrophe.” This is the work of the remarkably versatile artist Rebecca Merkley, the fourth in her Merk du Soleil series.,

Laura Raboud in Macbeth, Freewill Shakespeare Festival. Photo by Marc J Chalifoux

•For the first time in a 32-year history of al fresco summer productions the Freewill Shakespeare Festival is leaving its river valley headquarters, the Heritage Amphitheatre in Hawrelak Park, and going to the Fringe. With high-speed 75-minute, small-cast adaptations of Macbeth and Much Ado About Nothing. The latter is to be found on the Fringe’s outdoor Vanta stage, the former at the Old Strathcona Performing Arts Society.

Have a peek here at 12thnight’s preview, an interview with Freewill artistic director Dave Horak.

Chanzo introduces us to the work of an international team of newcomer artists. It’s a cross-cultural cross-border (and multi-lingual) piece from newcomer Mūkonzi Wā Mūsoyki, a playwright/ dramaturge/ scholar here from Kenya. The play takes its title protagonist back home to Kenya, with his Canadian girlfriend, to grapple with a family tragedy.

•A cross-cultural communication of another sort is to be found in Deafy, a solo play in spoken English, ASL, and surtitles by the very engaging Deaf artist Chris Dodd. See the 12thnight preview here.

•In a smoke, brimstone, and flood summer, surely the last gasp of the climate change-denying brigade. The Frente Collective, an indie with an ecological bent, is back at the Fringe, with a new Leslea Kroll play. Patina, says the playwright, is inspired by the children’s climate strikes: “Patina Bellweather is the minder of Smaland in the land of meatballs and Swedish flatpack furniture.” Eileen Sproule directs; Rebecca Starr stars.

•The Fringe’s only father-daughter writing team: David and Sophia Cheoros, from MAA and PAA Theatre, an indie devoted to breathing life into our history. Their 30-minute play Camping, on the Vanta outdoor stage, targets a kid audience, in a fantasy encounter in the Banff woods between a seven-year-old in 2021 and a Ukrainian man in 1916, imprisoned during Canada’s World War I internment of Eastern Europeans. Sophia turns 10 during the run of Camping.

Destination Wedding, starring Michelle Todd, Cheryl James, Kristin Johnston. Photo supplied

•There are new plays from veteran premium artists. Northern Light artistic director Trevor Schmidt premieres Destination Wedding, in a Whizgiggling Production with three top-drawer actors, Cheryl Jameson, Michelle Todd, and Kristin Johnston (NLT’s We Had A Girl Before You). (He’s also directing the provocative Woman Caught Unaware by the Brit playwright Annie Fox. Davina Stewart stars). Actor/ playwright/ Nextfest artistic director Ellen Chorley has a new kids’ play, with an Arthurian reverb: Win The Warrior. Elizabeth Hobbs directs a trio of young actors we haven’t seen before.

•Two venerable franco-albertan stars, Gilles Denis and André Roy, are back at the Fringe in Everything Is Beautiful,  an English version of France Levasseur-Ouimet’s Prends mes yeux, tu vas voir.”

•Understandably, on average the casts at Together We Fringe are smaller (“togetherness, but with elbow room,” as Fringe director Murray Utas puts it). The biggest cast at the Fringe, at 11 actors, is in This Old House, a mystery written and directed by young theatre artist Grace Fitzgerald.

•This is a big improv and sketch comedy town (this is so not news). Edmonton, which embraces the idea of making things up on the spot (and not just in the city transportation department), has not one but two long-running full-length fully improvised musicals. And they’re both at the Fringe: Grindstone’s The 11-Clock Number: The Improvised Musical, and Rapid Fire’s Off Book: The Improvised Musical at Yardbird.

Rapid Fire Theatre, which specializes in this adrenalizing spontaneous branch of entertainment, is curating an entire BYOV (the Yardbird) with improv/sketch shows created by its starry performers. And at Grindstone Theatre’s two BYOVs, improv, sketch and stand-up figure prominently. Elsewhere, at the Varscona, two of the three offerings are improv. Die-Nasty‘s annual Fringe-themed edition and Gordon’s Big Bald Head MasterThief Theatre reunites Mark Meer and Ron Pederson, with Jacob Banigan, who lives in Austria.

And here’s an oblique COVIDIAN premise: The Trip, improvised from the great pandemic premise of getting the hell out of here and going somewhere, gathers audience cues about the journey they wish they were on.

Tymisha Harris in Josephine. Photo by Von Hoffman.

•Fringe favourites are returning. Here are three: the very funny comedian Mike Delamont is celebrating the 10th anniversary of his divine incarnation as God, in with a best-of God Is A Scottish Drag Queen show.  Tamysha Harris, who was here in 2018 and 2019 with Josephine, her Josephine Baker show, is back again with it, and a live band. I haven’t seen it but my 12thnight colleagues have really enjoyed it. Alan Kellogg’s 2018 review is here.  Melanie Gall, who’s an engaging revue artist (I’ve seen her Piaf show), has a new one: A Toast to Prohibition.

And I leave you with this: the irresistible idea of an Indigenous version of Grease by the hip-hop duo LightningCloud. Bear Grease runs one night only (Aug. 20) at pêhonân, the Fringe venue at the Roxy on Gateway.

Enough preamble. Let the fun begin. Follow 12thnight for reviews and updates. (And I’m hoping you can help support theatre coverage on this site, by chipping in monthly to my Patreon campaign). 

 

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