The artist as work-in-progress: Azimuth Theatre has a new program for that

Sue Goberdhan. Photo by Janice Saxon, with permission from Work Plays Schools Program.

Morgan Yamada. Photo by Janice Saxon with permission from Work Plays Schools Program.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

By Liz Nicholls, 12thnight.ca

In the creative world of what-if’s where theatre lives, here’s an alluring one: “Wouldn’t it be great if … instead of a part-time job to pay for your theatre training, you had a part-time job that IS your theatre training?”

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Morgan Yamada and Sue Goberdhan, the agile new joint artistic producers at Azimuth Theatre, have created a pilot project for that.

AZ-MAP (Azimuth’s Apprenticeship and Mentorship Program) is a horizon-broadening blend of instruction and self-guided learning for emerging theatre artists of any age: mentoring, “theatre process shadowing,” apprenticing with the Azimuth production team — and, crucially, a real-live eight-month contract for 20 hours a week. And it’s ready to be custom-made for the two participants who will launch the program.

A life in the arts requires passion, yes, but also versatility and resilience as this past year-and-a-half has demonstrated in such a visceral way. “A very small percentage of artists can wear just one hat and self-sustain,” as Yamada says. “The journey we get trapped into in the theatre-school mindset is that you can only do one thing (act, direct, stage-manage…). Otherwise you are letting go of a dream.”

Goberdhan riffs on the thought they pursued with a development team. “We’re trying to give people the opportunity, the knowledge, the resources, to be able make work that represents their identity, their journey.”

Performance is the focus. But writing, design, dramaturgy, directing, collective creation, auditioning, the business of theatre in its are all part of AZ-MAP’s instructional spectrum. For this, and one-on-one mentoring, the program gives the two lucky participants access to  the resources, talents, and skills of Edmonton’s theatre community, professional artists and theatre companies.

And it’s a win-win for Azimuth, as Goberdhan says. The AZ-MAP contract is offered “in the spirit of reciprocity…. What can we offer (the participants)? What can they offer us?” The opportunities to learn on the job include “supporting us in the running of the company.”   

In their own ways, as their strikingly varied resumés suggest,  Yamada and Goberdhan are poster people for the proposition that there isn’t one map for the artist’s journey into creation, performance, producing. Yamada is a U of A theatre school grad, fight choreographer, with a bent for physical theatre. Goberdhan’s route into theatre has been less formalized, more hands-on with indie and improv companies, with a bent for musical theatre.

“Sue and I are performers who branch out in other things,” says Yamada simply. “That’s why we built the program…. What would have been useful to us on our journey? We’re ‘wouldn’t it have been cool if we’d had something like this?’ We can’t create something if we don’t know how it could serve people like us!” Says Goberdhan, “we want people to be able to explore who they are and what they want.”

AZ-MAP is a very Azimuth sort of initiative, say Goberdhan and Yamada of their joint vision for the company. At Azimuth “we want to build relationships,” says Yamada. “Our whole job in theatre is about creating and sharing stories.” And there are stories that have yet to make it to the stage. “This program allows us to connect with the community and with other theatre companies…. It’s about how to build the community we want to see. ”

It is, they hope, “a tool kit for other organizations,” as Goberdhan says.” On the scale we’re able to offer, there are two participants. Imagine if six companies were able to offer this … something that can make a huge difference to the community.”

The idea has already demonstrated its appeal to both potential  participants and the community of professional theatre practitioners eager to share their knowledge and skills. Goberdhan and Yamada have received dozens of applicants from both. “There’s always been a clear and present need for mentorship in the arts,” says the former. “Why gate-keep the information? Just open the doors. There’s no good reason not to…. “

A jury will assist in the final selection of AZ-MAP participants. Azimuth has actively sought applicants from marginalized communities, “people who have had access barriers traditionally.” Says Goberdhan, “we want to make sure we’re giving the opportunity to someone who can utilize it to its full potential.”

“A sense of validation changes everything!” she declares. “It’s about having people in your corner,” says Yamada.   

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EDMONten is back, to showcase full-length 10-minute plays

By Liz Nicholls, 12thnight.ca

They’re new, they’re full-length, and, impossibly, they’re 10 minutes long, curtain up to curtain down.

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EDMONten is back this week, live and online from the Grindstone Comedy Theatre, for a second annual showcase of six original fully formed 10-minute plays. Their brevity, ideal for us theatre-goers whose attention span has been eroded by 18 gruesome pandemical months, is an improbable artistic achievement in itself. (Though not a playwright Mark Twain was on that wavelength: “I didn’t have time to write a short letter, so I wrote a long one instead”).

Playwright Calla Wright. Photo supplied.

playwright Gavin Wilkes. Photo supplied.

The Short & Suite Collective — two playwrights (Conni Massing and Michele Vance Hehir, and dramaturg/director Tracy Carroll — chose six from the ample response to their blind call for offerings. And, as happened last year, the playwrights turned out to be a mix of veteran and emerging artists: Not Yet by Alexandria Fortier, The Dark Web by Nicole Moeller, Same Time Tomorrow by Zack Seismagraff, My First Greek Sunset by Amanda Samuelson, Clippers by Gavin Wilkes, and Hair, But No Teeth by Calla Wright. Honourable mention: Dante’s Door by Carmen Morgan.

The four-actor ensemble who will present the staged readings are Daniela Fernandez, Beth Graham, Todd Houseman and Corben Kushneryk.

EDMONten runs Friday 7:30 p.m. and Saturday 1:30 p.m.The $10 tickets, either in-person or live-streamed, are available at grindstonetheatre.ca.

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Awwright! Hanging with the guy who can walk on water, and other lessons at the Play The Fool Fest

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

By Liz Nicholls, 12thnight.ca

So, how was your Monday? Me? I went to a festival (online) and met Jesus.

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It was a learning experience. “The man who can walk on water,” as billed (for, like, forever), turned out to be a real extrovert, an exuberant, self-deprecating, user-friendly guy: big hair, big sense of humour. Why he isn’t headlining in Vegas is an epic mystery not covered to my knowledge in Luke.   

Anyhow, Jesus has been enlisted to step in and substitute-teach the Holy Bible Assembly’s second grade Sunday School class. And he’d promised Pastor Greg to  “stay on-curriculum this time.”

“Please put your hands together for ….”

Jesus Teaches us Things, the only show at this year’s online Play The Fool Clown and Physical Theatre Festival with a “blasphemy” warning, is the solo creation of Rebecca Merkley. As audiences know from her Merk du Soleil series — and the sublimely kooky Merk du Solapocalypse finale that premiered at the Fringe — Merkley has real affection for old-school showbiz, the good-natured groaners, the mouldy puns, the sense of sussing out the crowd, clowning around and improvising with them….

Naturally Jesus opens with some quick miracles. OK, not for me to provide spoilers but, hey, “I also make a damn fine shiraz.” “Awwright!” declares Jesus cheerfully, moving on to a teaching moment about a central subject: “I’ve nailed the subject: any guesses?”

“Let’s all head over to the story board and I’ll tell ya all about it….” Merkley has one of those textured brass-band comedy voices, and hearing it applied to kid pedagogy has its own particular hilarity. “Sharp objects don’t belong in pockets!” declares Jesus remembering his teaching brief when the big moment comes with the nails and a hammer. “As the Good Book says, Luke chapter 9 verse 7, safety first!”

Inspired by her own unsatisfactory experiences at a bible college (as per her program notes on playthefool.ca), Merkley, who’s a fearless performer, turns a clown show into a satire. Her target is the repressive, marginalizing, persecuting way that religious institutions operate when they lose track of the heart of the matter: the loving embrace of humanity. As the Big Guy says from time to time, “it’s all good!”

Kiana Woo in Inga and the Date, Play The Fool Festival. Photo supplied.

You can catch Jesus through Thursday online. And while you’re at it, meet an adorable red-nosed clown who’s sharing her nervous excitement as she gets ready for a big date. Inga (Kiana Woo) speaks a fragmented kind of English as she gleefully shows off the party version of herself — her party duds, her date shoes,  her “special date juice,” the date ambience in her new apartment.

We the audience are her mirror in Inga and the Date as she primps and poses; her self-delight is contagious. The clown’s powers of invention are undimmed by every setback — and there’s a big one.

Good Morning Darkness, created by and starring Adam Keefe, is a sophisticated take on our collective sense of waking up to an isolating world that just doesn’t seem to work right any more. Or are we still asleep? Every time the man in the bathrobe sticks a toe out to venture forth, a buzzer sounds; every time he’s flung back. Even his attempt to fashion himself a dialogue, by creating a puppet companion, is doomed. Is this Beckett in pjs?

I also enjoyed an expert mime, Zillur Rahman John, a Bangladeshi-Canadian performer whose Hope For Life arrives at a more explicit sense of the pandemic world. He begins in a tour of nature, skilfully conjured, then ventures into the circus world, and then is wrapped in anxiety as the world closes in around him.

The clown optic is on the present. And not coincidentally, death seems to be part of every clown’s thinking at this year’s edition of the festival. Neech, the clown star of Barry Bilinsky’s film He’s My Brother, is looking, without much hope, for resurrection when his best friend, a hydrangea, cacks out rather decisively. For a more upbeat view, consult Jesus.

The short on-demand digital offerings of the Play The Fool Festival continue to stream through Thursday. Tickets: playthefool.ca.

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In the kingdom of high spirits: Fever Land, the live season finale at Teatro. A review

Jenny McKillop and Andrew Macdonald-Smith in Fever Land, Teatro La Quindicina. Photo by Marc J Chalifoux.

By Liz Nicholls, 12thnight.ca

How do you get to Fever Land? The kingdom where your temperature heats up, your spirit rises, your vivacity escalates, and that gray clammy feeling is vanquished?   

Try the theatre, live and in person. The Varscona is where you’ll find Teatro La Quindicina’s season finale, directed by Belinda Cornish. That’s where the strange and the familiar mingle and dance (and have snacks) together in a bold, mysteriously haunting way.

“I feel sort of flushed, accelerated,” says Betsy Locke, near the outset of Fever Land, a Stewart Lemoine play first seen at the Fringe in 1999 and last revived 17 years ago. So do we all, returning to the theatre after such a long and brutal separation.

That feeling isn’t the usual with Betsy (Jenny McKillop). She’s a shy, mild-mannered junior high home ec teacher in Winnipeg, 1966. Her only adult diversion from a solitary, even-keeled sort of life is singing in a choir, the weekly practices of the Red River Chorale. Even that choral participation, as one of 128 members, has a certain not-unwelcome predictability: she’s second alto, row four. “And my part is more or less the same in everything we do,” she notes.

Disconcertingly nervous at an audition for choir director Clark (Garett Ross) and his grating motormouth wife Diane (April Banigan), Betsy will discover her routine world has somehow cracked wide open.

The arrival in ‘60s Winnipeg and in Betsy’s life of the Erlking is no sneak intervention, as Cornish’s production and Andrew MacDonald Smith’s performance relish. He’s a glorious vision in scarlet (costumes by Leona Brausen), direct from the Goethe poem via Schubert. “Let’s dance and play!” cries the extrovert monarch. “You don’t need a reason for anything when you spend time with The Erling!” Betsy is momentarily surprised to see him, but amazingly she’s not flabbergasted.

Soon The Erlking will be joined by an equally scarlet, otherworldly pal, Myrtha Queen of the Willis (Cathy Derkach) from Act II of the ballet Giselle, who’s recruiting for her band of avenging Furies. And in the course of Fever Land this high-energy party-hearty pair will explore the sights of Winnipeg, tuck into the porterhouse at Rae and Jerry’s, the prime rib at the Charterhouse motor inn downtown. “When in Winnipeg …” says Myrtha.

Red velvet cake, the mysterious specialty of the Eaton’s restaurant, is the big hit: “Chocolate and red dye,” explains the Erlking who does his homework. “Get outta here! says Myrtha.

Meanwhile, as directed by her new lifestyle coaches, Betsy is revisiting scenes, happy and sad, from the strange new reality into which her unplanned, tentative affair with a Clark has propelled her— from impromptu exhilaration at the zoo (“hippos are pretty circumspect”), to afternoon assignations at the Charterhouse, to the inevitable brush-off. All via repeating scenes of waiting by the phone, silently willing it to ring, the iconography of affairs with married men world-wide. The Erlking helps her pass the time (“bacon makes everything better”).

Jenny McKillop in Fever Land, Teatro La Quindicina. Photo by Marc J Chalifoux.

McKillop’s lovely performance captures the wide-eyed, open-hearted sweetness of a woman no longer quite young finally saying yes to something instead of ‘no, wait’ or ‘settle down class’. She’s not an initiator; second altos in row four tend not to be. But she steps up to possibility, to adventure. And in a life that’s hitherto been, without resentment, “school, school, more school; we cook, we sew,” there’s fortitude in being conciliatory, in accepting consequences, however unforeseen, however heartbreaking.

As the harried choir director husband Clark, who blurts out a visceral loathing for his wife (even “the way she looks when she’s singing”), Ross charts the course between spontaneously reaching out and cowardly retreat with skill and subtlety. He has the guilty look of a man who senses his own capacity for ordinary run-of-the-mill cruelty.

Banigan goes for the gusto as the comically appalling Diane, who has more words by far than all the other characters in the play put together. She literally never stops talking, even to take a breath. As the outraged Clark points out convincingly, grinding his teeth (with live demos by Diane), it’s in an unctuous, condescendingly smiley, shrill way, interspersed with trilling bits of Bach, Brahms, “even Healy Willan!.”

Cathy Derkach, Jenny McKillop, Andrew MacDonald-Smith in Fever Land, Teatro La Quindicina. Photo by Marc J Chalifoux.

As for the energetic pair of guidance counsellors from the other world, both MacDonald-Smith and Derkach have a riotous time of it in Cornish’s vivid production. The Erlking, who sports the most extravagant pair of shoes seen on an Edmonton stage in several seasons, flings himself choreographically across the stage and into chairs with an exuberance that knows no bounds. And as the earthier Queen of the Willis, a specialist in revenge, Derkach attacks red velvet cake with a carnivorous joie de vivre, and stomps on and off the stage like a Borscht Belt comic who’s late for a gig.

What they’re both about is translating heartbreak — the tragic, yes, but also the unrequited or prosaic, the disappointing or merely aspirational — into art. And this they do, assisted by transcendent choral music. As happens often in Lemoine, the big-m Moments of life are accompanied, or instigated, by music.

Visiting the land of fever is a strange, sad/joyful experience. You’ll be surprised. You’ll smile. Your eyes will mist over your mask.

REVIEW

Fever Land

Theatre: Teatro La Quindicina

Written by: Stewart Lemoine

Directed by: Belinda Cornish

Starring: Jenny McKillop, April Banigan, Cathy Derkach, Garett Ross, Andrew MacDonald-Smith

Running: through Oct. 10

Tickets: teatroq.com

 

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It’s a beautiful night in the neighbourhood: The Garneau Block at the Citadel. A review.

The Garneau Block, Citadel Theatre. Photo by Nanc Price.

By Liz Nicholls, 12thnight.ca

It was a long time coming.

After 18 dark traumatic isolating months and the most terrible summer ever, a play about community, about what it means to live together in a neighbourhood and pull together — and do those things here — finally opened on the Citadel mainstage Thursday night. The audience cheered, and laughed. And it felt like validation.

Why do we live here? You can’t plant yourself in Edmonton and not get asked the question — or put it to yourself — on a regular basis. It threads its way, sometimes spoken sometimes not, through Belinda Cornish’s The Garneau Block, adapted cleverly from the 2006 Todd Babiak best-seller.

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“ One rarely visits one’s own back yard,” says the mysterious millionaire who lives behind closed blinds at #13 in the fictional Garneau cul-de-sac. That is so true, fellow hinterland city dwellers —  and it applies to theatre. What Babiak did in the Edmonton of 15 years ago, Cornish has done in 2021. Her new play is something rare: a comedy, funny, satirical, and full of heart, that is, in a fulsomely detailed way, of this place, now.

The Garneau Block starts with a gunshot and an act of violence that has left a dark and tragic cloud over the ‘hood — and will galvanize it towards collective action. Curiously, though, I think it’s comedy rather than tragedy that makes us feel we’re in a real city. And there’s lots of it in the play.

The fun of the evening is a heart-lightener. For one thing we don’t often hear onstage the sound of our own weird traditions, our quirky special places, our perpetual aggravations, our ambivalence about Edmonton “celebrity,” (see, I’ve put that in quotations marks). In The Garneau Block we laugh the laugh of recognition when Rajinder (Shelly Antony) chooses Continental Treat for a special dinner, or Professor Raymond Terletsky (Julien Arnold) takes his Death in Philosophy class on a field trip to the water park at West Edmonton Mall. “I think Remedy actually trains (their baristas) to be that slow,” says Abby (Stephanie Wolfe), a self-styled progressive with no principles you could count on. References to BioWare or Fleisch, the Accidental Beach or brunch at Pip, or the way “half of 109th is closed For No Reason” give us a little frisson of delight.

And as we know from her other multi-hued comedies (Little Elephants, Diamond Dog and the satire Category E among them) Cornish is a funny writer, with a deft touch in witty character-driven dialogue.

The Garneau Block, Citadel Theatre. Photo by Nanc Price.

Narda McCarroll’s lovely design, glowingly lighted, conjures a neighbourhood from its moving parts: three open-sided peaked  frames and three interchangeable interiors, set against a city skyline of stylized lights and towers. And on this set, Rachel Peake’s production sets the characters in perpetual motion, in and out of each other’s places, waving bottles, coffees, or grievances. Or pieces of paper with an enigmatic message: Let’s Fix It. The “it” will have something to do with the house, now abandoned, in which the fateful gunshot occurred four months earlier.

Judging by the opening scenes, it’s a caffeinated ’hood: even the slackers and underachievers and wallowers move fast. And they change the scenes at a lively clip (possibly the play’s inspiration in a novel serialized in quick bites for a newspaper has something to do with that).

Anyhow, the 11 characters meet the way neighbours do, in fleeting encounters, on a spectrum that turns the casual to heated on a moment’s notice. And Matthew Skopyk’s terrific score captures those rich possibilities: suspenseful rhythm and melodies fluting on top.

You’ll recognize the people of The Garneau Block from the novel. And though it unfolds, and reveals them in much different ways (as you should expect in a two-hour stage play with theatrical requirements), the story is built on secrets, too — the keeping of them, the spilling of them, the escalation of hostility that ensues.

Andrew Kushnir and Rachel Bowron, The Garneau Block, Citadel Theatre. Photo by Nanc Price.

At the still centre of the jostle of frictions, idiosyncrasies, mysteries and secret sorrows, is Madison (the excellent Rachel Bowron), pushing 30 but still living in a stop-gap way: stalled, trained as a journalist but working as a travel agent, living in her parents’ basement, and secretly pregnant. Her gay best friend in this theatre town of ours is an actor, a local “star” (those damning quotation marks again).

In a highly entertaining performance, Jonas is played by Andrew Kushnir as a genuinely funny self-dramatizing motor-mouth who has turned anxiety and resentment into a comic art form. He feels under-appreciated, perpetually exasperated by the “why Edmonton?” question he attracts from theatre-goers. “It’s important for us magic theatre people to have Muggle friends,” he assures his pal.

Maddie’s parents, Abby and David, are a study in contrasts, both self-deluded in comical ways. The former, played with flighty vivacity by Stephanie Wolfe, is convinced she’s the most forward-thinking person in any room, off to a rally to raise awareness for clear-cutting but relying on creaky stereotypes in the local sphere. David, pitched to perfection by George Szilagyi, is a small-c conservative (in the novel he’s big-C Conservative) with a secret of his own (and a small dog named Garith, played by Koko). “What? … I read White Fragility; I took that university course with Dan Levy…” he tells Barry, the Indigenous character in the ‘hood he assumes is homeless. Barry rolls his eyes.

Nadien Chu and Julien Arnold, The Garneau Block, Citadel Theatre. Photo by Nanc Price.

Raymond, the pompous self-justifying phil prof played to the hilt by Arnold, has some tawdry secrets of his own. Which drives Raymond’s wife Shirley Wong from conciliatory to explosive, and gives Nadien Chu the opportunity to deliver a memorable rant, one of the greats, that will singe your eyelashes. She is riveting.     

Alana Hawley Purvis, too rarely seen on our stages, has the fun of playing three characters, including the crisp chair of the U of A philosophy department, the memorably awful Tammy who owns the travel agency, and Helen, a homespun chin-up philosopher whose life wisdom kicks Wittgenstein’s butt.

In the novel the fractious people of the ‘hood have a common enemy: the university is bent on property appropriation. The play welcomes us back into the theatre with a narrative built, instead, on the way neighbours are flung together, needing change or equilibrium in their own lives, creating a community of hopeful interlocking questers. The late-play review of might-have-beens all involve sharing.

It’s a beautiful day in the neighbourhood. Don’t miss it.

Meet novelist Todd Babiak and playwright Belinda Cornish on 12thnight.ca.

REVIEW

The Garneau Block

Theatre: Citadel Theatre

Written by: Belinda Cornish, adapted from the Todd Babiak novel

Directed by: Rachel Peake

Starring: Shelly Antony, Julien Arnold, Rachel Bowron, Nadien Chu, Sheldon Elter, Alana Hawley Purvis, Andrew Kushnir, George Szilagyi, Stephanie Wolfe, Koko

Running: through Oct. 10

Tickets and masking/vaccination requirements: citadeltheatre.com 

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Sending in the clowns (online): Play The Fool Fest is back

Kiana Woo in Inga and the Date, Play The Fool Festival. Photo supplied.

By Liz Nicholls, 12thnight.ca

Clowns: it takes all kinds. And we have the festival to prove it.

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At Play the Fool, returning Thursday (online again) for a sixth annual edition, you’ll meet “the world’s first German Nihilist life coach,” for example, with tips on making life more bearable in these traumatizing times.  And you’ll run into Jesus, too, star of page, stage and screen, having a go at teaching Grade 2 Sunday School.

There’s a mime of affirmative stripe who advises hope in the face of frustration and discouragement. There’s a grouchy guy who offers to be your guide to the wrong side of the bed.

Jake Tkaczyk, Bedeutung Krankenwagen, Play The Fool Festival. Photo by Marc J Chalifoux.

That’s the thing about Play The Fool, the country’s only clown and physical comedy festival (for adult audiences): you never know whether you’ll meet a snarly Euro bouffon who doesn’t give two hoots whether you like him or a wide-eyed red-nosed charmer eager to be loved.    

And who knows?, you may even unleash your own inner clown, the one who’s been waiting for the right moment to come out and play. Play The Fool features an “interactive clown class” on Zoom (two actually, with a 12-participant maximum) led by the galvanizing Shannan Calcutt, a longtime star of the Cirque du Soleil’s Las Vegas cabaret Zumanity. Edmonton Fringe audiences know her as Izzy, the delightful clown who tips her secret agenda on a blind date by showing up in a wedding dress.

Shannan Calcutt. Photo supplied.Seding

Play the Fool “pivoted” in order to send in the clowns digitally for last year’s edition. And, as festival director Christine Lesiak, a clown of note herself (For Science! Ask Aggie, Fools For Love), explains “it’s the right call” for this mid-pandemic year too. “Artists need to plan….”

“I’m not going to pretend I wouldn’t rather be packing the Backstage Theatre,” Lesiak says. After all, clowns naturally, inherently, gravitate to in-person, playful, interactive encounters with real people. “We’re ultimately a live festival. That’s what we are; that’s what we want to be…. But there there are beautiful advantages to a (digital) edition.”

Looking on the bright side, there’s the big wide global audience out there, needing clowns (and Edmonton clowns!) in their lives. Last year’s edition attracted audiences across North American and the U.K. And Lesiak is keen to retain that expansiveness — “depending on the budget” — even when Play The Fool regains its natural live existence next year.

And as for the inspiration of the Play The Fool Two-Minute Film Competition, which drew artists from everywhere, it quickly morphed into a two-minute film festival, a model of compression that returns this year (on April 1, natch). “A nice little niche and untapped delivery medium,” as Lesiak puts it, “and a delight to do again.” This time, thanks to support from FAVA and Studio Post, Play The Fool commissioned six Edmonton filmmakers to create originals, to play alongside submissions from elsewhere. Details on the line-up await; stay tuned.

This year’s edition of Play The Fool is a hybrid of live-online and pre-recorded performances by local artists, all perforce solo, and all new. All but one are produced by the festival and edited by techno-whiz Ian Walker on the indispensable Fringe TV platform. The exception, brought to the festival fully formed, is Barry Bilinsky’s 12-minute film He’s My Brother, a clown tragedy in which Neech must somehow cope with the unexpected death of his prize hydrangea.

Since the clown gaze is fixed on “our current experience,” says Lesiak of “a mirror in a fun house,” most of the pieces in the lineup drift toward themes of “isolation, longing, distance, coping with being cut off from the thing they love doing.” They don’t reference COVID directly (thankfully); the angle is oblique, metaphorical. “They’re not on the nose,” says Lesiak, whose lexicon contains a striking number of nasal references (it comes with her line of work, no doubt).

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

There’s a startling variety of approaches in the six new solo pieces. Rebecca Merkley, whose fearlessly kooky Merk du Soleil series (the latest instalment Merk du Solapocalypse was at the Fringe), are gems of clowning, goes solo for the first time — as Jesus. Says Lesiak, “Jesus Teaches us Things has a loving gentle blasphemy about it. And (Merkley) is such a delightful, compelling presence onstage.” In his foray into Sunday School teaching, as Lesiak describes, laughing, Jesus “has some impulse-control issues, about what content is appropriate for Grade 2’s.”

“It comes from an interesting place: love, yet awareness of the flaws in the (religious system). There are poignant moments in it.”

Since solo is de rigueur times being what they are, a date night as revealed in Kianna Woo’s “red nose romance Inga and the Date, is a tricky proposition. “There’s an ingenious reveal I’m not going to tell you,” laughs Lesiak. “She’s taken the very classic clown blind date concept and she turns it on the nose. And she’s very funny and charming.”

Adam Keefe has done solo work before, says Lesiak, who has performed with him in Small Matters Theatre’s Fools for Love and other shows. Good Morning Darkness shows his high-level skills, “physically, vocally, and with characters,” she says, in a piece that sheds an indirect light on our current COVIDian freefall.

Hope For Life reintroduces Zillur Rahman John, an Edmonton-based Bangladeshi-Canadian mime artist, to audiences here. He hasn’t been onstage here, says Lesiak, since his appearance as the title character in the Edmonton Symphony’s 2015 performance of Bartók’s pantomime ballet The Miraculous Mandarin.

In Jake Tkaczyk’s Zoomed “live bouffon seminar” Bedeutung Krankenwagen, we meet Herr Frölich, a German Nihilist-turned-life coach. “Clowns and bouffons are on a spectrum, says Lesiak. “For me, the difference is the the clown is very impulsive, and wants to be loved. Bouffons don’t care about that. They want to manipulate the audience.…” At the extreme is a performer like Sacha Baron Cohen, “very provocative, not for the faint of heart” as his Borat films vividly demonstrate. There’s a bit more clown in Herr Frölich’s place on the spectrum, she thinks.

Bouffons are the star of this year’s Play The Fool panel discussion (live via Zoom), Pretty Ugly: Bouffon in Pedagogy and Practice. International participants, all with clown cred in the dark bouffon world, include Deanna Fleysher (of Butt Kapinski fame), Ken Hall, Nathaniel Justiniano and Janice Jo Lee.

The festival, which opens Thursday with a welcome poem by the Brit star Rob Gee, “Play The Fool Who’s Playing You,” is made possible by partnerships with the Street Performers Fest, Toy Guns Dance Theatre, Theatre Alberta and EPCOR’s invaluable Heart + Soul Fund.

PREVIEW

Play The Fool Festival 2021

Running: Sept. 23 to 26 (on-demand and films are available Sept. 24 through Sept. 30).

Tickets, full lineup, and schedule: playthefool.ca

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Jenny McKillop: meet the star of Teatro’s live in-person season finale Fever Land

Jenny McKillop in Fever Land, Teatro La Quindicina. Photo by Ryan Parker.

By Liz Nicholls, 12thnight.ca

In the live in-person grand finale to Teatro La Quindicina’s highly compressed summer season of filmed productions, we meet a shy, unassuming junior high Home Ec teacher who sings in a choir. In Winnipeg.

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In the course of Fever Land, opening on the Varscona stage Friday, Betsy will find herself enmeshed in an illicit affair. And in Stewart Lemoine’s unclassifiably strange 1999 comedy, the routines of Betsy’s hitherto non-tumultuous life will attract the intervention of a couple of exotic other-worldly characters. The Erlking arrives from the Goethe poem that was set to music by Schubert; Myrtha Queen of the Willis from Act II of the ballet Giselle. It’s an unusual combination: 1966 Winnipeggers “and people who wear crowns and appear out of the mist,” as Lemoine puts it.

“I think of Betsy as an Alice in Wonderland,” says Jenny McKillop, the star of Teatro’s revival (the first since 2004), “getting to go on a wild ride….”

“She’s not very worldly, not malicious; she just doesn’t really understand the implications (of the affair).” In her first romantic entanglement since teacher’s college (and she’s in her mid-‘30s), “she’s just a gal trying to figure things out.”

McKillop’s Teatro debut was in Lemoine’s 2010 The Ambassador’s Wives, a murder mystery caper set in Monte Carlo, as a Canadian adventuress who’s inherited piles of money. And, as a member of the Teatro younger generation that includes Andrew MacDonald-Smith and Rachel Bowron among others. she’s been in many Teatro comedies since.

Teatro practice as an ensemble includes the passing down of plays generation to generation. As she did in Teatro’s signature comedy Pith! (in a sidekick role originated by Leona Brausen), McKillop inherits a Fever Land character played originally by Barbara Gates Wilson in 1999 and 2004. “It’s a little intimidating when you admire the actor so much,” she says. “I’m honoured; I’m excited. Big shoes to fill….” McKillop’s real-life husband Garett Ross has the role of the the choir director originally played by Jeff Haslam.

Betsy, thinks McKillop, joins a long series of Lemoine characters who “maintain a gentle energy while ready for a new experience.… I think it’s fun to think of someone who’s presented with something strange, and just deals with it.”

Those someones are the kind of characters that McKillop, who exudes a buoyant, appealing kind of sunny good cheer in person, often gets called upon to play. In Marvellous Pilgrims, for example, a Lemoine comedy of 2013, she was Honor, half of a pair of ‘30s adventurers who arrive at a remote mountaintop tea house to discover a piano and a tenor ready to sing. Honor is pleased, but not overcome by surprise at this development.

Lemoine says that his reason for wanting to revive Fever Land was that McKillop is a perfect Betsy. “The lead character is a pretty delightful character,” he says. “The audience immediately wants her for their friend.” And no matter what she drifts into doing, and with whom, supernatural or not, the audience is on her side. “Jenny,” he says, “is so instantly likeable….”

Fever Land wasn’t the first Lemoine play to invoke the name of his birthplace city. In The Glittering Heart (1990), Winnipeg was a place to leave. Which is exactly what Adele, a Winnipeg housewife did. Right after she served the classic roast ham with pineapple rings to her husband Harold, she announced she was leaving for Venice to become a famous courtesan.

Fever Land was the second. Winnipeg is where the play actually happens, in 1966. The signature cream cheese actually gets mentioned. And it’s where the Erlking and the Queen of the Willis tour iconic locations, like Rae and Jerry’s Steak House and the Eaton’s cafeteria.

The comedy revels in the particularities of Winnipeg that Lemoine discovered as a kid: the zoo in Assiniboia Park, say, or the Charterhouse, a motor inn where Lemoine’s Aunt Denise worked at the desk…. “We lived half a block from Portage Ave., and within walking distance of the Polo Park Shopping Centre.” The juxtaposition of real-life ‘60s Winnipeg and “people who wear crowns and appear out of the mist” as he puts it, gives Fever Land its distinctive tone.

Lemoine remembers the origins of Fever Land two decades ago. Once he’d decided that the romantic fortunes of a pleasant chorister would include interventions by the Erlking and Myrtha Queen of the Willis, both trailing the major musical cred that’s often a game-changer in his comedies, “the fantastical story kind of told itself,” he says. “O no, that sounded pretentious.. It was more ‘this is outrageous: I’ll do it!’”

In Schubert’s setting of Erlkönig, the singer takes on all the parts, including the narrator. Lemoine notes that if you’re having a Schubertiad at your house (no, really, it’s a thing), and doing a participation Erlkönig sing-out, four singers take the separate parts of a story about a father and son, and the Erlking “who presents them with an enticing alternate reality.… ‘Come, come with me’.” As for the Queen of the Willis, she’s the star of the Act II graveyard scenes in Giselle, “usually played by an older dancer who strides around, authoritatively.” In this revival, in the role originated by Leona Brausen, she’s played by Cathy Derkach

The other inspiration to which Lemoine points is the choir, in the play the weekly rehearsals of the Red River Chorale (in Winnipeg nomenclature, “everything is either Red River or Pembina”). In Edmonton “My mom sang in Richard Eaton Singers for years and years,” he says. And then when it eventually came time to re-audition, alas, “it went really badly. And that was that.” Mrs. Lemoine, incidentally immediately joined the Concordia Choir. So it all turned out fine.

The choir is an intersection, possibly battleground, for tensions, frictions, and relationships of various kinds,” says Lemoine. “What kind of earrings should be allowed, choosing a design for the new robes, how many rehearsals you can miss before you get kicked out….” In short, it’s a rich sort of theatrical possibilities.

And speaking of rehearsals, Belinda Cornish’s production has been doing that live (with masks and COVID testing every three days). And since Betsy is in every scene in the play McKillop says she’s tired by the end of the day, yes. but “exhilarated too,” not least by being back in the theatre (“I’m a serial optimist!”). And being in a play with one’s husband has practical advantages, she finds. “Garett and I can run lines together!”

PREVIEW

Fever Land

Theatre: Teatro La Quindicina

Written by: Stewart Lemoine

Directed by: Belinda Cornish

Starring: Jenny McKillop, April Banigan, Cathy Derkach, Garett Ross, Andrew MacDonald-Smith

Running: Thursday (in preview) through Oct. 10

Tickets: teatroq.com

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Conjuring Patsy in concert, live at the Mayfield: A Closer Walk With Patsy Cline. A review.

Sara-Jeanne Hosie in A Closer Walk With Patsy Cline. Poster image supplied

By Liz Nicholls, 12thnight.ca

“Come on in and sit right down and make yourself at home.” The singing invitation comes from Miss Virginia Patterson Hensley of Winchester, Virginia, whose early-career name change is part of the show to follow.

She strides briskly onto the stage at the start of the musical entertainment that marks the Mayfield Dinner Theatre’s return to live action (with vaccine proof of vaccine requirement) after 18 months of stops, starts, plans and re-plans.

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(Music! Live! It’s a treat. There’s no excuse for the Kenney government’s cruel and lunatic delay in implementing a vaccine passport. But I digress).

In the course of A Closer Walk With Patsy Cline, a hit 1991 bio-revue by the Canadian actor/director Dean Regan, you’ll hear a generous selection of some two dozen entries, hits, non-hits and cover tunes from the Patsy Cline songbook.  And you’ll hear them delivered by a terrific performer with charisma, a big lustrous voice and uncanny skill in using it: Sara-Jeanne Hosie, who’s been here as Patsy three time before now.

Hosie has the benefit of a great five-piece band (director: Van Wilmott) and really excellent sound. What she does not have, by way of theatrical benefits, is a script that gives Patsy a chance to speak for herself. This is ironic since the disjointed bits of real-life narrative provided by the DJ and all-purpose colourful character Little Big Man (Sheldon Bergstrom) seem to suggest Patsy wasn’t shy about doing just that in life, age 14 onward.

Anyhow, the point of A Closer Walk With Patsy Cline isn’t a closer walk with Patsy Cline. It’s a full-on Patsy Cline concert with trimmings. And given the musical values on display, that’s more than enough for your enjoyment over a Blue Moon of Kentucky featured cocktail.

In music and body language — and a succession of outfits that invariably include boots, designed by Pat Burden — Hosie, a musical theatre triple-threat with cred across the country, fashions a portrait of an iconic country singer whose star rose in the ‘50s and has never faded. Even as a teenager (“a feisty little lady” as Little Big Man says) she trots briskly onstage in her boots and prim ‘do, plants herself confidently in front of a mic, and just sends out her powerhouse voice.

In the contemporary world of glamorized ultra-choreographed pop-star country music, would Patsy have made it? “The big black hands on the clock/ Tell me it’s time to rock,” sings the old-young Patsy Cline, adding a few crisp knee-raises and hand gestures for good measure.

Patsy Cline hits like Walkin’ After Midnight, Sweet Dreams, Crazy show off the edges and angles of Hosie’s voice. She captures all the signature catches and slides, the way that “Always” and “good-byeeee” have at least three syllables. The familiar songs sound fulsome, musically and emotionally. And she’s backed up with expertly stylish contributions from the band.

Bergstrom, who’s an engaging performer, has his work cut out for him as the radio station DJ who, in classic revue fashion, provides the framework for the songs. It’s unreasonable to expect a musical revue to be a full biography or full-fledged jukebox musical, to be sure. But even by those standards, A Closer Walk With Patsy Cline seems a bit skimpy. Bergstrom has to work awfully hard with fragments about Patsy’s “big heart.”

The 22-year-old Patsy apparently turned down a gig once when a show producer “wanted Patsy but not her band.” She once went to Kansas City to do a benefit for someone named Cactus Jack she didn’t even know, because he was sick. Her first husband was “an oil and water marriage. “In 1957 she got a hit and lost a husband.”

Little Big Man supplements this random assortment with amusing period colour, including (over-extended) cornpone humour from a Grand Ole Opry comic and jingles for Ajax, the foaming cleanser, or Winstons that “taste good like a cigarette should.”

I know now that Mickey Mantle was the first professional baseball player to acquire a $100,000 contract. I found out that Vegas meant four shows a night seven nights a week for singers in the ’50s, and that Patsy Cline played Carnegie Hall, unprecedented for a female in her particular field of music. But I didn’t learn much about a country singer with the unusually mature-sounding pipes, who apparently didn’t even like the song Walkin’ After Midnight. I’m no expert on the life and works of Patsy Cline. But if the aim is “a closer walk,” it just doesn’t seem enough. “Sit right down” and think of this as a concert, and you’ll have a fine time.

The script includes one early foreshadowing of the 1963 plane crash that claimed the life of Patsy Cline at 31. The history of country music has ample warnings against flying in small aircraft in the hinterland during bad weather. Next up at the Mayfield (Nov. 9 to Jan. 23) is Buddy: The Buddy Holly Story.

REVIEW

A Closer Walk With Patsy Cline

Theatre: Mayfield Dinner Theatre

Written by: Dean Regan

Directed by: Van Wilmott

Starring: Sara-Jeanne Hosie (Oct. 12 to 31 with Devra Straker), Sheldon Bergstom

Running: through Oct. 31

Tickets, schedule and mask/proof of vaccination requirements: 780-483-4051, mayfieldtheatre.ca

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Why Edmonton? Why Garneau? What’s in a ‘hood? We ask novelist Todd Babiak about The Garneau Block

The Garneau Block by Belinda Cornish, based on the Todd Babiak novel, Citadel Theatre.

By Liz Nicholls, 12thnight.ca

“LET’S FIX IT.” A rallying cry? A call to action? A cosmic signal? It sounds like a communal mantra for our fraught and broken time.

That mysterious three-word sign, duct-taped to trees in a signature Edmonton neighbourhood, is at the very heart of the new play that finally — after many starts and COVID-ian postponements — arrives onstage at the Citadel in front of a real live audience, starting Saturday.

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The Garneau Block could hardly be more of this place. It’s by an Edmonton playwright, Belinda Cornish. It’s adapted from a much-loved 2006 Giller longlisted novel, satirical and humorously affectionate, by an Edmonton writer, Todd Babiak. It’s about idiosyncratic people who come together in a ‘hood we know, in the city we’re living in. And this love letter to Edmonton premieres on the mainstage of this burg’s biggest playhouse.

“If you want to write a novel with a strong sense of place, it had better be a place you have a warm, complicated long-term relationship with. And for me, it’s definitely Edmonton,” says Babiak, a great friend of mine, from the time we worked together in the Edmonton Journal entertainment department. He’s on the phone from a world away. Though he’s mid-adventure in Hobart, Tasmania as CEO of a crown corporation (Brand Tasmania) that’s all about enhancing the identity and fortunes of that small under-rated Australian state, his head and heart are full of Edmonton.

So much so that Babiak’s latest novel, The Spirits Up (to be published by Penguin Random House Oct. 26), a mystery that takes its mysteriously haunted characters, an inventor’s family, from Halloween night to Christmas time, is set in Edmonton, too. And Edmonton doesn’t just happen to be the setting; as in The Garneau Block, it’s a character, too. “I feel more of a sense of confidence that you can make what some might say is an obscure middle city into a character, and if you make it special, or compelling or interesting, people will see themselves in it. We all live somewhere….”

The Garneau Block began life as a serial novel that appeared in daily instalments for three months in the fall of 2005 in the Edmonton Journal where Babiak was a columnist at the time. From the editors he heard “Hey, I read this thing by Alexander McCall Smith in The Scotsman. Hey, we happen to have a novelist on staff. Hey, you could do that. Hey, want to give it a shot?”

Babiak laughs. “In half an hour I went from ‘no, I have other plans’ to ‘I have readers here, 50,000 on a day. What, am I crazy?’” He says, “I so enjoyed writing it…. It was my favourite time at the newspaper, the least traditional thing I ever did there. And I’m really so thankful for brave bosses that let me do it, a very strange thing for them to let me do, because we were already entering the end of the newspaper era.” He calls it “the era of possibility.”

The Garneau Block wasn’t built in the episodic open-ended way that, say, McCall Smith’s 44 Scotland Street unspooled in The Scotsman or Armistead Maupin’s Tales of the City in The San Francisco Chronicle. “I wanted it to have a beginning, middle, and end.… There had to be an ending.” That made it trickier, says Babiak. Each chapter had “to move the plot along in little ways, but also be able to work as a thing in itself…. The Journal gave me three months to write it first, an average of a thousand words a day.”

It started with the idea of autumn (and that’s when it started in the newspaper): “seasons changing, the beginning of the school year, that feeling of deflation you get at the end of the Fringe (one of Babiak’s favourite times of the year)…. And a sadly violent thing happens. After that I had no idea what would happen.”

Novelist Todd Babiak on location in Hobart, Tasmania.

The literary turf wasn’t, still isn’t for that matter, exactly littered by novels set in Edmonton instead of, you know, “real cities” with novelistic bona fides. “There are people who feel that novels should be based in London, Paris, or New York… Those people probably  aren’t my audience,” Babiak laughs. “I’m attracted to the under-estimated, the misunderstood…. In both The Garneau Block and now The Spirits Up, some of the characters really take that on. They see that choice to live in Edmonton as something that defines them. And they struggle with it all the time as they enter middle-age or beyond.”

Part of the charm of The Garneau Block is the way dimensional characters really inhabit places we know well. They meet at the Sugar Bowl; they hang at the Gazebo Park; they go to Die-Nasty or the Fringe. “When Garneau Block was first published in the Journal I got all these letters complaining the naming was too blatant,” Babiak remembers. “Clearly,” he thought, “the issue was they thought Edmonton wasn’t real enough to be fake; we didn’t have the confidence yet to be expressing ourselves that way….”   

“’Is this where I’ve chosen to live?’ At some point you either embrace that, ‘this is why I live in Edmonton!’, and see yourself as comfortably Edmonton, or you suffer; you’re trapped with Poor Old Edmonton. And not just Edmonton, there are a lot of places in the world that hold that tension, including where I live now…. For most of the 20th century, Tasmania was ‘why would anyone live there?’ Now it’s coming into a sense of self which I find really enchanting.”

We’ve all been battered by the mythology of Calgary, borrowed largely from south of the border. “The Globe and Mail and The National Post would treat Edmonton as a kind of suburb of Calgary; you could see that in a lazy way they weren’t really interested,” muses Babiak, who’s always been keen to capture something of the culture of this place in his work, both literary and non-. “Ten years ago people in Edmonton were feeling that we can make a workshop of this place. It needs a lot of work. But maybe that’s an opportunity for us to build it the way we’d like.”

For his story about characters in a neighbourhood, with all the attendant sparks and tensions, coming together to save it (and maybe fall in love), why Garneau? “It had a bit of everything,” says Babiak who grew up in Leduc and lived in Garneau as a student, in a terrible basement suite on 87th Ave. before he went to university in Montréal.

He remembers seeing posters, “Save Garneau”, in the High Level Diner. “Garneau has been saved many times over the years by its community,” he laughs. He came to know this even better when he moved to the ‘hood, above ground in a real house en famille, long after The Garneau Block was published. “Rich people and poor students, actors and theatre people, an ethnic mix, places you could walk to and I could set scenes in. And, yes, the university. It was almost like a stage: a little bit of everything in a small geographic location…. In real estate values, Garneau is very expensive but it’s also people crammed in, seeing each other, touching each other … among the most urban places in Edmonton: legit, so not-fake, with history to it.”

Along with Babiak’s The Book of Stanley (also serialized in the Journal, in 2008), The Garneau Block had been optioned earlier for television by the CBC in a pre-Schitt’s Creek time when serial TV, “hilariously,”  was completely against their rules at the time. The idea of The Garneau Block as a play had been put to him as a possibility in a previous Citadel regime by James MacDonald. “Daryl (Citadel artistic director Daryl Cloran) wanted to talk about it as soon as he took the job!” says Babiak, delighted by the prospect he alas won’t get to see onstage due to international travel restrictions. “He said ‘this is what we do! we’re going to tell stories about this place!’”

“There’s a sad-sack quality about Edmonton that sometimes gets us all down,” Babiak agrees. “But on the same day, in the afternoon, the sun breaks through and you’re on a walk and it smells great and looks good and people are nice, and there’s a sense of possibility.”

That’s when Poor Old Edmonton (aka P.O.E.) becomes Good Old Edmonton (aka G.O.E.). “For many of the characters, The Garneau Block is really about that.”

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Together once more, on the street where you live: The Garneau Block at the Citadel. Meet playwright Belinda Cornish.

The Garneau Block by Belinda Cornish, from the Todd Babiak novel, Citadel Theatre. Photo by Arthur Mah.

By Liz Nicholls, 12thnight.ca

“There was something quite magical,” says Belinda Cornish, “about having us all come together, to be a community together that one night…. It felt very special. And I felt lucky to be there.”   

She’s talking about Friday the 13th, March 2020, the last dress rehearsal of Cornish’s new play The Garneau Block, a stage adaptation of Todd Babiak’s best-seller Giller-nominated satirical novel of 2006. It was the fateful night before its first preview on the Citadel’s Maclab stage.

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The curtain was about to come crashing down on live theatre, and the performing arts industry. Productions were cancelled mid-run, even mid-rehearsal, or postponed indefinitely. And the Citadel had reached out to the casts of every cancelled show and show-in-progress in this theatre town, and invited them to a one-night-only performance of a play about wildly disparate characters in an Edmonton community who come together to save something: their ‘hood. It was a gesture that might have come from The Garneau Block plot itself.

The cast of the Mayfield’s production of Noises Off came. So did the casts of Edmonton Opera’s Candide, and the Citadel’s Beatles-themed As You Like It….  “We knew we had to stop,” says the playwright. “But the one and only performance of The Garneau Block had an audience that was so supportive, so warm, so loving.”

The End that night was really the end, for a whole industry, and “the theatre community watched together.”

“We turned out the lights and locked the door, and left the theatre. For a year,” leaving the set on the stage, the costumes on the racks, the props table laid out. And there it all was, gathering dust and waiting — till now. “It brought it home,” she says of the graphic way the pandemic stopped time for an entire industry. Last one out, turn off the lights.

Eighteen months later, The Garneau Block goes into preview again this weekend. Director Rachel Peake has reassembled most of the original ensemble of nine actors, — among them Edmonton faves Julien Arnold, Rachel Bowron, Nadien Chu, Sheldon Elter, George Szilagyi, Stephanie Wolfe — and one small dog (Koko, with his own understudy).

Playwright Belinda Cornish

“There’s something very special about coming back to theatre this way,” says Cornish of a play about us and for us, in which the idiosyncratic, ill-assorted denizens of an Edmonton neighbourhood band together to fix things, after a traumatic event. A sense of community saves the day — which, when you think about it, is the way theatre operates all the time. And it’s an apt thought in this devastating, traumatizing moment in our collective history.

“It’s about how, if we come together, are kind to each other, hear each other, are truthful with each other, pull together, we do better,” says Cornish. “I think at its heart this is what this play is about.… People who take the self-serving path, it doesn’t end up serving them.”

Cornish, the co-artistic producer of Teatro La Quindicina (along with Andrew MacDonald-Smith) is a playwright (Little Elephants, Category E, Diamond Dog). She’s also a director, actor, Die-Nasty improv star. And this summer — “a bit of a bonkers summer” she notes casually — Cornish has taken multi-tasking to an extreme. She’s directed the three film productions (Lost Lemoine Part 1, Lost Lemoine Part 2: A Second Round of Seconds, and (with Lemoine) A Fit, Happy Life, now all online) that opened back to back in Teatro’s highly compressed 2021 season. Her live in-person production of Fever Land, the Teatro season finale, previews on the same night The Garneau Block officially opens (Sept. 23), and has its own opening night on the 24th.

What was it about a much-loved novel from the 2000’s, a novel of its time, that drew Cornish to adapt it for the stage? “Honestly, the characters,” she says. “The full rounded people Todd has created breathe off the page. They’re complicated, multi-layered. And the idea of putting them on the stage, giving them life and bodies to inhabit … coming up with dialogue for them, putting them together in a room and just letting them chat, was so much fun!”

There’s mystery attached to the people of The Garneau Block. Take the apparently mismatched couple David and Abby. He’s so conservative that he’s the president of the Strathcona Progressive Conservative Riding Association. She’s a leftie of the “armchair liberal” stripe, as Cornish puts it. “In the novel she’s a bit more gentle; I’ve wound her a bit tighter…. There’s an Abby in every neighbourhood, the person who believes they’re incredibly enlightened and woke, but doesn’t want to be inconvenienced by progressiveness. She won’t go into Starbucks but makes her husband get her caramel macchiatos. She was very fun to write!”

How is a couple like David and Abby together? Cornish laughs. She points to the election campaign in her Queen Alexandra ‘hood, and “Re-elect Heather McPherson” and “Vote Mike Nickel” signs co-habiting the same front lawn. “What is happening in that house? Fascinating. Two very distinct voices existing there. They probably have separate bathrooms by now….”

“In character development and themes, I’ve remained true to the book pretty much,” Cornish says. “Some aspects of the plot will be different. I’ve focussed more on their interpersonal relationships than the external forces pushing the community together to solve the crisis.”

In the novel, a tragic event that has happened in one now-deserted house on the block  catalyzes the plot, including the university’s drive to buy up all the properties at a reduced price. In the play we’ll see,  as Cornish describes, “the symbolic decaying house in which a terrible event has occurred, is looming over them…. But it’s the characters’ own foibles and mistakes, the mysteries and secrets they have from each other, that are actually creating the crisis. It’s more active between them.”

When she was first working on the play, Cornish remembers that Babiak had said “you solve the house, you solve the play.”

Adapting The Garneau Block wasn’t without its challenges. “The novel is very beloved, for a reason. I wanted to honour that,” says Cornish of the balance between “the changes that needed to be made, the changes I wanted to make, and how to remain true to it.”

“It’s not pure invention. Working with somebody else’s work, being inspired by someone’s else’s work … I don’t have to make these people up; I get to expand on what Todd has already done, which is joyous, and figure out how to take that arc and those themes and build them into a play.”

Cornish, who came to Canada in 2000 from London — a love story directly involving her actor/improviser husband Mark Meer — brings an outsider’s eye to the portrait of Edmonton that gathers momentum in The Garneau Block. But the powerful notion of what it means to live in a neighbourhood, to be home there, is part of Cornish’s own thinking, too. She grew up in Willesden, in the northwest of London, a ‘hood with its own particular accent (“read Zadie Smith’s White Teeth; she encapsulates it perfectly”).

“Very much a neighbourhood. On a street. Five or six families, having barbecues together in summer, taking care of each other’s kids, popping over to each other’s house, the sense that the tiniest little infraction between two people that already have friction can blow up into something much larger than it needs to be, absurd from the outside….”

In a flurry of bravado in seasonal timing, Cornish arrived on Jan. 3, 2000. “When I emailed Mark I was coming he wrote ‘Oh dear. I’m so embarrassed for my country’…. He knew it would be horrifying,” she laughs. “I didn’t have proper gloves, or the right anything. The cold used to make me nauseous. Weird physical response, I know.” Some “desolate moments” did ensue, she admits.

It was a test case, but Edmonton passed with flying colours. “A strong pride in your home city and a great love for it, and also a great sense of humility, it’s very Edmonton,” she thinks. “I think Edmonton really sees itself. It’s one of the things I loved about the city, and made me want to stay!”

“I guess I’m making my own politics explicit here, but we’re a brave little goldfish in the big blue sea. It’s a feeling of being a cultural island in a way … progressive, hopeful.”

PREVIEW

The Garneau Block

Theatre: Citadel Theatre

Written by: Belinda Cornish, adapted from the Todd Babiak novel

Directed by: Rachel Peake

Starring: Shelly Antony, Julien Arnold, Rachel Bowron, Nadien Chu, Sheldon Elter, Alana Hawley Purvis, Andrew Kushnir, George Szilagyi, Stephanie Wolfe, Koko

Running: Saturday (in preview) through Oct. 10

Tickets and masking/vaccination requirements: citadeltheatre.com 

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