Next Stage Festival, Toronto

The Next Stage Festival, Toronto

For five years now, the magic of the Fringe Festival has been appearing in the the (usually) cold (but strangely April-like this year) winter.

The Next Stage Festival takes over Toronto’s Factory Theatre with a line-up of fantastic shows.  I got to catch a couple on Saturday that both made me laugh and remember how awesome the theatre kids in Toronto are.  These talented women were inspiring as they made me guffaw through tears (of laughter and also the sad kind).

The first was Modern Love, presented by Theatre Caravel, written and performed by the luminous and quick-witted Jessica Moss.  She and her character are smart, funny and absolutely heartbreaking.

Moss plays Trish, a girl who, like many of us in this wired-up, social-media-saturated, disconnected generation, is stuck in front of her screen with 660 Facebook friends but ultimately alone and trying to connect for real.

If you want to see a clever, well-acted, tightly-directed (by Eric Double) solo show that flies by and where you miss jokes because you’re laughing too hard, check it out.  It plays until the 15th of January.

In the evening, I was one of the lucky ones who’d booked ahead and nabbed a ticket for Go Bake Yourself by Fringe darlings (and just plain darlings) Morro and Jasp.

These clown sisters have very different ideas of how a cooking show should go and it makes for a very entertaining, hilarious, and endearing half hour.

Before you can shout “salmonella!,” the show’s over and your tummy’s hurting,  and not because you’re starving because the tray of hors-d’oeuvres of cracker avec fromage never got to you (luckily, they kindly provide the audience with the recipe to try at home). Your stomach is aching because you’ve laughed so hard.

It also plays until January 15th, and there may be a couple of seats left.  Who knows?  The Next Stage Festival people do- you should call them!

 

And for those of you who are scared of clowns, or hate them (because you are scared of them, most likely), please do yourself a favour and check out Morro and Jasp: Behind the Nose.  You might learn something:

My favourite things of 2011

Bye bye, 2011! You’ve been good to me in small and surprising ways.

It’s been a good one- full of friends, travel, and new experiences. Here are a few things that I’m super-grateful for that happened in 2011:

Travelling to Boston with a good friend to see Josh Ritter

Getting to know people whose work I'd admired from afar and getting to work with them on a real professional play in a real professional theatre. Photo: Paul Dunn, Richard McMillan and Eric Goulem in After Akhmatova at the Tarragon Theatre

Getting a kick start on my writing at Playwrights Workshop Montreal for a workshop led by my hero, Carole Fréchette

I got a new nephew!

Discovering so many things and approaches with a group of amazing directors during the Directors Lab North's inaugural year.

Putting on a play with the beautiful Janelle Hanna at the Toronto Fringe Festival

My sweet potato sprouting into a gorgeous plant all by itself

Getting one of those 9-5 jobs and getting to work with this crazy lot.

Celebrating love at beautiful summer weddings and dancing the night away with friends from all over the place.

Getting to see old friends, amazing plays, and a double rainbow in London.

Finding this red-panda/racoon/okapi in my coffee cup. It was magic. I didn't wash the cup for days. Best thing ever.

Winning chocolates and Molson caps at a Christmas pub quiz.

Escaping it all with the whole darn family and catching the rays in Cuba.

I wish you all the best for 2012- love, discoveries,and beauty. And I hope our paths will cross on an adventure or another soon!

xo Elise

Ontariariario

As part of my resolution to be a tourist while staying home (and saving up to travel elsewhere), I have been going a little further afield than my regular routes accessible by subway.

Over the past couple of weeks, I have disovered jazz jams in Etobicoke, the magic of Christmas at the Brickworks, and painting the town in Hamilton.

ETOBICOKE

I don’t live far from Etobicoke, but it feels like another world that I honestly never really cared to discover.  Other than the nostalgia of going to the Nostalgic as a kid, a 50-seat cinema that screened the Wizard of Oz, or sometimes going to the Merlot (both along the subway line, may I add), Etobicoke is a suburb of Toronto I don’t know.  So when offered the chance to go to a jazz jam on Lakeshore at Islington, I figured: adventure!

Holding Sarah's bike as she stops at the ATM to stock up for on our Etobicoke adventure

After stopping for 1/2 price Tuesday fajitas at Sneaky Dee‘s (the first bar I ever went into as a teenager), Sarah and I grabbed some sour candies for the trip to the end of the subway line and got a bus down down down, past things that scream “suburbs” like Milestones, Jack Astor’s, and loads of highway-like roads.

If you’d like to discover the fact that there’s actually quite a lot of life on the Lakeshore, including the adorable and delicious Gallery Studio Café, check out the Tuesday night jazz jam hosted by Riley O’Connor.

HAMILTON

It turns out that Hamilton- Steeltown, the Hammer, Lunchbucket City- about 45 minutes away from Toronto, is a great city for a night out for a few drinks, new friends, and the jamming tunes of local bands.

Sarah and Sarah with the pill we found in the parking lot.

The Sugar Daddies rocking the joint

Having a drink in Hamilton

After four hours of sleep and a BLT sandwich, we wandered down a trendy street, bought butter chicken meat balls and a tiny stuffed owl puppet, and found a poem on the sidewalk that connected with much of what I was feeling at the time, and still does.  Here are a couple of lines from it:

DON VALLEY BRICK WORKS

On the coldest night of the year so far, I wandered around the Brick Works, following shepherds and wise men and a feisty girl in search of logic.  The Story, a Theatre Columbus production of the Nativity, may be over (sorry!), but it is definitely a highlight of my theatre-going experiences this year.

Haley McGee and Richard Lee in The Story

Discovering this magical and frozen bit of Toronto reminded me that even though I’ve lived in the city for 18 years, I don’t know it very well.

The Brick Works is the site of an old brick factory and it’s got old, graffitied buildings that provide the perfect backdrop for hipster wedding photo-shoots.  It also has a rich historical and geological heritage- read more about it here.

Last day in London, first Hamlet preview

(sort of continued from my last post)

DAY 7
LONDON

On my last day in London, I spent the afternoon wandering around Greenwich, an area I’d never been to before, despite having heard that you sometimes spot foxes there.  I didn’t see a fox.

It was market day, so I wandered around the stalls, ate an Ethiopian lunch and watched people.  Then I spent far too long trying to decide what to bring home from Lush Designs, a tiny shop full of amazing lampshades, cushions, and clocks.  I ended up with more tea towels than a wandered should rightly own.  But they pack light, right?  If it weren’t for a flight back to Canada, and the fact I have no house to put it in, I would have also bought this amazing lampshade:

Lampshade from Lush Designs

It was sunny, lovely, calm and bright.  A beautiful day to meet a friend for tea, go to the candy shop, and visit the university grounds.

Listening to someone practice piano while watching someone read outside the music building in Greenwich

A beautiful day to get lost, and I proceeded to get lost. Greenwich station had somehow disappeared. I never did find it, but somehow ended up at Deptford Bridge station. If you can figure out how I missed Greenwich station, please let me know.  You may refer to this map.

I got back to central London in time to get terribly lost there looking for the Young Vic without a map (luckily I had some foresight and had bought a weekly tube pass, so I could guiltlessly- though a bit humiliated- hop on the tube to go one stop and find my way from somewhere I knew).

Those extra-long escalators in the tube stations?  Have you ever wondered what would happen if you fell down them?  I have, many times.  And it happened.  Not to me, but right near me.  What happens is this: there’s a scream.  Everybody gasps.  There’s frantic “shut it off! shut it off!” yelping.  And then a woman gets up, smooths her dress, and, red-faced but totally (outwardly) fine, rushes past the “are you all right?” questions and onto the platform saying “that was quite a shock, wasn’t it?”

I fell down the Guy-Concordia escalators 4 Montreal winters ago.  I still have a dent.  I won’t say where.

But back to London.  I finally found the Young Vic.  I just had to follow the cool vibes and Michael Sheen’s face like bread crumbs.

If you've got Michael Sheen, use him

The Young Vic is a very very cool theatre

In the middle of writing this post, I Googled a bunch of review of this Hamlet, just to make sure my opinions were right and that all the critics agreed that this play absolutely rocked.  But, um, looks like that wasn’t the consensus.  What kind of critic says Michael Sheen’s Hamlet is “too Blair-like?”  Boo to them.

Michael Sheen in Hamlet. Photo credit: Simon Annand

I thought it was the best ever.  First off, I got a ticket upgrade (thanks, Graeme and Sharon!), and I was sitting next to this guy.

I heard things I’ve never heard in the play before.  It was fresh and weird and modern and absolutely entrancing.  And I’m sure it wasn’t just the pre-show wine or freaky way we had to enter the auditorium by going through the maze-like backstage/mental institution.  For a better description of the whole experience, read this.  The 3.5 hours flew by.

Ok, fine.  I didn’t love that Horatio was played by a woman, no matter how good or inspiring an actor/director she may be, and not by Nicholas Farrell.  He should always be played by Nicholas Farrell.  Always.  Eileen Walsh can play Rosencrantz whenever she likes, though.

I ended the night at a smashing pumpkin party (the party was smashing, the theme was pumpkins) and a midnight snack of egg and bacon sandwiches and gin and tonics.

Photo by Hannah. Sandwich by Andy.

I left before the sun rose to catch the bus to London Bridge and the train to the airport. David Nicholls’ One Day turned out to be the perfect book to read on the cramped plane back from London.

The bad, the good, and the fishcotheque

(sort of continued from my last post)

I’ve been back from London for weeks now, so I think it’s time I wrap up my wrap up of my short time there.  Soon.

Rainbow spouting from St Paul's Cathedral. This happened. For real.

DAY 6
LONDON 

If you didn’t know, there’s an astounding amount of theatre going on at all times in London.  And it’s not even that hard to find.  First stop: the Soho theatre.  I love this theatre.  I do.  Their literary department sent me the most lovely, respectful, encouraging rejection letter I’ve ever received.  And their stationery is damn cool.  So I got a ticket to whatever show was playing that afternoon.  The girl at the box office hadn’t seen the production but told me that there was real grass on stage.  Sold!

The Soho theatre looks slightly depressing on this picture but actually looks pretty neat in real life

Real grass on stage is awesome.  It looks nice and smells like spring. But it doesn’t necessarily make for dynamic, interesting, moving, or logical theatre.  The grass was really cool, but the play made me angry and offended because of its lack of content and point.  And sad at the potential in the staging, what with the good (but embarrassed) actors and real grass.  I’m going to give this theatre another shot next time I’m in town because I can tell that this bad experience was a fluke.  I can just tell.  Because they’re so nice and actually read scripts you send them.  The one they picked this time was a total miss, that’s all. (The play in question is no longer running- so you’re safe to go check out whatever it on now!)

Collaborative street art in London

Luckily, I had another show booked that night which I liked much, much, much better. After grabbing my backpack at my friend’s (I’d been switching couches, air mattresses, and beds all week), I proceeded to get quite lost in Dalston looking for the Arcola Theatre.

Something I learned in London: the A to Z may be indispensable, but make sure you have a recent edition.  Sometimes things like theatres move.  And overground lines get built.  I was lost for a long time, lugging my pack around dark alleys looking for the Arcola Theatre on Arcola Street.  It moved last year. Check their website, Elise, geez.  Thank goodness for friends with extra mobile phones who lend you said phone in case of stupid situations such as these.  Thanks, Emily!

When I found the Arcola behind a construction site mere steps from where my adventure had begun, we were treated to an intense, beautifully staged production of Speechless, a play based on a real case of selectively mute twins. 

A Shared Experience production, Speechless is co-written by Polly Teale and Linda Brogan.  The reason I had to see it (at full price, bought in advance- that’s commitment) was that Polly Teale also wrote Mrs Rochester, a play I have only had the chance to read (mouth agape the whole time at its intelligence, risk, passion, anger, and skill).  Through that play, I was introduced to Jean Rhys and her outstanding novel Wide Sargasso Sea– a novel you should read right this second.  So I had to see what else I could learn, what journey I could be taken on.

Speechless felt a bit like a roller coaster ride.  It was: laugh, cringe, weep, and feel extraordinarily uncomfortable while at the same time wanting to jump on stage and give the characters (all of them) a hug (and then maybe running away).  The performances were spot-on.  It’s the kind of piece I wish I could have been part of.  As an audience member, I learned so much and made me want to know more about the twins, their lives, London, immigration, psychology, education, and the Royal Wedding.  I can only imagine what it must have been like to sit in on those rehearsals.

After such an intense night and waiting for the bus in the rain, we went for plates of very white chips at Fishcotheque. As one does.

Up next: the final chapter of my week in London (promise)

Poetry, plays, and pubs

(sort of continued from my last post)

Did you know that it’s now hip and trendy to play ping pong in bars? I hear they do it on Entourage.  I’m not hip or trendy, but I’m not a liar either, and you know what? Playing ping pong in bars is pretty fun (I did it once for my friend Michelle’s birthday).

In London, I didn’t play ping pong in a bar. Instead, I went to pubs for poetry readings and plays.  Does that make me cultured or just old?

DAY 4
LONDON

On my fourth day in London, I finally had the chance to hear Conor McPherson speak (ok fine, I admit I timed my visit to be able to attend this particular event).  The National Theatre has a great series of Platforms where you get the chance to hear interviews, talks, and quizzes (!) about theatre, with theatre people (like Enda Walsh! Dominic Cooke! Ciarán Hinds! Simon Callow! Ralph Fiennes!… I really wish I lived in London sometimes).

The auditorium was packed for the interview with Conor McPherson, and hearing him speak about his interest in history, the paranormal, and Ireland was absolutely fascinating and the 45 minutes went by in a flash.  When he was asked whether he himself believed in ghosts, he replied “I only have 5 senses,”  but in a really eloquent way.

Then they announced he would be singing books and things.  And when it was my turn to get my copy of The Veil signed, I turned into a blubbering idiot.  I wasn’t my cool, hip, and trendy self.  I was starstruck (which happens a lot, but I’m usually pretty good at hiding it… not this time!)  and managed to say crap like: “You’re my favourite playwright” and “your career is so inspiring.” Stab me in the eye.  He was lovely and didn’t tell me I was an idiot and to get out of his face.  That was nice of him.

After that, I popped over to Clerkenwell, to the Betsey Trotwood pub, to see and hear a handful of extremely talented poets read.  Feel free to play the following song as you read the rest:

I arrived downstairs- a grotto-like room under the pub- at the end of the first half, just in time for a cider break and a little catch up with a few friends I hadn’t seen in ages.  I feel so lucky to have heard Anna Selby read some of her poems (you can see her reading some of her poems here) and to have caught up with Liz Adams (and finally got my copy of Green Dobermans!)  They are poets who make me understand poetry.

Sandwiched by two beautiful poets

DAY 5
LONDON

Wednesday was the day that I discovered pub theatre.  A bit more fringy than the National Theatre (in that I’d never even heard of it before- but that’s because I’m an ignorant tourist), the Hen & Chickens Pub Theatre is a 54-seat black box above a Victorian pub on Highbury corner, where the Mighty Boosh started.

Hen and Chickens. I didn't take this picture. I should take more pictures.

What I saw was a moving, funny, surprising production of Sense, a play by German playwright Anja Hilling, directed by Melanie Spencer, and featuring a strong, well-cast group of young actors (including Joseph Wilde, a fantastic actor/writer you should probably hire for your next project).

Structured as a series of interlinked stories, each scene of Sense explores one of our 5 senses through dialogues between teenagers about love, friendship, youth and fear.  And because these are teenagers in Berlin, they are somehow cooler and more interesting than any of us, even at their most awkward, angry, disappointed, or nerdy.

Charlotte Spencer and Sophie Streer in Sense. Photo by Steven Kelly

I don’t know why I was surprised at the exceptional talent on stage and professionalism of the production, but I was a bit.  Not really fair of me.  But as soon as it started, I knew my preconceptions were totally off.  Well-observed, dark, and funny writing pulled off in a sharply directed, beautifully designed, cohesive production.  And then downstairs for a pint!

The cast of Sense. Photo by Steven Kelly

For more about Islington and pub theatres, have a listen to this Guardian London walks podcast about Islington’s pub theatres.

Flowers in London and The Veil at the National Theatre

(sort of continued from my last post)

DAY 2
LONDON

Stranger things

On Sundays in London, theatres are dark and most people have the day off.  On Sundays, people who live in Birmingham, pretty villages and even Ipswich can more or less easily swing down to London for the afternoon.  So Sundays in London are the perfect time to meet up with old friends at trendy Australian cafés in Clerkenwell, exchange birthday presents from the past 4 years, and bum around Farringdon vintage shops.  Sundays in London are perfect for visiting the insanely crowded and colourful Columbia Flower Market and sitting in an old pub’s back garden, sipping half pints of cider and lime and soda.  And then maybe go home and watch X-Factor and Downton Abbey.

Columbia Flower Market

DAY 3
London

Bright and early on Monday morning, I boarded the red double-decker bus (I am getting better and better at buses in London and I’m not afraid to boast about that) to the National Theatre, yet again.  The lobby was full of excitable teenagers and, for a second, I thought that maybe I didn’t stand a chance of getting a ticket for that night’s performance of Conor McPherson’s The Veil.  But turned out they were there for a theatre tour and I sauntered up to the box office and got a £12 front row ticket for the play I’d flown across the Atlantic for.  Phew. Sometimes it’s better not to book ahead.

With that out of the way, I skipped all the way to the city for coffee with a friend I met literally 10 years ago when I was backpacking around Scotland on my very first solo trip. Life has zigzagged both of us across the globe and back again since our rainy road trip in search of fairy glades on the Isle of Skye.  But here we were, at the not-so-glamorous Cafe Nero with its nothing to write home about coffee (but good enough to write on this blog about, I guess).  Time, eh?  It goes by.

A new play! Conor McPherson! The National Theatre!

But The Veil.  I’d read a lukewarm review and I had prepared myself.  I tried not to expect another Weir, This Lime Tree Bower or I Went Down (one of the top Irish road-trip-buddy-gangster movies of all time).  I was hoping it wouldn’t be like The Eclipse, which caused sleepless nights even though I only made it through 25 minutes of this terrifying movie (not because it isn’t an excellent film-it is- but I like sleep and I like not to be terrified and I didn’t want to be terrified after this play since I’d have to walk to the tube in the rain in the dark by myself). But I didn’t need to lower my expectations.  I loved The Veil.  It was creepy and beautiful and spooky and hilarious and surprising and heart-wrenching.  I am not exaggerating when I say I laughed, cried, and jumped out of my skin.

Sitting in the front row, with no chance for a tall person sitting in front of me (I’m short, by the way), but next to a man from Los Angeles who was doing exactly the same thing as me (in London for a short time to see plays), I felt totally immersed in the atmosphere.  Cheesy as it sounds, I felt transported.

Ghosts and séances, pretty dresses and nightmares, unrequited love and disquiet souls… And, alright, I’m not going to lie: it was great to see Peter McDonald on stage as a tormented, love-sick, violence-prone, alcohol-soaked man servant.

Even in less than stellar plays (Resurrection Blues, ahem), McDonald is able to serve up all the depth, humour, and humanity you need to sit still and listen.  I won’t gush too much, but let’s just say that after I saw I Went Down (one of the top Irish road-trip-buddy-gangster movies of all time starring Peter McDonald), I may or may not have learned some html to make a silly fansite for him when silly fansites for actors were the norm (oh, back in 1998).  Or are those still around and I’m just old?

If you are in London and are up for a little travel back to misty, magical 19th century Ireland for a good ghost story/love story/family drama/spiritual investigation, don’t miss The Veil. You’ve got until December 11th.

Coming up: a play in a pub, one with real turf, one about selectively mute twins, and one starring Michael Sheen.  Also: cute cafés and getting very lost indeed.

London

This blog is supposed to be about travel and theatre. And guess what? I actually, finally, travelled for some theatre.  And where better to start than the theatre capital of the English-speaking world?

Gull in London

When I heard that Conor McPherson, one of my very favourite playwrights working today, had a new play on at the National Theatre in London (and that it was about ghosts in 19th century Ireland), I decided it was a good time/excuse to go to London.

For my next few posts, I’ll let you into the nerdy thrills of having a week free to fill with theatre in a city that does sleep (plays start at 7:30 and last call is still before midnight, despite newish rules), but also keeps all your senses, feet, and credit card tingly and well-exercised.

Pigeons and mannequin

DAY 1
LONDON 

When I plan trips, I sometimes get wrapped up, which makes me forget about things like packing toothbrushes and the existence of jetlag.  When a couple of my friends and I booked tickets for 13 at the National Theatre for the evening I arrived, we hadn’t quite factored in that I would be seeing it on about an hour of sleep in 33 hours.  So I may have missed some bits, even with the help of coffee, ice cream and the excitement of being with my friends on the South Bank.

The epic play (name a topic- it was covered) was the perfect mixture of dark, dreamy (nightmarish?), and slightly confusing to go along with my state of mind.  And because of this state of mind, I don’t feel like I can talk about this one properly.  I’ll just say that the set was amazing and there was a huge, talented cast.  It made me wonder what I would do if I was a set designer or director or producer with a real budget.

13 at the Olivier, National Theatre, London Photo: Marc Brenner

With the tag line “How are you sleeping these days?” and the promo focussing on how everyone in London wakes up from the same terrifying dream, I thought 13 would centre around sleep and dreams.  But the rich potential of these ideas were diluted by the ambitious (read: unfocussed) scope of the script.  Wait, was the sleeping and dreaming thing just a metaphor?  Nevertheless, the whole thing was mesmerizing, perhaps in part because of my own half-dreaming state…

Graffitied South Bank, site of pre-theatre skateboarder entertainment

5 things I love about London’s National Theatre

1- £12 tickets makes it accessible to everyone (i.e. me)

2- People go.  I have yet to see a play at the NT where there are more than a handful of empty seats.

3- The bookshop has an amazing selection of theatre books and knickknacks that would make any theatre nerd drool [I’d own it all if only I allowed myself to check luggage on the plane and didn’t have a credit card limit]. Also, you sometimes spot someone like Fred Willard in the NT bookshop but are too shy and respectful to say anything so you just smile to yourself and think “whaa happen?” while trying not to stare.

4- They choose interesting, well-cast, well-directed, well-designed plays and give new writers a chance.

5- There’s ice cream at intermission and you can even bring it to your seat with you (this goes for most theatres in England- something I think Canada should adopt… and fast!)

Haunted Toronto

With Hallowe’en coming up and my mission to play the tourist in my own city (along with a 50% off coupon), my  hat-and-mitts clad friend and I signed up for a ghost tour of Toronto.

On what felt like the coldest night of the year so far, we trekked around downtown with Steve from Tour Guys, learning about Toronto’s history through the stories of the ghosts that haunt it.

For someone who can’t watch a scary movie without living in a petrified daze for days, I do like hearing about weird, spooky, creepy and bloody events.   So I was fascinated by the tales of the ghosts (and some of their bloody or tragic ends) haunting our old buildings.  And many of those buildings happen to be theatres.

We stopped at the back of the Eglin and Wintergarden theatre, whose blackened bricks betray the theatre’s age, history, and–on this dark and windy night complete with one-eyed homeless man yelling about the Salem witch trials– its creepiness.  The front and inside of the theatres (the only double-decker theatre left in the world) are quite pretty.

Winter Garden Theatre (don't touch the leaves!) Photo by Hill Peppard City of Toronto Archives, Series 881, File 53

We found out about the seedy past of the theatre and about seats folding down by themselves, as if a row of invisible people were sitting down for a show. We learned about Sam, the resident ghost of a trombonist who fell into the orchestra pit to his death, and about a woman in Edwardian dress that sometimes mingles among the living patrons in the lobby.

But Steve didn’t tell about the theatre’s most famous ghost (at least according to the internet): the Lavender Lady.  A young woman was stabbed in the upstairs washroom of the Winter Garden and, before she died, she dragged herself through the lobby and pressed the elevator button for help.  By the time the elevator got to the fifth floor, it was too late.

Apparently, the air sometimes fills with the aroma of her lavender perfume and the elevators get called up to the top floor when no one has actually called it up…  OOoooh!

[The original elevators are still in use and require an operator, which was one of the most fun things about seeing a movie there during TIFF.  Seeing the leaves hanging from the theatre’s ceilings up close was also fun- they’re real, believe it or not.  You can’t touch them.  The ushers will get mad and yell at you if you try.]

We also found out that the Ryerson costume room is haunted.  It used to be part of a medical school… the room where cadavers were studied, complete with a chute for body parts that had served their purpose.  Fun times!

That was Friday night.

Saturday night, I went to Matchbox Macbeth presented by Litmus Theatre. I must admit, it was the fact that it was staged in a secret location that got me.

The little audience met at a corner in Little Italy, huddling together with coffees and commenting on the windy cold night being perfectly atmospheric for the Scottish play. Weirdly, it wasn’t raining.  We were led through Toronto’s alleyways by the hilarious Mariel, avoided a car and puddles, and were greeted by a fantastic little magical preamble before entering a garage/shed for the performance.  For an idea of what this was all about, check out the trailer for the show here:

The wind whistling through the wooden slats, the expert use of the shed’s acoustics (is there anything freakier than witches scratching at the door?), and minimal lighting made for a perfectly spooky and immediate Macbeth.

At only one hour long, as you can imagine much of the text was cut out. The very abridged version was a bit choppy and probably slightly confusing if you didn’t already know the story.  And I’m not sure what I thought of having Macbeth so mild-mannered (I didn’t really get a chance to see his ambition, the driving force of the play) or Tori Amos lines replacing the famous “out damned spot” monologue (which could have helped explain why the queen was suddenly dead at one point), but that’s small potatoes compared to the amazing experience that the magical shed offered.

The use of candles and everyday objects and the full use of the intimate space were original and engaging.  The apparition of Banquo’s ghost, a usually problematic staging moment, was done simply with great effect. Freaky.  I have no idea if it was planned, but I thought it was pretty amazing that the air smelled like basil during the supper scene.  (Or was it the ghost of the Basil Lady?)

Hurry up and get your ticket.  There aren’t many seats in that shed, but there are a few performances left.  Get your tickets here.  Do it.

Chess and The Ugly One (Toronto)

It looks like seeing two plays on a Saturday is quickly becoming a tradition for me (if something happening twice in a row constitutes a tradition).  And before I start, I’ll put a little disclaimer here: I’m not a theatre critic. Nope.

I didn’t leave the city this weekend, but I did see a couple of shows that have travelled far to be here, in one sense or another.

The first, Chess, not only literally travelled from England (Craig Revel Horwood’s full-on production is touring from the UK) and sort of from Sweden (its tunes were written by  ABBA’s Benny Andersson and Björn Ulvaeu), but it also time-travelled from the mid-1980s.  Although it seems to be having a spot of trouble adjusting to 2011, it ended up pulling the audience back in time, which was actually pretty fun.  And retro is in, I hear.

Chess UK Tour 2010. Photo Keith Pattison.

Despite the awkward and confusing plotting and pacing, the whole thing was quite a spectacle and I’m really glad I got to see it.  I don’t know if I loved it.  But it was definitely an experience.  Lasers light effects! Hot horse-men (or knights? but no, they were actually horse-men)! Chess-playing! Catchy tunes!

The extraordinarily multi-talented cast/orchestra blew my mind.  Being able to play the violin flawlessly while singing, dancing, lying on the floor, and engaging in unspeakable acts is pretty impressive.  As is Tam Mutu’s command of the stage and ability to belt the roof off the theatre.  And it doesn’t hurt that the leading lady reminded me of Cyndi Lauper (in the best possible way).

In the evening, I traded my relatively dressy high heels for my comfy Blundstones and walked to the Tarragon Theatre for what was the theatrical opposite of Chess.

It was a treat to be at a preview performance of Theatre Smash’s The Ugly One by Marius von Mayenburg.  It tells the tale of a great but “unspeakably ugly” engineer who, when finally told the truth about his appearance, gets surgery that transforms him into a gorgeous piece of work and somewhat of a rock star (if you replace rock music with talk of plugs and other engineering stuff).  But when everyone starts getting the same surgery and looking exactly like the sexy new him, life becomes a little nightmarish.

Photo of Jesse Aaron Dwyre and Naomi Wright by James Heaslip

The play itself already had lots going for it (short, absurd, satirical, strange, and funny… it’s German theatre after all), but the production presented all that in a grounded and playful manner.

Despite the fact that the stunning David Jansen was losing his voice to illness that night (I hear he’s all better now) and that I was pulled out of the play every time an actor used a wheelie-chair to climb on or off the large boardroom table/stage*, the excellent and dedicated performances, gruesome details (helped disgustingly by live foley), and thought-provoking material all made for a great night.

If you’re in Toronto anytime until October 16th 2011, check out The Ugly One! Details here.

*as funny as it can be, I don’t usually like seeing people fall on their faces or break an ankle.