Outrageously fun, horrific good times in Space Opera Zero!

Clockwise, from top left: Eric Woolfe, Lisa Norton & Mairi Babb. Set & costume design by Melanie McNeill, assisted by Emily Butters. Lighting design by Michael Brunet. Photo by producer Adrianna Prosser.

 

Eldritch Theatre returns with more outrageously fun, horrific good times with Space Opera Zero, written by Eric Woolfe and directed by Dylan Trowbridge. Based on Thomas Middleton’s Jacobean tragedy The Changeling, Space Opera Zero! is a space horror erotic macabredy that combines poetic language, a B-movie/pulp fiction sensibility, feats of prestidigitation, 30s slang, mask and puppetry, operatic tragedy and a lesbian/alien love triangle. Space Opera Zero! opened on Friday at Red Sandcastle Theatre; I caught it last night, in an enthusiastic, sold out house.

Our story begins in 1930s America, where intrepid lesbian pilot Emily Trueheart (Lisa Norton) and mad scientist Hjalmar Pomeranki (Eric Woolfe) set off—in a space ship Pomeranki designed—on a mission where no man has gone before. Forced off course, they land on a strange faraway planet, where Emily rescues Princess Jenora (Mairi Babb) from certain death in the jaws of a vicious alien creature—and the two fall instantly in love.

Things are peachy keen until the Princess’s father, the Emperor (puppet, Woolfe), orders her to marry a fearsome tentacled alien (Norton) for the sake and safety of their planet. And while the Princess makes an unsavoury deal with the Emperor’s servant Doggo the Mutant (Woolfe) to get out of the marriage so she can be with Emily, Pomeranki is hatching an apocalyptic plan of his own back at the space ship. Caught in a web of lies and deceit, things go from bad to worse for the Princess; desperate to have things go her way, she enlists the aid of her maid/sex robot Ro-Berta (puppet, Woolfe) to distract Emily.

Will true love find a way in this faraway universe—and will there be any universe left to make sweet nookie in?

Big-time LOLs, twists and turns, and surprises from this engaging, energetic, uber-talented cast. Norton’s Emily Trueheart is the definition of moxie, combined with old-fashioned romantic; taking names and no guff (especially from men), Emily is a pioneer and explorer with the guts of a warrior and the heart of a poet. Woolfe does a stand-out job, juggling multiple hilarious and poignant characters, utilizing mask and puppetry. Notably the verbose mad scientist Hjalmar Pomeranki, who seems a nice enough fellow but has a dark purpose in mind; the reviled, put-upon servant Doggo the Mutant; and the loyal, sex-curious robot Ro-Berta. Babb gives the lovely Princess Jenora a slinky, femme fatale edge; driven to extreme measures to achieve her heart’s—and loins’—desire, the Princess risks painting herself into a corner.

With shouts to the outstanding interstellar design team: Melanie McNeill, assisted by Emily Butters (set and costumes), Michael Brunet (lighting) and Christopher Stanton (sound). And to stage manager Sandi Becker, for keeping it all running smoothly and showing us how to navigate our way through the set to access the washroom.

Space Opera Zero! continues at Red Sandcastle Theatre until December 2; advance tickets available online. It’s an intimate space with limited seating, and a super popular company getting great buzz, so advance booking strongly recommended.

Check out the cool trailer:

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Toronto Fringe: Burlesque macabredy delights in the erotic queer vampire tale Carmilla

Heath V. Salazar & Stella Kulagowski. Photo by Sly Feiticeira.

 

Pointed Cap Playhouse takes Toronto Fringe audiences to a Victorian world of frightening yet titillating portents and strange, alluring creatures in Adam Steel’s burlesque adaptation of Carmilla; running at The Painted Lady. Co-created by Sly Feiticeira, Stella Kulagowski and Adam Steel, and directed by Kay Brattan, this version of the vampire was inspired by Joseph Sheridan La Fanu’s book, which pre-dated the Bram Stoker classic by 26 years. Here, the vampire is attractive, seductive and rife with eroticism—think Frank Langella’s or Gary Oldman’s Dracula, or the beautiful creatures from Interview with the Vampire.

Carmilla opens on the English country home of Dominic Sheridan (Shawn Lall), where he lives with his lovely, well-mannered flaxen-haired daughter Laura (Stella Kulagowski) and prim governess Mlle. De La Fontaine (Amanda McKnight). Laura’s hopes and excitement over the impending visit of new friend Bertha (McKnight) are dashed when they learn that Bertha has succumbed to a mysterious illness and died. A carriage accident near their home brings an equally mysterious woman (Sly Feiticeira) to their door, searching for a place to sequester her injured daughter as she continues on an important mission. Sheridan takes the daughter in, an unconscious figure wrapped in a cloak.

Bertha’s grief-stricken father General Spielsdorf (Sebastien Marziali) travels to Romania in search of answers for his daughter’s death, posting regular updates to Sheridan. Meanwhile, Laura becomes fast friends with their young guest, a strikingly beautiful, pale young woman with raven hair named Carmilla (Heath V. Salazar). When their friendship evolves into something more, and Laura starts dressing and behaving in an uncharacteristic way, Sheridan becomes concerned for his daughter’s health. And when the General returns with some troubling information about the nature of the deadly ailment, suspicions about Carmilla are confirmed.

Part burlesque, part melodrama, part macabredy—with a dash of erotic fairy tale—Carmilla is a sexy, fun romp of a queer vampire tale, presented with style, sass and seductiveness. Featuring evocative, fun and sensual choreography by Kulagowski, Salazar and Marziali, it’s a rousing burlesque delight. If you’re a burlesque virgin, no worries—Mlle. De La Fontaine will reveal all when it comes to burlesque audience etiquette.

Carmilla continues at The Painted Lady, with performances tonight (July 12) at 7pm, and Saturday and Sunday at 1pm. Last night’s show was sold out, and it’s an intimate venue, so advance booking is a very good plan.

Want to check if the show you want to see is sold out? The Toronto Fringe folks have set up a page for sold-out shows, updated daily.

 

 

The profound cruelty & kindness of humanity in Coal Mine’s darkly funny, deeply affecting Category E

Diana Bentley, Robert Persichini & Vivien Endicott-Douglas. Set and costume design by Anna Treusch. Lighting design by Gabriel Cropley. Photo by Tim Leyes.

 

Coal Mine Theatre closes its 4th season with the Toronto premiere of Belinda Cornish’s horror comedy Category E, directed by Rae Ellen Bodie—opening last night to a sold out house at their home on 1454 Danforth Ave.

The pre-show soundtrack of retro commercials playing in the lobby (sound design by Keith Thomas) is a kitschy prelude to the dark comedic terror that awaits inside, where we are transported into an eerily familiar futuristic dystopia—familiar because, like the most recent TV incarnation of Margaret Atwood’s The Handmaid’s Tale, the future is closer than you think.

Once in the theatre space, the audience sits on either side of a large cage that contains two cots, a wheel chair and a small bookcase (set and costume design by Anna Treusch); the ceiling of the cage is a large light box (lighting design by Gabriel Cropley), and there are large lighting fixtures outside in the hallway, as well as two security cameras mounted to the walls. Set in a testing facility, Category E takes the human trial stage of product testing to the extreme; the human subjects are stripped of identity and even gender—each bearing a number on their beige scrubs and becoming an “it”—and treated with the cold clinical detachment that would be afforded a lab rabbit.

It is here that the chipper and nervous new kid Millet (Vivien Endicott-Douglas) arrives, joining veteran lab subject Corcoran (Robert Persichini), who uses the wheel chair, and Filigree (Diana Bentley), who is either asleep or passed out. The tension and confusion are turned on immediately, as there are now three people occupying this cage and only two cots; this makes for an intense introduction between Millet and Filigree when Filigree wakes up. Not to mention the condition of the cage’s two original occupants, both filthy and looking in ill health—a stark contrast to the newcomer, who although in desperate need of a shower, is wearing clean scrubs and in perfect health. Corcoran wears an eye patch over one eye and his good eye is angry and red, and the dressing on his forearm should have been changed ages ago; he passes the time with a 17-year-old crossword puzzle. Filigree is pale and gaunt, and keeps scratching her lower back against the chair railing on the wall; her hobby is drawing disturbing portraits in crayon.

Meals, delivered in bowls labelled with subjects’ numbers, are signalled by a light and retrieved at one end of the narrow hallway outside the cage; a female version of HAL 9000 summons subjects by number to testing and shower time, accessed at the other end of the hallway. Standing on the bookcase to peer into the vent, Millet discovers the cage next door; like theirs, it also houses three subjects, but they cannot hear her. There are a lot of questions about what’s going on—and, like Millet, we learn the rules of this strange new world as we go.

There are vague references to “passing the eye” (or is it “I”?), which also gives this world a Handmaid’s Tale vibe, and brief moments of revelation—it seems Corcoran is a former scientist and Millet failed the test. And it appears that those who fail this test, or who have committed some kind of crime or corporate sin, are now considered as subhuman and become subjects in this testing facility. That is, with the exception of Filigree, whose odd, primal behaviour comes from the fact that she was born and raised in the facility, without parental nurturing or guidance (Corcoran has taken on this role, for how long is unclear). We get fleeting glimpses into the testing that they’re subjected to—and the lack of clear answers makes the mystery of this place all the more unsettling. Scene changes are accompanied by sexy voice-over ads, touting the various beauty and fragrances manufactured by the unseen corporation; mentions of side effects call us back to the cage.

Compelling, nuanced work from the cast in this harrowing three-hander, where moments of dark comedy barely take the edge off. Endicott-Douglas is a puckish, clever bundle of energy as Millet; the mercurial, chatty new kid in this space, Millet is endearingly awkward, with a can-do attitude and strong desire to fit in and make a contribution. Persichini’s performance as Corcoran goes deep into the calming, Zen-like quiet of a man of great intellect who at first sight appears merely world-weary and taciturn. Corcoran’s acts of kindness bring the much needed balm of tenderness to an otherwise brutal environment; and there’s an underlying sense of atonement in a struggle for redemption. Bentley is a delightfully quirky, at times menacing, wild child as Filigree; an untamed innocent, she operates on instinct, socialized under the care of Corcoran—and there’s a lovely, playful dynamic between them, especially when Corcoran acquiesces to Filigree’s requests tell them a story. What is the nature of that irritation on Filigree’s back? And why does Corcoran keep insisting on trading meals with Millet?

To see what I have seen! Category E is caress on the cheek and a kick in the gut. It is also a stark reminder that how we test product innovation in the name of consumer satisfaction is a choice. Cruelty and kindness are choices. If you’re either pro- or ambivalent toward animal testing, I think this play might just change your mind. A quote from St. Francis of Assisi, included in the program notes, is especially apt here: “If you have men who will exclude any of God’s creatures from the shelter of compassion and pity, you will have men who will deal likewise with their fellow men.”

The profound cruelty and kindness of humanity in Coal Mine’s darkly funny, deeply affecting production of the dystopic macabredy Category E.

Category E continues at Coal Mine Theatre until April 29; get advanced tickets online—advance booking strongly recommended.

Touching, disturbing macabredy – Murderers Confess at Christmastime

Three beds, suggesting three separate playing areas. And Christmas music, which is kinda trippy when you’re hearing it in August. Setting the scene for Outside the March/The Serial Collective co- production of Jason Chinn’s Murderers Confess at Christmastime, directed for SumerWorks by Simon Bloom.

An injured young actress (Amy Keating), home alone, becomes an unwitting host to a handsome, but uninvited guest (Harry Judge). A closeted young mayoral candidate’s (Aaron Willis) hook-up with a twink trick (Jeff Ho) he met online becomes woven into his life and relationship with his troubled former model wife (Candace Berlinguette). The relationship between a wheel-chair bound man (Tony Nappo) and a female co-worker (Nancy McAlear) becomes the catalyst for a future encounter.

The compelling storytelling includes a stellar cast, each executing his/her multi-layered character’s evolution with skill and respect throughout the piece. Keating is energetic and adorably quirky, yet surprisingly strong, as the young actress; and Judge gives a lovely, layered performance as a man living a secret life outside that of his family. Willis does a nice job of playing the duality of his character’s life – self-assured in the political arena, while his personal life is an exciting exploration in a minefield of secrets. Ho’s twink is a hip, cocksure boy, his flip sense of humour the other side of a loyal soul filled with empathy. Berlinguette brings a lovely combination of vulnerability and savvy to the damaged trophy wife, troubled and struggling to soldier on. Nappo gives us a sweet and accommodating, yet deeply lonely and frustrated, man longing for love and affection – something of a polar opposite to McAlear’s larger than life, hard-drinking, hilariously funny, yet equally lonely, co-worker.  No one is as he or she seems at first– and in every case, circumstance becomes the catalyst for action of a “didn’t know he/she had it in them” quality.

The one thing all three scenarios have in common is each character is filled with a deep longing to connect in some way, to fill a profound sense of loneliness and isolation. It’s ironic that, in this day and age when we have all this technology to help us connect with each other – the web, cellphones, Skype all feature in this play – we seem to be a more lonely race than ever.

Murderers Confess at Christmastime is a touching, disturbing macabredy – darkly funny and tension-filled, with moments of brutality and unexpected tenderness. It continues its SummerWorks run at the Lower Ossington Theatre main space until August 17. Go see this.