Valentines through the ages & the private face of grief in Shotgun Juliet’s intimate, tender Jewel

Pip Dwyer in Jewel. Photo by Jackie Smulan.

 

Shotgun Juliet opened its production of Joan MacLeod’s Jewel, directed by Matthew Eger, to a packed house at Red Sandcastle Theatre last night.

Jewel was inspired by the sinking of the Ocean Ranger oil rig off the coast of Newfoundland during a Valentine’s Day storm on the Atlantic on February 15, 1982, a national tragedy that saw 84 lives lost. The two-year Canadian Royal Commission that followed found numerous design and safety flaws, as well as ineffective inspection and regulation, and subsequently made a number of recommendations to the oil and gas industry, as well as the federal government. Lawsuits were settled out of court in a $20-million package, duly noted in the program notes as “peanuts for oil companies.”

Jewel puts a deeply personal face on this tragedy. Set in the Peace River Valley on Valentine’s Day 1985, three years after the accident, we’re in Marjorie’s (Pip Dwyer) mobile home. Dressed in a flannel nighty, long johns, boots and a heavy knit jacket, and holding a bucket of milk, we find her standing in her kitchen, starring a million miles away. Remembering.

She recounts Valentine’s Days over the years, a personal history of romance that is both touching and hilariously funny. Especially endearing is the unfolding romance with Harry, who proposed to her – a city girl from Calgary – in a tent in Northern Alberta. And then Valentine’s Day 1982, when Harry was one of the men working on the Ocean Ranger and the RCMP arrived on her doorstep. Listening to country music and local messages on the radio, and occasionally hollering at the dog to stay outside, she shares homemade beer and speaks to Harry throughout – and the love comes through. The heartache. The loss. The disbelief. The anger. The trying to move on.

Dwyer gives a luminous, compelling performance in this emotional, haunting solo show. Radiating that classic, independent Prairie girl can-do attitude, her Marjorie is cheeky, funny and straight-talking – and also deeply vulnerable. Fiercely and romantically committed to her marriage, Marjorie’s still wearing her wedding ring and speaking with the ghost of her love three years after he’s gone. The reason for this loss is infuriating – and we share her disbelief and anger, the intimate staging putting us in that mobile home kitchen with her. And that private expression of love, loss and grief is both beautiful and heartbreaking to watch.

With shouts to John Dwyer, who supplied his voice-over talents as the affable local Radio Host. And to the design team, including Jackie Smulan, Blair Purdy and the company for the homey, detailed kitchen set, and the equally warming music and evocative atmospheric sound.

Valentines through the ages and the private face of grief in Shotgun Juliet’s intimate, tender Jewel.

Jewel continues at Red Sandcastle Theatre till February 14, with evening performances at 8pm and a matinee on February 11 at 2pm; advance tickets available online. It’s an intimate space and a short run, so advance booking is strongly recommended.

 

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The “wangled teb” of perception in the darkly funny, thoughtful, poignant The Play About the Baby

Judith Cockman, Will King, Nora Smith & Scott McCulloch in The Play About the Baby

If you have no wounds, how can you know you’re alive?

Seven Siblings Theatre opened their production of Edward Albee’s The Play About the Baby, directed by company co-founder Erika Downie, upstairs at The Rhino to a sold out house last night.

The Boy (Will King) and the Girl (Nora Smith) are young, big time in love and just had a baby. Their blissful, sexy times reverie is interrupted by a mysterious Man (Scott McCulloch) and Woman (Judith Cockman), who appear unannounced in their living room. Trickster shenanigans and cryptic pronouncements turn serious when, pressed to reveal what they want, the Man tells the young couple that he and the Woman are there to take the baby.

Solid and genuinely connected work from the cast—no mean feat in a story that travels into Albee bizarro land. King and Smith have great chemistry as the adorably wide-eyed, carefree innocents. For a couple of new parents, the Boy and the Girl are remarkably energetic and horny. King is hilariously randy as the Boy—who seems to have a constant boner, either physically or on the brain—the performance balanced by a child-like vulnerability and need for comfort. Smith’s Girl is sweet and good-natured; extremely patient with the Boy, the Girl manages to divide her time between her two babies, as mother and wife. A good sport but no pushover, the Girl has no trouble setting boundaries with her overly enthusiastic husband.

McCulloch and Cockman are deliciously mischievous as the Man and Woman, the trench coat clad agents of shenanigans—or are they? Cynical and callous, McCulloch’s Man has with a wry-witted, cocky bravado about him; the Man has the heart of a philosopher and likes getting to the point in his own way, even if he must be cruel to be kind. Cockman’s Woman is the perfect ‘good cop’ foil to McCulloch’s Man; a delightful, nice woman who enjoys tripping off into day-dreamy, fanciful recollections, the Woman is a fond memory raconteur—and decidedly gentler on their mission than her partner.

Albee’s bizarre, darkly funny and thought-provoking play goes to the core of identity and perception. As we define ourselves in terms of our roles—gender, age, job, relationship status, parenthood, etc.—memory can be a tricky thing. And ‘reality’ is often a function of need. The nature of the Boy and Girl’s meet cute and subsequent courtship is the stuff of modern-day fairy tale; and are set in interesting contrast and parallel to the Woman’s romantic exploits. And in the second act, varying versions of reality make the Boy and the Girl, and even the audience, question what’s really going on here.

The “wangled teb” of perception and that which makes us stronger in the darkly funny, thoughtful, poignant The Play About the Baby.

The Play About the Baby continues up on the second floor at The Rhino till May 21; for advance tickets, scroll down on the show page to place an order. Advance booking strongly recommended; it’s an intimate space (and you can order a drink downstairs and bring it up with you)—and this is an exciting company to watch out for.