Vancouver-based writer/performer Megan Phillips was in town at Bad Dog Theatre last night for a one-night-only performance of her autobiographical piece Periscope—the up and down journey of finding equilibrium in her life when personal day-to-day miracles stopped coming—directed by Jeff Leard, with dramaturgy by TJ Dawe and music by Leif Ingebrigtsen.
Having done some hard soul-searching and putting in the work to correct the previous ongoing bad behaviour that was creating unnecessary drama and negative outcomes in her life, Phillips’ life was coming up roses, with a productive, successful career, as well as good professional and personal relationships. And suddenly, these life miracles stopped.
Struggling to get her groove back and keep on the path of being a productive, happy, responsible adult, she embarks on a plan to network and make friends while she bartends at a big comedy industry event. She’s confident in her plan, but anxiety keeps rearing its ugly head, so she self-medicates with MDMA to take the edge off her anxiety. And while her subsequent high behaviour turns her attendance at this event into a careening train wreck, the rock bottom it puts her in offers enlightenment and understanding.
Candid, vulnerable, poignant and sharply funny, Phillips takes us step by step through her journey and subsequent epiphany. Highlighting how it’s impossible to be “happy” all the time—including moments of the Zen of mental health—it’s a reminder that we all need to recognize, accept and move through the “negative” feelings that come up for us. We need to move past the pain to get to the joy, in the ongoing cycle that is life. After all, we can’t have joy without pain—and sometimes, we need a periscope view above all the shit in our lives to get some distance on it and laugh at it all.
This was a one-off performance of Periscope, but keep an eye out for Phillips if you happen to be in Vancouver—and look out for her return to Toronto.
Famously performed by the late actor/playwright Linda Griffiths, there’s well-deserved buzz about a passing of the torch in Canadian theatre with this production, as Riordan (also AD of Shakespeare in the Ruff and an emerging playwright herself) takes on this one-woman powerhouse of a play, portraying Prime Minister Pierre Trudeau, Maggie Sinclair and Henry (a reporter following their story).
Henry is our tour guide of sorts, a newspaper reporter who confesses his fascination with this unusual, unlikely relationship, and can’t refuse a request to follow their story. Part of what makes their love story so compelling is the unlikely nature of Maggie and Pierre’s relationship—and not just because of the 30-year age difference. He, a highly intellectual, political animal determined to create a Canada in the image of his idea of a Just Society; and she, an effervescent young woman navigating a world of social change from her well brought up, ‘good girl’ background to the freedom and exploration of the flower child movement, and burgeoning mental illness/mental health advocate. We witness the two seeming opposites in their mutual attraction; following their love affair and marriage from honeymoon period to disillusionment and dissolution—the public’s romance with them running parallel with their own.
With physical, verbal and energetic precision, Riordan delivers a stellar performance, shifting seamlessly from one character to another—at times during quick exchanges. As Henry, she gives us a hard-nosed, jaded newspaper scribe; more than a bit embarrassed, like the rest of us, he’s silly in love with Maggie and Pierre and can’t look away. A conflicted professional witness to the relationship, he’s torn between the drive to report what he observes, no matter how unflattering, and the instinct to protect their reputation. Her Pierre is dashing, charismatic and arrogant; and she nails the tight, academic bearing and razor sharp mind. Pierre is the reason in this equation, while Maggie is the passion. Riordan’s Maggie is a lovely mess of self-discovery, confusion, enrapture and authenticity. While there’s humour in her fish out of water experience of the old boys’ world of politics and requisite social events—her increasing discomfort being under the international spotlight is heartbreaking to witness as we realize the toll it’s taking on a fragile soul.
Maggie & Pierre is as much about emerging Canadian identity and our fascination with celebrity as it is about the tumultuous relationship between two seemingly polar opposites. The writing and storytelling style is aptly Canadian: irreverent, insightful, good-humoured and also compassionate. With a luminous performance that’s as captivating, entertaining and charming as the story Riordan’s telling, we can’t look away.
Maggie & Pierre continues in the Tarragon Workspace until May 19; advance tickets available online. It’s an intimate space and an outstanding show, so advance booking strongly recommended.
Do you have any Indo-Caribbean friends? Do you want one? Jivesh (Jiv) Parasram will be that friend. Canadian-born with Indo-Trinidadian heritage, Jiv’s short piece about birthing a cow, coupled with experiences of growing up in Nova Scotia, and connections with family in Trinidad and Hinduism, evolved with the assistance of dramaturg Graham Isador into Take d Milk, Nah? The title is Jiv’s impression of a Trinidadian cow; cow’s don’t “moo” so much as they “nah.” Also, cows are awesome (and we’re greeted by one outside TPM).
Beginning with a hilarious prologue that introduces the show as an identity play, Jiv is as much self-deprecating as poking fun at the solo show experience. And he nails it when he points out that identity plays are an especially Canadian thing. Part stand-up, part storyteller, part teacher, Jiv weaves cultural and family history with ritual, Hindu stories and personal anecdotes—and even a trip into his mind—gently schooling us along the way with patience and good-humour.
Like when he talks about the impacts of colonialism and imperialism on occupied and/or enslaved peoples. When slavery becomes indentured servitude, and communities of former slaves are regarded with suspicion and fear of an uprising, an already oppressed people become further separated from their loved ones and even their identities. Scattered into the marginalized edges of society, how do they live with others, often in a new world far from home, and not lose their own culture?
Growing up in the East Coast of Canada, neither black nor white, and the only member of his family not born in Trinidad, Jiv relates his personal struggles in the search for identity. The birthing of the cow back in Trinidad becomes an important symbol of Indo-Trinidadian cultural identity for him—and this story is full of excitement, edge-of-your-seat veterinary drama and hilarious procedural descriptions. He also relates the personal impact of 9-11; the increase in racist remarks and treatment when he was assumed to be Muslim and therefore a terrorist. And how this led him to embrace Hinduism, thus distancing himself from ‘those bad brown people’—and stung by his response to save himself when Muslims became the target of increased oppression.
Jiv doesn’t want to start an oppression pissing contest or point fingers of blame; well-aware that mainstream education tends to leave out or gloss over the history and lived experiences of people of colour (POC), and that some white folks haven’t had the opportunity to befriend a person of colour, he’s happy to school us. And he delivers some harsh truths with a spoonful of sugar—all while recognizing his own privilege as a straight, cisgender male with a microphone. But, then, this can get exhausting—for anyone who identifies as POC. The extra time and effort spent providing basic background information of cultural history and lived experience isn’t something that people who enjoy white privilege have to do. And important, nuanced and deeper conversations may have to be delayed or put aside in the process.
Hilariously entertaining and insightful, Jiv is a sharp and engaging storyteller. Playful and candid as he chats with us—including some gentle, fun audience participation—he is respectful and inclusive, even when pointing out our differences. Because, after all, as he aptly points out, identity is an illusion—and we are all the same.
Informative and uplifting, Jiv’s show may inspire you to learn more, or check your way of thinking about and treating those who aren’t like you. And you may wind up leaving the theatre asking yourself how you hold privilege, and if/how you are marginalized.
Discovering and unpacking the intersectionality of identity and marginalization through storytelling and ritual in the entertaining, candid, mindful Take d Milk, Nah?
Take d Milk, Nah? continues in the TPM Backspace until April 22; get advance tickets online or by calling the TPM box office at: 416-504-7529. Advance booking strongly recommended.
The run includes a Relaxed Performance on Saturday April 14, 2018 at 2pm; an ASL Performance on Friday April 20, 2018 at 7:30pm; and an Audio Described Performance on Saturday April 21, 2018 at 2pm.
Starring Owen Fawcett, Thom Pain explores fear, loss and the profound, regret-filled sense of being alone. Speaking directly to us throughout, Thom—alone, extremely well-educated and deeply wounded—slip slides, stagger glides, and otherwise careens and halts inside his own story as he stumbles, ruminates and struggles to piece together bits of memory, personal narrative and fleeting thoughts. Philosophical, cerebral, visceral and primal, he’s an extremely intelligent guy academically but not emotionally; and there’s a poetic ferocity to his mental thrashing about, and a lost boy quality to the way he occasionally lashes out. And immediately apologizes.
Fawcett gives a compelling performance as we follow Thom down the rabbit hole of his psyche. Entertaining and charming in an awkward, quirky sort of way, Thom teases and mocks, riding the edge of cruelty without descending into it as he tells these dark stories. Stories of childhood, childhood loss and loneliness; stories of love and loss of love and aloneness. There’s an awkward poignancy to his self-conscious, self-analyzing, self-deprecating delivery—and Thoms’s weary, often distracted, journey through thoughts and memory connects and resonates in such a way that we really believe him whenever he points out that we’ve all been there. And, like him, we’ve all had moments of beauty and moments that destroyed us—and we’re all trying.
The very intimate space at Hub 14 puts the audience up close and personal with this performance; but don’t worry, Thom is respectful of your space.
Fearful and alone in loss, love and trying to find the meaning of it all in the edgy, philosophical, quirky Thom Pain.
Thom Pain(based on nothing) continues at Hub 14 (14 Markham Street, Toronto) till April 8. It’s a weekend-long run, with performances tonight (April 7) at 8:00 pm, and tomorrow (April 8) at 2:00 p.m. and 8:00 p.m. It’s also a very intimate space with limited seating. Get your advance tickets online.
First up was Purvis with an edgy, hilarious stand-up set that ranged from the personal to the observational. Cheeky, irreverent and sometimes adult (and by that, I mean dirty), topics covered social interaction, autobiography and bizarre, eye-opening experiences. Keeping us laughing as he recorded the set for posterity, we rolled along with bit after bit: extreme social awkwardness meets faux pas in an unfortunate elevator moment; an unusual reception from an American; and a surprisingly disturbing visit to an Alberta strip club in Red Deer—to name just a few.
Purvis’s underlying vibe of awkwardly shy, beer loving introvert translates well into some sharply delivered self-deprecating humour and storytelling. With a twinkle in his eye the whole time, he plays on the edge of shock and ‘aw, shucks’—and delivers it with an engaging east coast kitchen party flavour (or maybe that’s because, like Purvis, I spend more time at Reid’s kitchen table than I do my own).
After a brief intermission, it was Reid’s turn; showcasing bits from his solo shows, including In Vino Veritas, and a surprise guest appearance. Philosophy, religion and politics emerge in a blend of social satire, scathing political commentary and whip-smart insight. From the snake-like Southern minister preaching salvation with a gambling angle, to the darkly funny Church of the Gun’s take on The Three Little Pigs, to the drunken wisdom of Rory MacFadden and his philosophy of transcendental intoxication, Reid has us laughing, thinking—and sticking it to the likes of Trump, the NRA and sociopolitical dumbassery in general.
A sharply tuned wordsmith, entertainer and social agitator, Reid is a mercurial and cerebral performer with a bang-on sense of comic timing, a dark edge and a great sense of fun. Julian Sark joined Reid for a hysterically quirky two-hander to close the set. Was Cletus afflicted by the delayed effects of puberty or Lycanthropy? In any event, you’ve definitely never seen a silver bullet cure like this one.
Teige Reid and Darryl Purvis take us to the Church of the Perpetual LOLs with sharp, observational stand-up and storytelling in Teige and Darryl Do A Show Together Show. This was one night only, but keep an eye out for Reid and Purvis performing around the city.
Once Upon A Black Boy, written and performed by d’bi.young anitafrika, opens with a mother singing to her infant son. Rocking him in her arms as she sings, she tells him he is beautiful and loved, enveloping him with encouragement and protection. When he grows into an energetic, self-involved (what teen is not?) 6’ tall 15-year-old, she must call him out on the condition of his room, slacking off on his chores and changing out of his uniform before he comes home from school. Because, now, she is afraid for him. She is afraid that others won’t see a 15-year-old child, but a scary, big Black man—and she’s terrified that assumptions based on fear, prejudice and racism could get him killed.
Told through spoken word, song and a cast of multiple characters, Once Upon A Black Boy is as much about Black motherhood as it is about raising a Black son—and how Black bodies are treated differently in the face of systemic and institutional racism. Joyful and hopeful, then exasperated and deeply concerned, anitafrika’s performance covers the complex array of experience of a Black mother—longing and hoping for the best, but bracing and preparing for the worst. The mother also fears what may happen when she’s not around, from having to be at work and, even more importantly, if she were to get sick. Her sister has just been diagnosed with aggressive breast cancer, which we see played out when the sister visits the doctor to check out a lump and is instructed to keep an eye on it and return in six months.
Moving, insightful and peppered with playful comic moments—and filled with music and sharply-defined characters—anitafrika’s storytelling is both compelling and entertaining. I look forward to seeing where this story goes.
I Cannot Lose My Mind, written and performed by Najla Nubyanluv and directed by d’bi.young anitafrika, chronicles a Black womxn’s* quest to be rid of depression. Discovering an inexplicable mutual connection with a kind and helpful Black female therapist, the womxn finds she must also put up with the therapist’s questionable colleagues: two white male doctors who are happy to push pills onto their patients, including a hilarious list of possible side effects—but, oh, they have additional pills to take care of those too. Experiencing a dreamscape of shared connections with a group of seven women, some of whom were also being treated for depression—and including the therapist and her sweet, elderly receptionist—the womxn finds a bigger world outside her day-to-day life. Trouble is, the doctors have also discovered these mythological connections and want to harness the womxns’ collective power for themselves.
Telling the story through movement, song and a cast of characters, Nubyanluv weaves personal experience, dreams and mythology, creating a landscape of magical connections with a larger community as the womxn navigates therapy, medication and health care practitioners who don’t have her best interests in mind. Dressed in a goddess-like white gown, Nubyanluv gives a fluid, playful and mesmerizing performance. Connecting with the audience on a personal level as the story unfolds, she draws us into this world. This is what it’s like to experience depression—and struggle to get better and get your life back as you try to make sense of an often senseless world.
Both of these biomythographies demonstrate how anitafrika and Nubyanluv walk the talk of some of the key principles The Watah Theatre teaches its resident artists: Who are you? How are you? And what is your purpose? Theatre-making as self-discovery: the artist coming to the work as a human being, connecting with their lived experience, and then sharing that discovery as they connect with an audience. Making their lives as the make their art.
These stories also highlight the intersections of oppression, particularly the health care system’s failure to treat women of colour with equal respect and diligence. During the talkback that followed the performance, anitafrika also mentioned the importance of recognizing how we all perpetuate stigma ourselves, and to turn our focus away from how we are oppressed in our daily lives to how we propagate oppression. We need to examine power, not just how it’s exerted upon us, but how we exert our own power on others. Are we using our power for support and allyship—or to oppress and demean?
Power, connection and identity in the potent, magical, eye-opening Watah Theatre Double Bill.
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.