Category Archives: Reviews of the performing arts

Old-fashioned Russians steep in the blues

Uncle Vanya
Written by Anton Chekhov
Directed by Brian Richmond
Blue Bridge Repertory Theatre
@ the McPherson Playhouse
Until June 16th

Reviewed by Leah Callen

In Uncle Vanya, life is a painful operation that begs for morphine, and the woods are heavy with sadness. When a famous professor and his young wife arrive on their Russian country estate, the locals lose their minds. Melancholy catches on among the forest inmates.  These human shadows squint psychologically through darkness, pining for light to brighten their dull lives. Drunk on vodka and unrequited desire, these Russians moan and steep in their misery. When tempted by romantic risks and revenge, some decide that living on a ledge is better than dying of boredom.

As the matriarch Marina pours the tea, characters boil over and grow cold. The doctor Astrov feels as numb to joy as a patient who has been chloroformed. Jacob Richmond plays his drunken scenes with an entertaining abandon and I feared for his safety as he balanced precariously on furniture. As self-righteous Sonya, Casey Austin portrays a pragmatic idealist, invisible to all the bachelors because of her plain face.  She often brings out the best in people with her simple purity, but develops a weary patina over time that is fatalistic. She really just wants to be loved.

Vanya despairs that he has wasted his life and wants to do something about it. Duncan Ollerenshaw’s performance ranges from subtle to over-the-top. Drowning in a deep midlife crisis, Vanya is attracted to the red flash of Yelena’s hair as she graces an outdoor swing like a rare songbird. Amanda Lisman was beautiful as the free spirit desperate for passion to heat her lukewarm life. She suffers from a loveless marriage, unable to spread her wings in her marital cage.  Her controlling husband Serebyakov, played by Chris Britton, was both starchy and wilting as he rules the roost with his whims. When Yelena broke down, I cried too. I wanted her to be free. This actress emoted even when she had no words.

The birch-coloured costumes blended elegantly with the set; characters were human trees cutting one another down. Their clothing had a nineteenth-century uniformity, but over time it struck me as olden-day beige–a symbol of hopeless ennui. Only Yelena wears some sky blue when she tries to soar, or maybe it’s the sea since the men see her as a siren. The diffuse lighting, Russian chant, and hints of guitar brew up potent atmosphere. Uncle Vanya seems more driven by mood than plot. This play creeps inside you like nightfall as the birches grow from gentle to suffocating.

The stage bloomed with visual metaphors: the winding of yarn as characters discuss fate, the unloved Sonya embracing roses that were given to another woman, Vanya pushing the swing of the woman he’s trying to seduce.  A touching moment arose when two women share a cup of wine, a peacemaking communion. However, I struggled with how abruptly chaos explodes on stage later. The sudden intensity of the most dramatic scene seemed slightly comical. Though I enjoyed the emotional fireworks, it was a touch melodramatic.  Still, the plot is perfectly frustrating in this forest of futility.

Chekhov’s moody masterpiece is deeply poetic, but it also made me laugh. It was both darker and lighter than I imagined–a theatrical chiaroscuro. Perhaps only a Russian writes that our best hope is to dream in our coffins. One can’t help feeling that these people bury themselves alive. They think goodness equals boredom and only destruction leads to joy, that life is a dull pain to be endured until it’s over. I wanted to shake them out of their emotional comas or prescribe them anti-depressants–to beg them not to give up on happiness. Perhaps that was Chekhov’s point. And I really wanted a shot of vodka when the play was over.

Leah Callen is a budding poet-playwright-screenwriter in Victoria.

Ballet Victoria strives for fusion

Dances with Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart
Ballet Victoria, Royal Theatre, Victoria
May 30-31

Reviewed by Candace Fertile

Ballet Victoria is known for its innovative, eclectic choreography, and Dances with Wolfgang effectively demonstrates the fusion of classic and contemporary. Paul Destrooper, the artistic director of the company, choreographed this latest offering.  His personal touch is evident not only in the moves but also the sounds.

Destrooper gave a short introduction to the audience May 30, explaining that the ballet is not a coherent narrative but a series of linked vignettes or images meant to evoke emotion. He noted that musicians, like dancers, face challenges, and focused on the difficulties Mozart had. In a smooth transition, Destrooper spoke of the problems life flung at Freddie Mercury, whose music with Queen is used in the ballet. Most of the music is Mozart’s, with one selection, “Skyfall,” by Adele. As the music of a dance performance affects whether or not I can enjoy it, the choices (especially all the Mozart) were a joy.

The idea of the ballet is to show how Mozart’s imagination was stifled by his job as a court composer. The role of Mozart was danced by Matthew Cluff, and the Muse was Andrea Bayne. The King (Geoff Malcolm, in what may be his last performance with the company) and the Queen (Keika Hayashi) made a memorable couple visually. The rest of the company played attendants, musicians, courtiers, music, and instruments. Destrooper played Death, whose embrace ultimately frees Mozart from the burden of conformity.

The stark set allowed focus on movement. One prop was a table that served several purposes, the most exceptional being a piano with the dancers’ legs becoming the piano keys. Fog infused much of the performance, lending a dreamy quality when Mozart was at the height of his powers, then an oppressive atmosphere when he was suffering at court. The lighting worked well with the clean stage and fog.

The company is a young one, and it’s facing financial trouble, an all-too-often-heard lament from the arts sector in general. Destrooper’s blend of old and new may not be for everyone, but the audience on May 30, while small, was definitely appreciative. The dancers are competent, and the troop is developing. Cluff and Bayne do an excellent job with the varying needs of their roles, and the Attendants (Parisa Mehgregan, Hikari Shigeno, Azusa Kishida, and Ayaka Miyazaki) looked especially entrancing in their matching white dresses while they swirled elegantly. And the Attendants injected humour into what is at times a sad story. The timing needs some work, but the Attendants were a pleasure to behold.

While Ballet Victoria’s reputation is partially built on synthesis, it does get a tiny bit routine to be sitting waiting for the next surprise. Inserting a moonwalk into ballet gets attention, but after a while, the movements seem to be created more for surprise than to serve aesthetics or narrative.

The company is also committed to breaking certain barriers: Andrea Bayne sang “Skyfall,” then moved smoothly back into role as the Muse. (That took guts—Bayne’s voice is not Adele’s.) Having expressed my reservations about the eclectic nature of the choreography, I am determined to see more of Ballet Victoria’s performances to try to understand more fully what this company has to offer. And make no mistake—this company has a great deal to offer.

Candace Fertile is Coastal Spectator’s poetry editor and a local reviewer.

Six Tudor roses open after death

Til Death: The Six Wives of Henry VIII
@ The Uno Festival, Intrepid Theatre
Written and Directed by Ryan Gladstone
Starring Tara Travis
May 29-June 1

Reviewed by Leah Callen

Tara Travis performs a theatrical feat in Til Death as she channels seven ghosts: Henry VIII and his six wives. The former queens of England, now stripped down to their skivvies, fall into purgatory. Poor Anne Boleyn is bodyless while the shameless hussy Catherine Howard somehow coaxed St. Peter to return her body (there is sex in Heaven, folks). The British bureaucratic angel informs the women that only one of them will be allowed to spend eternity in Royal Heaven with Henry. They must vote amongst themselves: who did their precious patriarch love the most? Let the irony begin as women who were divorced, abandoned or chopped up by the man fight to win his heart

The grandiose drama queen Catherine of Aragon slurs the feisty Anne Boleyn as being a puta, and the horsey Anne of Cleves becomes the naive butt of all their jokes. Catherine Howard is the oversexed valley girl of the group, missing a few gemstones upstairs as she flirts with St. Peter by swooshing her skirt. Katherine Parr remains the most stalwart and patient, having survived four husbands.

I marvelled at how one woman could emote such varying voices and I bought it, sometimes forgetting this was one actor. Each character has her idiosyncrasies; each even reacts uniquely to finding herself in underwear–from indignant to self-indulgent. This individuality carries through to physical gestures, accents, and nicknames. Catherine of Aragon demands her formal name Caterina while childlike Catherine Howard prefers to be known as Catie, Queen of the Fairies. The play is peppered with modern slang, which spices up the farce and makes this otherwise historical harem more human. Alongside the laughs are some poignant confessions from the Tudor roses as they open up to each other on the other side. We hear their romantic regrets and secret hardships.

Though these queens and their rivalries are familiar to anyone who knows the history, the ending is anything but. Things are not in Heaven as they were on earth. I think I was most pleasantly surprised by the prim Jane Seymour. The physical way in which she explains childbirth to Anne was too far-fetched for me, but I loved the courageous thorns she grows. The six ex-wives bond in unimaginable ways with uplifting results.

Personally, I was gobsmacked that the nymphet Catherine Howard wasn’t Henry’s first choice as a companion for all eternity. The kitten-in-heat seems like a philanderer’s paradise. Though the queen whom Henry once called his rose without a thorn was one of the most strongly developed characters, her superficiality robs us of hearing her pain about dying so young. Her ghost is said to scream to this day, so that seems an oversight. Still, Catie was the star of this show for me.

This Anglican Heaven is full of red tape, but open-minded about sex and gay marriage. As an Anglican, I had to laugh out loud at the religious pokes. Though the angels seem very forgiving, I still think Henry VIII should go to hell.

Leah Callen is a budding poet-playwright-screenwriter at the University of Victoria.

Swept off my feet by a lady and an iron horse

SPIN
May 25, The Metro, Uno Festival, Victoria
Written and performed by Evalyn Parry

Reviewed by Leah Callen

SPIN is a fun trip through time and metaphor on a three-speed steed steered by the talented Evalyn Parry with Brad Hart as back-up. I can honestly say this was the first time I’d ever heard someone play a bicycle like a musical instrument. That alone is worth hearing. The play uses song, spoken word, and monologue in an ode to cycling and ingenuity. As we ride through the scenic past, we are reminded how important it is to keep on trailblazing.

Though I am not a bike lover (yet), I enjoyed the obscure stories of these biker women; SPIN really spoke to me. Annie Londonderry teaches us a lesson in guts: the first woman to cycle around the world taking only her courage, a pearl-handled revolver, and a change of underwear with her. She left her children and husband behind–all thanks to an alleged bet. And a song about Amelia Bloomer, an early pro-pants activist, encourages us to fight for our political legs.

Parry’s wordplay is both bright and dark; the word spin means progress and propaganda, freedom and commercialism. She shows us the front and back wheel of every story, the good and bad with ironic bitter sweetness. Parry keeps it real. Steampunky costuming was a spunky sidekick to her monologues. She stepped visually in and out of characters, helping us travel a few miles in other women’s pants. Film also added visual poetry and joie de vivre to the staging.

Overall, it was fascinating watching Brad Hart bowing spokes and thumping away on a bicycle seat as if it was the most natural drum kit in the world. Many of the duets featured Parry taking the low vocal roads while Hart took the higher harmony. Even the music had an unexpected, feminist twist. The rhyme and repetition of the poetry evoked the circular motion of a bike brilliantly. I was happy to tag along on this joyride in the audience.

There is humour and honesty here. As Parry says, the heart is the motor. SPIN moves through the outer spokes to the hub as her performance travels from the historical to the personal–and what you get is inspirational. Though the old adage saying, “It’s not the destination but the journey that counts,” is a touch clichéd, this was a heart-opening performance which reflects back on the past with fresh eyes, and compels us to carry forward with bravery. Parry asks us: why settle for friction when you can choose momentum? This show is about the female quest for autonomy, but it’s also about the magical freedom we all experience when we take off life’s training wheels and fly down unknown avenues under our own steam.

Uno Fest runs until June 1st. Full calendar available on their website.

Leah Callen is a budding poet-playwright-screenwriter at the University of Victoria.

Play cures sweet tooth

The Golden Dragon
Theatre Inconnu until May 18, 2013
Written by Roland Schimmelpfennig
Translated by David Tushingham
Directed by Clayton Jevne

Reviewed by Leah Callen

When I sat down in the theatre, I had a bag of sugar-coated Fuzzy Peaches in my purse–candy that I sucked on as I walked to Fernwood. Little did I know the challenge my vice was about to undergo. The Golden Dragon is an avant-garde fable featuring industrious, ant-like workers in an Asian restaurant where everything is always served hot–whether it’s the Thai soup or the sex slave. Shiny woks and dark holes dot the abstract set as the cooks stir up trouble inside and around the Golden Dragon, a place where humanity hungers but is never satisfied. At times, the actors bang the woks with percussive force that is both dynamic and jarring: beware if you have hearing aids!

The story starts with a young Asian man howling with a fierce toothache. His whole mouth is black, perhaps because of his lifelong craving for candy or for home. His fellow chefs decide to yank out the tooth no matter what the consequence; we are quickly shown how all the little choices we make in life add up like ingredients in a recipe. A series of exploitative relationships play out as people will accept almost anything to relieve their emptiness. There are three kinds of patrons at this metaphorical restaurant: those who dish out pain to subdue their own, those who walk away from it, and those who swallow it.

An inventive retelling of Aesop’s fable of the hardworking ant and the carefree cricket takes such a dark turn that your mind will spin. It could even go so far as to represent capitalism’s exploitation of art. The Golden Dragon’s menu comes with a warning: beware of people who will chew you up like a cherry and spit you out like a stone. It’s all point of view: one man’s rotten tooth is another’s lucky dragon; someone’s pain tastes delicious to another.

With some clever, unexpected casting, actors express nontraditional gender. Michael Romano’s fragility as a stewardess and The Woman in the Red Dress was truly touching (he has a lovely voice). Mily Mumford straddled both innocence and arrogance as the Young Asian Man and the Barbie-Fucker. Blair Moro was the epitome of pathos as the pitiful cricket, his chopstick feeler ripped out by the unfeeling. Bingdon Kinghorn and Catriona Black spiced up the story with enjoyable Yang energy. It was curious how characters punctuate their dramatic speeches by announcing each short pause. It’s both comedic and heartbreaking, as characters hesitate to construct their truth. Is all life a script where we speak the lines we think we should or are we always genuine?

At first fragmented and unrelated, the scenes link eventually in heart-stopping ways. The real and surreal mix as the playwright heats everyone up in his paper wok. I just wish there was more of a hook at the beginning. The deceivingly prosaic set-up tries the patience somewhat. At first the fable came across as cute when it was anything but; the production builds up to beautiful choreography that is physical poetry.

Theatre Inconnu productions always stir up the audience emotionally and psychologically. The Golden Dragon challenges us to ask ourselves: are you a caged, self-destructive cricket or an angry, sadistic ant? It’s a warning to not fall into either of those holes. And after watching what happens to those who indulge their cravings, I think this play cured me of my candy addiction. For now.

Leah Callen is a poet-playwright-screenwriter graduating with a BFA any second now at the University of Victoria.

Anniversary play inhabits past and present

Ray Frank: The Girl Rabbi of the Golden West
A 150th Anniversary Play
Written by Jennifer Wise
Directed by Liza Balkan
at Congregation Emanu-El Synagogue
Workshop Production, April 11, 2013

Reviewed by Leah Callen

My first honest-to-God reaction was: ooh, good title! Then I was amazed that I was watching a play about the real-life spectacle of a woman preaching at a synagogue back in 1895, inside the actual synagogue where it all happened.

Stratford, Ontario, actor and director Liza Balkan directed The Girl Rabbi of the Golden West, written by University of Victoria Associate Professor Jennifer Wise. 

The Hebrew Ladies’ Association is all a flutter about a female rabbi taking the helm at their synagogue. But who is this controversial Ray Frank? Is she a man-woman? Is she a preacher or a performer, a show-girl or a prophet of Israel? Will this Hebrew cowgirl really preach about heartthrobs of Israel or Milton or Shakespeare? Is she really *shudder* an actress? The newspapers of the day compared Ray Frank to Confucius, Moses, Buddha and Christ. In reality, she refused to be ordained to avoid taking orders, to have the freedom to speak her conscience. She was simply a gifted preacher.

The female characters in this play giggle and swoon as enthusiastically about suffrage as romance, deal with the money while the men argue; one even reads tarot cards. They persuade the men to give this female rabbi the unheard honour of leading the congregation at Yom Kippur, the holiest night in their religion. Despite gender expectations of the day, this crew was pretty forward thinking and pretty cool. In a clever stroke, the actresses switched into male roles with a simple costume change. The theme of this play was equality and the staging suited it. It was also exciting that the play took advantage of the whole building. I was seated in the balcony and had an actress sing right in front of me, as if I were time travelling to the past with her.

The build-up to Frank’s arrival stretched out a bit, but overall I enjoyed the verve of the star-struck actresses. Their characterizations were human. At first, the gender of the spiritual superstar is left a mystery. When Ray preaches, she surprises her fans with stage fright, far from the theatrics they’re expecting. I found it moving, seeing the past converge with the present as Canadian College of Performing Arts graduate Adriana Revalli channelled the feminist preacher from the actual altar of the synagogue, menorahs alight as she spoke. Frank’s message was an end to prejudice. She sees God in the forests and in art, and she makes a poetic prophecy that in the future, their “daughters will sing from the Torah.” The scene celebrated diversity and tolerance.

In the play, Ray Frank calls the synagogue a jewel in the city of Victoria that sparkles with enlightened minds and liberal hearts. But her presence polishes the place and casts “a radiant, golden light over this congregation,” helping others to see their own value. She encourages the women to go for more education, and the men to higher ambitions, for everyone to turn over new leaves. She made people “feel.” Samuel D. Schultz went on to become Canada’s first Jewish judge after she lit him up with the spirit, literally pitching ideas and a baseball to him.

For me, the highlight of the show occurred with the cast’s heartfelt folksong in Hebrew, Shalom chaverim: “Peace, friends, till we meet again.” It was gorgeous; Revalli’s vibrato itself was like warm honey. Is it strange to say it made me wish I was Jewish? I wished I knew the words and could join in as the audience harmonized with the cast. It was a gift to hear.

As I was leaving the synagogue, a young Jewish woman next to me rejoiced that the members would finally be able to fix a crack in the building with donations from the evening. Wise’s play made me appreciate this spiritual home, so I was glad to hear it. I really hope Emanu-El will keep shining in our city.

Leah Callen is an aspiring poet-playwright-screenwriter studying at the University of Victoria.

Tosca restores faith for disillusioned opera fan

Tosca
Pacific Opera Victoria
The Royal Theatre
April 4, 6, 10 & 12 at 8 pm
Sunday Matinee April 14 at 2:30 pm

Reviewed by Andrea Routley

What comes to mind when you hear the word, “opera”? Viking horns and yellow braids? How about “Italian opera”? Sopranos in velvety robes, collapsing under the weight of their own agony? Lust, murder, star-crossed sort of thing?

Then you’re probably thinking of Tosca, one of Puccini’s most famous operas, which first premiered in Rome in 1900. It has often been dismissed by critics, but the singers, director, production designer, instrumentalists, and the many others involved in Pacific Opera’s production, as well as the audience which packed house at the Royal Theatre on Saturday, feel differently.

What is really praise-worthy about this production are the understated aesthetics and direction which actually made all this slap-stick emotional climaxing seem, well, almost genuine.

Production designer Christina Poddubiuk presents a set of rustic, bare wood scaffolding which plays the role of church, police chief office, prison cell and battlements. I appreciated this for the way it evoked the cages the characters find themselves in, but also provided a modern, muted aesthetic. This, combined with relatively simple costuming–solid colour dresses for Floria Tosca, unadorned uniforms for Scarpia’s henchman–compensated for all the flashy melodrama.

The highlight for me was tenor Luc Robert, who played the role of Tosca’s lover, Cavaradossi. His voice is silky–almost boyish, but offered a nuanced, raspy quality now and then which gave depth to the character. Opera is not praised for the acting, something which typically takes a back seat to the musicianship (not to mention the years of practice in Italian diction and storming around stages without tripping over long heavy dresses). Not surprisingly, this was also the weakest element in this production, but Robert really impressed me. His movements were natural and organic–there was no cheesy arm-acting or “ta-da!” physicality from Robert. It looked as though he were really listening to what the other characters were saying, and responding authentically to that in a complex and elegant way. His response to Tosca’s coquettish insecurity in Act One, for example, was at once tender, patronising, and subservient.

This production also offered a colourful variety of voices. If you’re an opera newbie, you may think one tenor sounds just like another, but pay special attention to Scarpia’s henchman, Spoletta, played by Michel Corbeil. His voice has a watery, burbling quality to it that is totally exciting.

Finally, thank you to the director, Amiel Gladstone: The last time I saw a production of Tosca, I almost left after the second act. I stayed for the third. Stuff happened, then Tosca spun around and leaped off a fake building, in front of a fake pastoral scene. “Oh, for chrissakes,” I said, peeved.

But you, my dearest Gladstone, have waved your wand to give us a perfect death.

Curtain.

“Nice.”

My faith in opera: restored.

 

Power behind performances convinces

Maladjusted
Theatre for Living
March 8-24
Firehall Arts Centre, Vancouver
Ended March 24, 2013

Reviewed by Mark Leiren-Young

Almost thirty years ago David Diamond began drawing inspiration from global theatrical innovator Augusto Boal, creator of “Theatre of the Oppressed,” to inspire his work with Vancouver’s Headlines Theatre. After working with Boal–one of a handful of people on the planet to have pioneered an internationally recognized form of theatre–Diamond created his own way to tell stories with local communities and developed his own form, “Theatre for Living.” It’s not as catchy a name as “Theatre of the Oppressed,” but it’s catching on worldwide. It’s the name of his book, written at Boal’s urging, and also the new name of the theatre company formerly known as Headlines.

Theatre for Living the company made its debut March 8 at the Firehall with Maladjusted–a show designed to explore the challenges facing Canadian mental health care in an age where all systems are becoming less personal and more . . . systems.

A Theatre for Living production works in two acts.

Act one tells a story full of complications. In this case a teenaged girl, who may be clinically depressed or may simply be grieving, is diagnosed by a doctor who looks at the chart without ever looking at the girl or her needy and likely alcoholic mother. Meanwhile the doctor’s co-worker–a social worker with a heart of gold but no time to have a heart–tries to help a guy off the streets and into home care. The catch? He’s on prescription meds and the only available room is in a place that’s all about drug rehab and takes his meds away to be assessed and approved by a doctor who’s never there. Problems ensue, followed by chaos.

In Act Two members of the audience get to yell “freeze” and insert themselves in the action, replacing the character they relate to in the hopes of finding a solution.

The actors are cast by Diamond after creating the material through a workshop process that translates their own experiences, and the experiences of dozen of others into theatre.

And while the acting in the show is uneven, the power behind the performances is unmistakable. Theatre for Living productions open with built-in gravitas–not just because they explore vital issues, but because they engage communities in searching for solutions.

In this case someone was on hand to record all the suggestions and interactions in order to create what Diamond told me is, “a policy document that suggests either implementation or removal of policies that would enhance human-centered care in mental health–the policies having been articulated via the theatre process, the voice of people living the issues.”

The results will be presented to the Mental Health Commission of Canada, the Canadian Alliance on Mental Illness and Mental Health and the Canadian Nurses Association. So audiences don’t just get the chance to see a play, but potentially affect public policy–which seems like the perfect ride from Theatre of the Oppressed to Theatre of the Empowered.

 

Mark Leiren-Young is a playwright, filmmaker and author who lives in Vancouver

 

Good Grief! Someone Get These Kids Some Ice Cream

You’re a Good Man, Charlie Brown
The Phoenix Theatre
Based on the comic strip “Peanuts” by Charles M. Schulz
Book, Music, and Lyrics by Clark Gesner
Directed by Fran Gebhard
Ends March 23

Reviewed by Leah Callen

From the first puffy cloud, there was something unsettling about this musical take on the Peanuts gang. As the characters sang, “You’re a good man, Charlie Brown,” they took turns slinging playful insults at him. Freud would have a field day with this play. The story is a strange sundae with childlike cheer and rousing musical numbers layered on top of existential angst. Characters struggle against childlike melancholy in the pursuit of happiness, as each ice cream scoop in their lives falls off the cone to the sidewalk. As Charlie suffers from unrequited love pangs for the Little Red-Haired Girl and bangs his head against a tree, Sally sees the futility in skipping, and Linus’s addiction to his blue blanket causes a full-blown Busby Berkeley-esque intervention. Lucy charges Charlie to console him, reminding us that friendship costs.

Like the comic strip upon which it is based, the story runs in a series of vignettes. The striking lighting, costumes, and set had a fantastic, surreal feel. Their sculpted, slick wigs reminded me of the homicidal, plasticine-haired people in the film Heavenly Creatures, a nice touch since these cartoon children are a strong mix of bitter and sweet. Live musical accompaniment on a grand piano, the energetic choreography, and musical numbers ranging from operatic to jazzy were the sprinkles and cherry on this musical treat.

Kale Penny sang with gentle artistry as the frustrated Charlie Brown. My childhood crush on dramatic, intellectual Schroeder remained intact.   Derek Wallis wore that wig and conducted the rest of the cast masterfully in the number “Beethoven Day,” a staggered chorus piping out the composer’s Fifth–pure magic. Francis Melling played Linus like a depressed Buddha who is under-appreciated.

Kevin Eade’s Snoopy was a howl, exposing the dark underbelly of the cartoon canine as he confesses his secret desire to bite someone. He was the cool, aloof guy in the pack, a beagle beatnik. I really just wanted to pet his furry head. Snoopy’s suppertime serenade was sung with charismatic soul, like a puppy version of the Rum Tum Tugger. And Snoopy’s flying doghouse scene, as he cursed the Red Baron, was a highlight.

This play has a one-dimensional take on female characters, even for cartoons. Lucy and Sally are written as overbearing princesses constantly bullying others. In a classic scene, Tea Siskin as Lucy perches on Schroeder’s piano like a frilly barfly, trying to make him into the man of her dreams–every man’s nightmare. Christie Stewart was a spring as tightly wound as her yellow ringlets in the role of Sally. Both actresses are clearly talented singers. However, the intentional helium-squeak in their voices was a gimmick that wore thin for me; it only added to shrillness of their characterization. It limited them from truly showing off their voices while singing and I, frankly, worried about their vocal cords. The male leads did not have to suffer the same vocal gymnastics.

Athletic, forthright, Peppermint Patty, played by spritely Veronique Piercy, was the one female role that could have been a refreshing contrast to the stereotyping, but she never got to be centre-stage. I really wish she had. As amusing and imaginative as the play was, the story seemed to be less about Charlie and more of a comment on gender. This could be very clever if not for the sexist overtones. After a while, I was silently wishing Snoopy would lose control and bite someone. This version of the famous comic is a cynical one, but the song and dance are the delightful chocolate sauce that sweeten the bananas.

 

Leah Callen is a budding poet-playwright-screenwriter studying at the University of Victoria.

 

Actors enhance suspense with slapstick

The 39 Steps
Langham Court Theatre
Directed by Keigh Digby and Cynthia Pronick
Adapted by Patrick Barlow from Alfred Hitchcock and John Buchan
Ends March 23, 2013

Reviewed by Leah Callen

Langham Court’s The 39 Steps is North by Northwest meets Laurel and Hardy. One part old Hollywood and two parts vaudeville, it gives a self-conscious nod to both stage and screen magic.  As the audience got lost in fog and the laughter of the lady next to me ran off the tracks, I flashbacked to knee-slapping pantomimes I saw while growing up in England.  Gorblimey. In fact, I’m typing this review with one hand and sipping Earl Grey with the other.

A falsely accused man-on-the-run escapes into and out of the arms of the wrong women. Richard is dying of bachelor boredom in wartime London when he and a seductive secret agent hit it off with a bang at the theatre. His excitement begins. This production winked at us with charming Hitchcockian allusions, from a bad guy who sports a wig from Psycho to a police chase that exists through the rear window. It would make a fun drinking game, raising a glass each time one of Hitchcock’s movies flashes us – if drinking were allowed in the theatre. One has fun spotting them nonetheless. Film projections were a delightful, theatrical element here; the medium is perfect for a play adapted from a movie. I wish it had been used more throughout.

The play also pokes fun at the limits of theatre with self-destructing props, intentionally missed queues and phones that ring long after they’re answered.  The slapstick made up for some inevitable predictability in plotting for the genre. The tongue-in-cheek approach is the marmalade that makes all the cloak-and-dagger easier to swallow.

The actors wore many fedoras and grew more comfortable with madcap character changes as the play galloped along. Alan Penty played the lead, Richard Hannay, who gets more dashing as he’s chased across countries. Handcuffed against his will to button-faced Pamela, he is forced to face his deepest fear: commitment. In a clever, mute moment, Richard has no choice but to caress her legs with his cuffed hand while she removes her stockings one-by-one, and he holds a sandwich. Talk about restrained appetites. Penty was humorously human as craziness rained down on him.

Karen Brelsford took on the Vertigo-esque challenge of portraying with chameleon ease prim Pamela,  Annabella the spy and man-hungry Margaret. It was fascinating seeing her adapt her energies to match each new wig.  Nick Sepi and Toshik Bukowiecki were masters of quick change, playing everything from the milkman to dancing Nazis. Nick was straight out of Monty Python as he juggled accents and gestures.  He was so hilarious that I wanted to take him home as my dinner guest. Toshik was at ease in both skirts and kilts. He handled outrageous characters with unbelievable naturalism. He was the favourite of the man sitting behind me.

Some transitions were inspired and others a bit clunky, but it’s forgivable since the play is so darn funny. One scene ending featured a train-whistle scream that shifted us into a train car. The choreography that followed was simply brilliant. Hitchcock would be proud. The strobe light effect seemed an unnecessary staging device and just gave me a headache. But overall, this was a successful marriage between theatre and film. I give it two guns up.

 

Leah Callen is a budding poet-playwright-screenwriter studying at the University of Victoria.