Bonding over mistakes

Perhaps it's due to my own inexperience in all things film, but I have always ascribed a feeling of stiffness and flawlessness to movies. The ability to edit, to reshoot, to reset —it's all foreign to little ol' theatre-trained me. And since the process is unfamiliar and I only ever see the finished product, I admit that I often forget to think about how similar film can sometimes be to theatre.

My eyes were opened in part when I watched Martin Scorsese's Hugo, which featured an in-depth and wonder-filled trip into the inner workings of early film --specifically, those made by Georges Méliès. Méliès' work, which includes the famous Le Voyage dans la Lune, is entertaining at face value, but it was only after watching Hugo that I fully appreciated the theatrical nature of his creations. The sets, although they appear flat, were multi-layered to allow for several entrance/exit points and for manipulation of focus or optical illusions. All special effects were devised and carried out by tireless individuals. The whole process was free of the cynicism that modern film technology has endowed us with. The desire to tell a great story still reigned supreme.

Fast forward 50-some-odd years from Méliès's time, and once again I had the mistaken idea that there was nothing in that era of film for theatre-me to connect with. Then one of my daily timewasters, The Daily What, found a compilation of clips that sent film and theatre crashing together again in a flurry of swear words and laughs.

Now, usually in film you never see a flubbed line or an accident, and unless the actors' improvisation turns out to be better than the script there is little chance for the audience to see the actor behind the character. Of course, film actors do screw up on set. Some modern films include these bloopers and blunders in the closing credits, and many more will compile them for DVD/Blu-ray special features. But I have never before seen bloopers from the era of classic, black and white Hollywood, and that's what makes this compilation so special.

(Watch right to the end. I promise it's worth it.)




They're people! Making mistakes! Just like you and me! It seems silly to have to discover that, but it really did take me this long. But the connections I made throughout that video were comforting and full of nostalgia, to say the least. The faces and sounds that these befuddled actors produced brought me right back to rehearsal rooms, where a garbled phrase or mistimed line would send all of us into fits of laughter. I'm smiling just thinking of the fun we were able to have and the bonds we were able to create, all thanks to mistakes.

I am now far less likely to draw a wide dividing line between film and theatre, at least when it comes to acting. Regardless of the media machine or the technological advances, we should never forget that at the heart of any great film or play are people who share a passion for telling stories and who are not above making (slight) fools of themselves.

If a wolf should come out of the forest, then what would you do?

I admit that, as much as I loved Theatre Rusticle's 2010 production Birnam Wood, I was initially disappointed by their obvious departure from the story and chronology of Shakespeare's Macbeth --the play from which Birnam Wood takes its title and inspiration. Thankfully, I was quickly won over by Theatre Rusticle's outstanding blend of text and movement, and I took my newfound appreciation for physical theatre to their 2011 show Peter and the Wolf.

Theatre Rusticle's Peter and the Wolf was not your usual tale of a young boy's encounter with wildlife one wintry Russian day. In director Allyson McMackon's version, Peter --now an old man at death's door-- is visited by the eponymous Wolf. Through a series of flashbacks we then witness not only young Peter's storybook friendships with Duck, Bird, and Cat, but also the untold and complex relationship between Peter and Wolf. This is not your grandmother's black-and-white good vs. evil story. It is instead an exploration of the parallels between man and beast, the strength of childhood bonds, the conflict between destiny and desire, and the various meanings and consequences of confinement.

The cast of Peter and the Wolf performed magnificently under McMackon's beautiful vision. Theatre Rusticle regulars Lucy Rupert and Viv Moore, as Bird and Duck respectively, were delights to watch. I particularly enjoyed the goofy, goggle-wearing, but sincere Duck, and Moore's physical energy was enviable. Wesley Connor, as Cat, perfectly captured the feline blend of pomposity, affection, and killer instinct. Other highlights include an incredibly accurate portrayal of a zoo giraffe by Liam Hanebury, and a strong showing by theatre legend David Smukler as old Peter.

However, it was dancer William Yong's turn as Wolf that really anchored the production. Yong's lithe frame, powerful movements, remarkable control, and raw passion breathed life into a character that, far from being an evil carnivore, just wants to live and laugh and love. The sorrow and anger that Wolf feels when he realizes what restrictions nature and society place on him are palpable. This was a wolf with a soul, beautiful and dark and transfixing.

I can't recommend strongly enough that you keep your eyes peeled for Theatre Rusticle's next production, imaginary reader. I'll see you there!

Wilkommen, bienvenue, welcome

Directed by Adam Brazier, a Dora-winning actor and Dora-nominated director, the musical boasted a great set, suitably Fosse-esque choreography, titillating costumes, and an enthusiastic and talented cast. Brazier is a solid director, and I appreciated the clarity and strength of his vision. The decision to use ensemble members as a meta-audience lounging in the wings or hanging from scaffolding added a dash of self-awareness without distracting from the main action. And in choosing to keep the seedy feel of the Kit Kat Club instead of loading on the glitz, Brazier is able to transition smoothly from that thinly glamourous time to the uneasy tension of early-Third Reich Berlin.

The star of the show was, appropriately, the Emcee —played by the very talented Michael-David Blostein. Blostein's performance was nuanced, well-developed, and enthralling. The Emcee's greatest weapon is his voice, and Blostein is possessed of a spine-tingling one that —to my shock and awe— is apparently untrained. Thankfully, Blostein does not take his natural talent for granted, and his hard work definitely pays off.

This production doesn't bust down any doors or revolutionize musical theatre, but it doesn't need to. Brazier and his team have created a very heartfelt adaptation of a legendary production, and it's a worthy addition to the canon.

Cabaret is playing now until January 28th. See http://www.harthouse.ca/hart-house-theatre/cabaret for more information, and click here to buy tickets online.

Real life trumps the virtual again

Oops, too busy sketching set designs for M. Butterfly, making dinner, and getting ready to see the opening night of Hart House Theatre's Cabaret.

Better posts tomorrow!

Theatre Rusticle: local theatre at its best

"We create original and daring work inspired by plays, poems, history and literature with an eye to the relationship between text and movement. We are committed to creating plays that are spare yet image drenched and embrace the language of text and the body. …Our plays are challenging, dream-like, capricious and rich with meaning."

Although it is always encouraging to hear about Toronto-based theatre directors and companies making names for themselves locally and nationally, it is truly inspiring to personally know one such director and the work of her company. That director is Allyson McMackon and her company, Theatre Rusticle, consistently produces shows that you would never have thought of yourself, but wish you had.

McMackon's dual background of modern dance and theatre gives her productions a unique flavour. Dialogue is sparse but purposeful, movement is physically powerful but narratively significant, and staging is thoughtful but looks effortless. The repetition of key phrases and actions, a device McMackon uses frequently, never feels stale or forced. The balance between minimalism and richness is consistently struck and continuously maintained.

What makes Theatre Rusticle most interesting to me is what work they choose to adapt, and how they choose to adapt it. Not content with merely editing down or transposing the source material, McMackon and her team take cultural cornerstones such as Macbeth and Peter and the Wolf and elevate them to an entirely different dimension of thought and emotion.

Birnam Wood, Theatre Rusticle's 2010 take on Shakespeare's Macbeth, transported the audience to the titular wood, where tree spirits return to their long-ago destroyed forest and find themselves acting out the joy, aggression, love, and betrayal of the past. Audience members who expected a retelling, or even a chronologically accurate allusion, would have initially been disappointed. There is a King, but he should not be confused with Macbeth. And there was despair and death, but we are discouraged from putting any names to those who are faced with them. Instead, Birnam Wood took the kernels of those oft-tread themes we associate with Macbeth and allowed them to transcend time and location. There is no way Macbeth held any ballroom dances, but in dancing the spirits experienced love and anger and failure on a near-Shakespearean scale. It was unorthodox, it was mesmerizing, and it was accented with incredible costumes and set.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8gMF2S-Knig (the uploader has, unfortunately, disabled embedding)

Stay tuned for "Peter and the Wolf".

…Braindead...

I'm feeling kind of uninspired today… damn it.

Welp, going to keep trying for today, but no guarantees.

Meanwhile, please enjoy this article about one of the strangest method actors ever: Stephen Colbert.

Thanks, noble Titus

A theatre blog just wouldn't be a real theatre blog without a good number of posts about Shakespeare, right? Don't worry, I'm not here to analyze texts for you —that's what a $1,000 course at your local university is for. I prefer talking about adaptations of Shakespeare's work, both on stage and on screen, and how they contribute to the ongoing dialogue about the Bard. I've already discussed an incredibly successful stage adaptation of Macbeth, entitled Matchbox Macbeth. Today I want to rhapsodize upon Julie Taymor's 1999 film adaptation of Titus Andronicus, called (super creatively) Titus.

Starring Academy Award winners Sir Anthony Hopkins and Jessica Lange, old favourites Colm Feore and Alan Cumming, and a young Jonathan Rhys Meyers, this film could easily have been a faithful but unimaginative star-vehicle. But under a director whose first love is theatre, Titus swells into a spectacle of theatre-without-limits. Taymor exploits the medium of film in ways that theatre directors can only dream of, from Titus' multitude of huge, ambitious settings to its realistic gore and nightmarishly surreal video-collage sequences.

I hope that you aren't some sort of psychoanalyst, imaginary reader, because this play about betrayal, barbarism, mutilation, lust, and death is my favourite Shakespearean work. And when beloved boyfriend agreed to watch Taymor's film, well I was just tickled pink. Thank goodness he really enjoyed it, too —otherwise I might have felt like some kind of freak.

There is one thing that keeps Titus from being one of my absolute favourite films: it is SO. FREAKING. 90s! It is unapologetically anachronistic (chariots and bowmen share space with motorcades and video game machines in "ancient" Rome) and I like that for the most part, but the rave music and weird hairdos can be a little much at times. Anachronism is one thing, but such blatantly identifiable anachronism is jarring. I have seen it three times, and each time it has seemed more and more dated. Ultimately the performances and visuals win over my cynicism and incredulity, but it is still something I have to get over.

STILL, I highly recommend that you watch this movie. It's a long, dark, and gory one —but it is a fine example of how theatre and film, too often cast in a hierarchy and defined by their differences, can inform and improve upon one another.