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D.R.E.A.M (Design Rules Everything Around Me)

October 1st, 2015 – October 30th, 2015

Make Gallery

257 E 7th Ave, Vancouver BC

 

Make Gallery is presenting their first ever hip-hop poster show, D.R.E.A.M. (Design Rules Everything Around Me). It’s a celebration of two of their favourite things: design, and hip-hop. Great design gives a visual representation to its subject, and Make has invited 15 illustrators and designers to create original posters influenced by a hip-hop song.

 

Whether it’s parties or politics, hip-hop gives a lot of room to play. It’s a visually rich culture of sound, colour, and larger than life characters. The show draws on those elements and turns them into eye-popping spectacle. Participating designers and illustrators are Alley Kurgan, Cesar Bañares, Patrick Connelly, Jane Koo, Tierney Milne, Tina Ng, Meg Robichaud, Pamela Rounis, Camille Segur, Shawn Sepehry, Graham Smith, Katie So, Scott Strathern, Carson Ting, and Calvin Yu.

 

From plays on typography to graphic interpretations of lyrics, these posters hit on every aspect of hip-hop and design. Supported by Dominion Blue Reprographics and Framehouse, Make will be producing a run of limited edition prints of the posters. These will be available for purchase, with all sales benefiting the Community Arts Council of Vancouver.

 

Boom. A take on Wu-Tang’s classic song C.R.E.A.M., D.R.E.A.M. aims to open up the visually rich culture of hip-hop into a platform that we can all take part in. The opening reception takes place on Thursday, October 1st from 7pm – 10pm, and it’s FREE.

Make sure to check out contributions by SAD Maggers Pam Rounis (our fabulous Lead Designer), Camille Segur (the incredible Cat Issue Illustrator + Designer), and Tierney Milne (a lovely Movement Issue Contributing Artist) .

Please RSVP to helen@makeisawesome.com or via the Facebook event (and check to see the list of songs that influenced each artist to give you a glimpse of what’s in store! #drake #wu-tang #laurynhill).

SEE YOU THERE!

 

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Balance 2.1

Self-forgiveness is the first step to reconciliation–to love others, you must love yourself. This is a reoccurring theme in Ken Brown’s Balance 2.1, a weaving of two interconnected possessive narratives between a father and a daughter. The former of the two is off at sea while his daughter remains in her family home. Both are in need of one another’s forgiveness, but are geographically separated – and so, firstly, both parties are forced to work things out within themselves.

Balance 2.1, although feverishly cerebral and intelligent, lacks a spread of aspects that help support theatre. It’s lacking character development, realism, and a forefront focus. It can be understood that the piece is meant to be one sided, meaning one of the two leads has a dynamic projection – however, the balance is lopsided, and at times, too “yelly”. 

But Balance 2.1’s reconciliation is its originality. I truly haven’t seen anything quite like it. And that, in itself, makes this play worth remembering.

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The Traveller

The best part about lone travel is also the worst, which is a perfect environment for a self-reflective piece of performance art.

That’s just what The Traveler articulates. The internal battle of right and wrong, one path from the other – growth and change, these are themes that are quite evident in this play. Max Kashetsky, the lead and only role, delivers an hour long, almost flawless monologue depicting life on the lone road, and the challenges you face when you go looking for something “raw”. The script is beautifully written. Wonderfully romantic, but also cerebral – this play is captivating. Instead of a soundtrack or cued transitory recorded tracks, Kashetsky brings his own acoustic guitar and harmonica to the narrative – bringing an intimate dynamic of a broken-hearted bar show. Feelings elicited by this performance, are accompanied by the acoustic melodies, and delivered almost instantly to the audience. The Traveler is also a little vague, and that’s okay, for travel is intrepid. Nothing is of solid state, everything is changing – and nothing is ever the same.

Andrew Wheeler and Nick Fontaine, cred David Cooper Photography
Nick Fontaine and Andrew Wheeler cred David Cooper Photography

 

Is there a word for the crippling fear of musicals? Librettophobia, maybe? I did not realize I was afflicted by this rare condition until I was sitting through the opening number of Patrick Street Productions and Touchstone Theatre’s entertaining new adaptation of Terry Fallis’ satirical novel about Canadian politics, The Best Laid Plans, playing at The York Theatre until October 3rd. Watching groups of cheerful faces darting around in well-choreographed patterns, singing loud yet comprehensible lyrics about the importance of elections, my face started to flush and my heart tightened. I don’t know why the performers’ unabashed joy produced such fear deep inside me -maybe I thought the audience would have to join them? But after they stopped singing and the audience started wildly applauding (as they did after every song!) I calmed down and allowed myself to enjoy the spectacle, and I’m glad I did. The Best Laid Plans is way funnier than Of Mice and Men.

Its somewhat convoluted story is about Daniel Addison (a very game Nick Fontaine), the idealistic young speechwriter for the Opposition Leader. When the plays starts, Addison has a bright future in politics, with a high-status position and a relationship with political aide Rachel (Shannon Chan-Kent), who he met when they got their lanyards tangled. It all goes down when he discovers Rachel underneath his boss, the slimy campaign manager Dick Warrington (Zahf Paroo), and rest assured this production does not skimp on the Dick jokes. Trying to beat a disgusted retreat from Ottawa, Addison ends up stuck with the Liberal Party’s most undesirable task: finding someone to beat the popular Finance Minister in the (fictional) Conservative stronghold riding Cumberland-Prescott. All he needs to do is run a losing campaign and he will be free from politics. He finally lands on his landlord, the irascible Scottish professor Angus McLintock (the great Andrew Wheeler), who only agrees to run on the condition that Addison takes over his teaching position (his description of teaching English to engineers as the worst form of torture in existence hit home with at least one member of the audience); that no actual campaigning occur; and that there is no chance of him winning. Of course, Addison’s careful plan goes awry…

The musical’s cast is uniformly excellent, with Meaghan Chenosky as Daniel’s love interest Lindsay a standout vocalist. While the lyrics contain perhaps a few too many caucus puns and crowd-pleasing CBC jokes, many of the song concepts are funny and original. A number about the great Canadian novel, which inexplicably includes a bear and Lindsay’s affectionate slam poetry pisstake (“O Canada, did you know politeness was a paintbrush?”) were silly fun. I especially enjoyed the ode/parody of CanCon galas set to our nation’s greatest montage song, “Hallelujah.” When we are first introduced to the characters of Kris and Qris, gender-queers who insist on being referred to as “Zem,” I was worried they would be the basis for puerile transphobic jokes, but Zem (warmly played by Steffanie Davis and Hal Wesley Rogers) turn out to be the play’s conscience. McLintock’s solo number “The Other Side,” mourning the death of his wife, was genuinely moving, and the Conservative Minister’s hypocritical and sexually charged paean to family values was a hoot.

All that said, the adaptation from novel to musical left passages of clumsy exposition, as Addison explained where and when a scene was taking place. The character of Addison probably also worked better on the page, as his spineless passivity and flirtations with entitled “nice guy” misogyny keep him from being too sympathetic of a hero. The attempts to make comedy out of parliamentary procedures and omnibus bills lacked the energy of the election material. Beyond these issues, The Best Laid Plans takes a scattershot approach to political satire in a moment when the country needs a flamethrower. Its central insight is that the populace will fall in love with and then abandon politicians like Angus who are willing to speak difficult truths. That is of course correct, but it’s also a small idea to build a whole play around.

Even if the plot of The Best Laid Plans failed to entirely win my vote, anyone who wants to support well-made and hilarious Canadian musicals should go see it as soon as possible. Furthermore, if you want to meaningfully support Canadian arts for years to come, please please please vote out Stephen Harper on October 19th.

 

The Best Laid Plans runs until October 3. Tickets and showtimes here: https://thecultch.com/events/the-best-laid-plans-a-musical/  

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The Seven Lives of Louis Riel

Had things shaken out differently, Louis Riel could’ve been the Canadian John Wayne. In a fairer world, he should have spent most of the 20th century plastered across lunchboxes, t-shirts and movie posters. His personal biography seems expressly written for a biopic or spaghetti Western: he led two Métis resistances against the Canadian government, was consequently tried and hanged for treason, and spent some time in between in exile at a mental asylum.

Despite the impressive, kinda-bonkers biography, Riel has instead mostly languished in Canadian history textbooks – a genre uniquely suited to sucking all cultural interest out of even the most amazing stories. That is, of course, until now.

Enter Fringe icon Ryan Gladstone, who shows us Louis Riel – heretofore obscure historical figure – re-imagined as seven pop culture archetypes: outlaw, murderer, madman, hero, traitor, prophet, and legend. Gladstone’s impressions run the gamut of genres – taking the audience from hardboiled film noir, to comic book saga, to Harrison Ford epic – with a deftness that belies how hard this must be to pull off. Adding to the show’s impressiveness: he plays all parts by himself, supported only by lighting cues, an antique trunk, and a handful of dollar store props. He brings a loose, comic energy to the role, which makes the show a pleasure to watch. The overall effect is of seeing your smartest, goofiest friend do impressions in his living room – accompanied, of course, by a group of about fifty other people.

But although Gladstone is plenty friendly, the show is not necessarily for the uninitiated. He makes repeated reference to semi-obscure bits of Canadian history, which my fellow audience members – bafflingly – all seemed to understand. Still, it cannot be considered a flaw when a show compels you to go home, break out your laptop, and Google – of all things – “nineteenth century Manitoba politics.”

 

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The New Conformity

“What does it mean to conform?”
“How can we reconcile societal pressures with our unique personalities?”
“Dude, how do I avoid becoming, like, The Man?”

These are all questions posed by many an obnoxious undergrad in many a smoky dorm room. However, most of these baby Nietzsches don’t turn to their friends and say: what if we explored these questions, but through juggling?

This is how I like to imagine the creative process that went into The New Conformity. And although I wish I could impose a moratorium on dudes telling me their feelings about society, I’m more than happy to listen as long as they use circus arts as a medium. Cause & Effect Circus has here built a fresh, interesting show around some long-tired questions; integrating martial arts, clown, and juggling into a tightly organized piece of physical theatre.

The show opens on three men, dressed in identical grey suits and juggling in tandem. Their synchronicity is impressive; but soon, one of them becomes fed up, and starts pulling out some moves of his own. The result is an hour-long, vaudevillian saga, in which his fellow jugglers try – and fail – to bring him back in line. Not plot-heavy stuff by any means, but it’s a joy to watch the three actors pull off some impossible-seeming tricks with a minimum of technical assistance.

Although it’s impossible to convey the power of the performance without being there to see it, I leave you with one more piece of praise. On a rainy Saturday at two p.m., in the unfriendliest city in the country, a room full of Vancouverites gave the three a standing ovation. Indeed, the New Conformity won out against brunch – and with an endorsement like that, it has to be good.

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With two Pick of the Fringe musicals, composer Stewart Yu and writer Angela Wong can probably add crowd pleasers to their CV, right? After a successful 2012 Fringe run and another remount in 2013 with their first musical, Riverview High, they’ve done it again–this time with a parody of an early aughts TV show that was a parody itself.

The O.C.: The Musical follows Ryan Atwood, a troubled yet ruggedly charming bad boy from the wrong side of town who is abandoned by his parents only to be adopted into the high-class, sophisticated world of Orange County by his attorney-turned-adopted father, Sandy Cohen. The transition to privileged life isn’t easy for Ryan, and soon after he develops a bromance with Sandy’s son, Seth, Ryan gets caught up in a series of love triangles, drama, musical ballads, feelings (oh, so many feelings), and inclusive Chrismukkah celebrations. Really, it’s a classic tale of teenage romance and privileged rich kids living in gated communities.

As a big fan of the TV show way back when, I was excited to hear what Yu and Wong would come up with, this time around. Yu sent me a cut of “The Summer of Summer” and I was hooked. Catchy and upbeat, The O.C.: The Musical is just that–a fun and witty parody that everyone, including people who haven’t seen the show before, can enjoy.

While working with Yu and Wong, I was able to talk to Wong about creating and producing a second musical, her experience with Fringe, and her growth as an artist.

Sad Mag: How is The O.C.: The Musical different from Riverview High?

Angela Wong:Although both shows dealt with teenage drama, angst, love, and romance with a comedic twist, they are also very different. Riverview High was our firstborn. It is a heartwarming story that celebrates friendship, diversity and acceptance. Like any firstborn, it made its way into the world through two first-time writers who tried their best, and wrote from a place of pure love for the creative venture.

The O.C.: The Musical, however, is the fun, flashy, and uninhibited second-born. It is all about magnifying the melodrama of the beloved television show, and parodying the already over-the-top storylines of The O.C. Through the campy songs and snappy quips, The O.C.: The Musical highlights the absurdity of teenage dramas, and shows how the storylines are usually anything but teenage reality.

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SM: How have you changed as artists since 2012?

AW: When we first wrote Riverview High, it was the greatest creative adventure that either of us had ever embarked on. Although I had dabbled with creative writing and Stewart had music-directed a number of theatre productions prior to Riverview High, neither of us ever wrote a musical before. Our inexperience showed in some of our earlier drafts of Riverview High.

However, as we progressed, we became more confident in our writing, especially after we received some positive feedback from people who participated in our workshops. Despite the successful run of Riverview High in Vancouver Fringe 2012 and the remount in 2013, we knew that we still needed to grow as writers. Since our favourite parts from Riverview High were the comedic moments, we wanted our second project to be a comedy. When the idea of turning The O.C. into a parody came up, we thought that would be the perfect show for us to write as it allowed our imaginations to run completely wild.

The process of writing The O.C.: The Musical was different from Riverview High because we were definitely more confident in our writing abilities right from the beginning, and creatively, we were in sync. Also, since I was working in Toronto and Stewart lived in Vancouver, we had to manage our time effectively especially because our goal was to debut the show in 2015 as part of the Vancouver Fringe Festival. Overall, we have grown tremendously as artists since 2012. We became more confident in our writing. We became less self-conscious about the ideas we would throw out there, no matter how crazy or absurd they may have sounded. We also made sure that we embraced this project with the same delirious love that we had for writing, which was so prominent during the creation of Riverview High. We’ve enjoyed every step of the creative process – from the first time we sat down and developed the outline for the The O.C.: The Musical almost two years ago to the last performance of the show in Fringe.

SM: How has your Fringe experience changed from then? Was that your first Fringe experience?

AW: Fringe is such an incredible experience. It is not only a celebration of theatre, creativity and imagination, but it is a supportive community of artists. We were very fortunate that Riverview High was so well-received in the Vancouver Fringe Festival in 2012. The support we received from the community and fellow artists was life-changing. Despite our inexperience, we were embraced by our peers, and we knew that we wanted to return to the Fringe again with another show. Three years later, we’re back in our old stomping ground, the Firehall Arts Centre, and part of Fringe again. Once more, the Fringe community has shown us so much support and we are grateful to be part of this fantastic festival.

 

 

Didn’t get to see The O.C.: The Musical? Here’s your last chance, as the production is doing an encore on Thursday, September 24 at the Revue Theatre on Granville Island. For more ticket information, check out http://www.vancouverfringe.com.

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“Love Bomb” sounds like the name of a fizzy bath product, but a quick Wikipedia search of the term will reveal a tumultuous and contradictory history of use. In essence, to love bomb is to use affection and attention as means to manipulate another. And it’s this sort of love bombing that Vancouver playwright Meghan Gardiner explores in her new play, which is titled after the phrase. Fresh out of rehearsal, Gardiner gives me insight into the production that is part rock musical, part mystery, with heaps of social awareness and feminism in between.

“Love bombing, ultimately is about the power of love,” says Gardiner over the phone, “which sounds so super cheesy, but on a secondary level…we have to think about how powerful love is as a tool and as a weapon and as a way of…coercing people into doing things they wouldn’t do otherwise. It truly is a power and it can be used for…damaging purposes.”

The play itself is set in a small music venue, where the performer, Justine, is confronted by an unexpected guest. The events unravel before the audience is let in to see Justine perform. “The clues and the hints and the story [are] told through the songs, so it’s kind of a rock concert,” explains Gardiner, who worked with composer Steve Charles to create an indie rock score for the production. This was Gardiner’s first time writing lyrics rather than singing them. A veteran of musical theater acting herself, Gardiner was an obvious choice for Shameless Hussy Productions––who also put on a run of her first play, Dissolve––for the commission of a musical centered around women and controversy.

“I shaped the story around the issue I wanted to address,” says Gardiner. As a playwright, she is inspired by women’s stories and social justice issues, she says “I know I need to write something when I hear things in the media or hear things in the news that make me furious…I [will] feel so strongly about an issue that’s happening in society, and that’s when the script comes together.” Gardiner is no stranger to writing about hard-hitting feminist topics: Dissolve is a one woman show that discusses drink spiking and sexual assault. It was largely based on Gardiner’s personal experiences.

“I want to engage and I want to enrage my audience,” Gardiner says of her vision for the production. “I want my audiences to feel something, first, and then I want them to have to think. Then, hopefully after having seen the pieces…I kind of want them to change. I want people to learn something and perhaps be made aware of something that they weren’t aware of.” Gardiner’s approach to engaging her audiences comes from a place of creating solid entertainment and a deep love of writing compelling mystery. She says, “I think every single thing I’ve ever created has been a mystery, it’s just the way I like to write. I just love those very slow reveals, I love dropping clues, I love laying out the groundwork and having people piece it together.”

Gardiner tells me, abashed, that the music is so good that she’s been listening to it on her own iPod. Love Bomb promises to be a provocative, genre-crossing affair, using it’s entertainment value to address social issues that have been very present in and around Vancouver. Despite the heavy themes––which are an integral part of the mystery to be solved in the play––Gardiner assures me, with a confident laugh, that “It’s going to be good, solid entertainment.”

 

Love Bomb will run from September 26 – October 10 at The Firehall Arts Center. Look out for our review of the final production next week. 

 

The Mount Pleasant Food Stories project is a growing collection of portraits, stories, and recipes gathered from people living, working, or simply eating in the neighbourhood. A collaboration between local residents Sarah Mathisen, Elanna Nolan, and Kerria Gray, the project aims to explore how food connects people to both new places and old memories. Mathisen, Nolan, and Gray gather their neighbours’ stories of family, ancestry and migration in the best way possible–over a kitchen table and a homemade meal.

 

Gabor and Eva Make Meggyleves (Fruit Soup)

“I remember that being one of my favorite meals as a kid, and it was a treat to have…”

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Gab and his mother talk over Skype on a Friday afternoon. It’s morning in Australia, from where Gab’s mother, Eva, is calling. She’s just woken up to a miserable winter’s morning. Sitting in front of the computer at Gab’s home in Mount Pleasant, it is clear we are on the opposite side of the earth. It is hot. And, it turns out, a perfect time to eat one of Gab’s favourite and most nostalgic Hungarian dishes–meggyleves–a cold sour cherry soup.

“The real cornerstone of the fruit soup is cinnamon,” Eva instructs Gab. “Cloves are also key, but not really mandatory,” she explains. “When making a fruit soup it’s really all about your taste,” and, as Eva points out, getting the beautiful pink colour of the soup just right.

As a child and new arrival in Australia from Yugoslavia, Gab would ask his mom to make his favourite soup for friends when they came to play. “I was very puzzled, because I thought it was so delicious, but my friends didn’t like it,” Gab laughs. “They’d say ‘It’s kind of strange.’” But Gab wasn’t dissuaded by their distaste for the pastel-hued soup. “A lot of the food that [Australian kids] ate was gross–like Vegemite, sausage rolls and meat pies–I was afraid of those. It made me feel okay because I found their food disgusting too.” He now reflects that fruit soup is most likely an acquired taste.

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When Eva and Laszlo moved their family to Australia in the late 1980s, they were confronted with the challenges of adapting to a new culture and a new climate. Finding a butcher who could make the right cuts of meat for Eva’s traditional Hungarian and Slovak recipes was difficult, as was the absence of Hungarian paprika on suburban supermarket shelves. Fresh cherries, which in Europe had been Eva’s fruit of choice for the fruit soup, were prohibitively expensive because they were hard to grow in an Australian climate. Eva and Gab both spoke lovingly of the abundance in their previous homes in Slovakia, Serbia, and Hungary.

From within the Australian Hungarian community Eva was able to track down a butcher, and paprika could be sought at specialty stores. While there were many challenges, Eva explains she began to find settling in Australia liberating. “I was under far less scrutiny, so I could get away with, for example, fish and chips on the beach for Christmas.” Although faced with the challenges of settling in a new place and missing the home she had just left, she also describes feeling that she had escaped from the customs and conformity she felt in Europe as a wife, mother and family cook.

During their Skype conversation Gab begins to assemble the fruit soup, excited at the access he now has to cherries here in Vancouver. As Gab tentatively pits the cherries, measures out the water, and begins to make the fruit stock, he checks in with Eva to make sure he’s doing it right. Eva enjoys cooking with Gab in this way, talking through practical details with him in the kitchen. They both tell us it makes them feel closer.

 

Emil Reflects on Tempeh, Home, and Childhood

“You show your love by feeding people…it’s almost universal in Indonesia.”

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Emil lives in a lovely little house in Mount Pleasant. We sat down together at his kitchen table one summer evening, while Emil told us about his childhood growing up in Indonesia. For Emil, the most nostalgic food that brings back memories of home is tempeh, and he often finds himself craving it: “I’m not generally the most patriotic person…but it’s one of the items that when I cook it, it’s like….home.” He finds it frustrating that it is so difficult to find it raw in Vancouver, though he’s recently found a shop in the Downtown Eastside that sells it the way he remembers. He described to us a few of the ways it is prepared in Indonesia: in thin slices soaked in brine and deep fried, then dipped in sweet soy sauce, or simply eaten with vegetables and rice. In Indonesia many households make their own tempeh, but it is also readily available and affordable in stores. Here it is relatively expensive and almost always processed. “Growing up we ate it 3-4 times a week”.

Emil’s memories of childhood are tied up with particular meals, and his descriptions give us a vivid sense of the rituals and foods that brought Emil’s family together and connected them to a broader sense of identity and place. “The thing about Indonesians is we love snacks, we will have snacks all the time and most are often deep-fried, which is a problem if you are watching your weight [laughter]… If not having meals, we will just hang out on the patio and have snacks there…maybe in jars (crackers, dry fruits) and if not that, on a Saturday or Sunday afternoon we will have fried banana with coffee and tea…especially if it’s rainy. Rainy weekends remind me of sitting on the patio eating fried banana and drinking tea and coffee.”

When he was 17 years old, Emil moved to first to Malaysia, then to Victoria, BC, then to Sydney, Australia, and then finally back to Canada where he became a permanent resident. His connections to Indonesia remain strong, and food continues to connect him with his home country. “My parents would always want me to know where I come from…so they always push me to bring lots of things from home back to here…clothes, food, crackers…[mom] really wants me never to forget, and I appreciate that now.”

 

On Saturday September 26th, Mount Pleasant Food Stories will be exhibiting some of their photos and interviews at Metamorfest. If you’re interested in being involved in the project, you can contact the organizers at www.mtpleasantfoodstories.com, email mtpleasantcooks@gmail.com or drop by Metamorfest to say hello.

 

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I showed up to Arts Umbrella at precisely 8:03 to see The Distance Between New Brunswick and Toronto, not realizing that a) it was after 8:00 and b) there were absolutely no late entries to Fringe shows. As the friendly lady behind the table apologetically explained that she could not let us in, another volunteer interrupted, with the kind of aggression that led me to flinch in surprise,that you can’t be late and no, we can’t give you a refund. Lesson: be on time.

Flustered, I proceeded to the box office, where a very nice volunteer said he would be happy to help us find another show. He recommended The Inventor of All Things and at 8:08 we power-walked in the direction he had pointed, hoping to get there in time for the 8:15 start.

We arrived at 8:11, only to learn another lesson: the Fringe Festival is a credit or cash only affair. Thankfully, I’m friends with real adults, who can be counted on to have more than a debit card in their backpack. Tickets obtained, memberships purchased, and with a few minutes to spare, I took a deep breath and reached for a program. On it was a man in a tub, holding a knife in one hand and a puppet in the other. “What’s this…?” I asked. “It’s the show!” the woman behind the table replied, convinced I was a moron, but determined to be nice to me.

By 8:31, I’d arrived at the conclusion that the nice man at the box office had been looking at the schedule for the previous day when he recommended the show to me. Written in chalk on the stage before me was an outline of what this play would be about: puppets and murder. Nervous and full of dread, I took my seat and prepared myself for what was to come. But to my surprise, Baker’s Dozen: 12 Angry Puppets had me laughing, smiling and nodding in agreement from start to finish.

The Baker has been found dead in a bathtub, the Candlemaker has disappeared but was definitely at the scene of the crime, and the Butcher is on trial for murder. Twelve puppets are summoned for jury duty to determine whether the Butcher killed his husband, the Baker. With their snap judgements, biases, and even indifference, those puppets had me hoping never to find myself at the mercy of a jury.

I had expected for the puppeteer to be hiding in the darkness, dressed all in black. Adam Francis Proulx, however, is very much a part of the show, without distracting from the periwinkle puppet on his right hand. Armed with only his voice, facial expressions, body language, and a single puppet, Proulx switches from one character to another with ease. Reaching into his jury box for different wigs and facial features, he creates new personas, all while moving to dramatic music. When he returns to the chair at centre stage, he–and his puppet–are transformed. With humour and creativity, one man and one puppet tell a story that reminds viewers that juries can be fallible.

And this brings me to the most important lesson I learned at the Fringe this year: if you think puppet shows are not for you, you’re wrong.

 

Baker’s Dozen: 12 Angry Puppets hit the stage at this year’s Van­cou­ver Fringe Fes­ti­val, which runs until Sept 20. For a full list­ing of Fringe events, visit the fes­ti­val web­site

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While sitting and waiting for The Wonderheads‘ new feat of wordless maskwork, The Middle of Everywhere, to start, the kindly gentleman sitting next to me asked me if I knew what the show would be about. Not expecting my unprofessional lack of research to be exposed quite that quickly, I stammered that I thought it was about “space and time and stuff?” After spending an enjoyable hour in the world of The Middle of Everywhere, I’m afraid I’m not any closer to answering my neighbour’s question.

Have you ever been stuck on public transit and imagined what would happen if some vague, unspecified disaster took place, and you were stuck with the people on your Seabus/Skytrain/bus stop for a long period of time? You would have to overcome obstacles and fight bad guys; deeply hidden aspects of your personality would come to light; and inevitably you would need to commit unspeakable acts of cannibalism to stay alive? I’ve never imagined that either. But a much cuter version of this nightmarish premise is the base of the plot of The Middle of Everywhere, in which two disparate characters meet at a bus stop and discover a strange radio dial-like device that sends them to nooks and crannies of the universe. The professor Winston (Emily Windler), wearing a sweater-vest to signify his fuddy-duddyness, finds Penny (Kate Braidwood), a young girl running away from home and described by the narrator as “whimsical.” Along the way they encounter an adorable, furry monster named Angus (Andrew Phoenix) who becomes part of their ragtag gang.

The Wonderheads’ ability to convey character through their giant painstakingly constructed masks is magical, and the level of choreography necessary to be able to interact, perform physical comedy, and even dance (in one entertaining sequence set at a disco) while wearing the heavy masks is pretty incredible. Equally creative is the use of music, sound, and lighting cues to create an imagined world in the audience’s minds–we can instantly locate the characters as they flash between a dozen different settings, despite using few props and a nearly bare stage. The use of the spotlight is best in a literally dark scene which veers between horror, comedy, and Punch and Judy, as Penny and Winston search for the monster that is never where they are trying to look.

Various indignities are heaped upon poor Winston – he puts his back out while dancing, is shot at, and gets pooped on by an invisible bird, but of course he learns to confront his fears in the ACDC-soundtracked crowd-rocking denouement. Winston and Penny travel to many strange places on their adventure. Even if The Middle of Everywhere doesn’t really go anywhere, it’s fun, sweet, and it just might make you see the stage in a new light.

 

The Middle of Everywhere hit the stage at this year’s Vancouver Fringe Fes­ti­val, which runs until Sept 20. For a full list­ing of upcom­ing Fringe events, visit the fes­ti­val web­site

On opening night of the Accordion Noir Festival, I sat in an airless room on the top level of the Western Front, an artist-run centre just off Main Street. The wood paneling and stuffiness felt fitting for an evening of bellows-driven music—everything about the space seemed to call back to a time before air conditioning and electric guitar. My fellow audience members were a smattering of what could loosely be called East Vancouver types: affable-looking men and women who dressed for the space in breathable layers, and who had the presence of mind to bring cash for the improvised bar. I felt like a rube, I probably looked like one, and I was very quickly losing the appetite for whimsy that had brought me to an accordion festival on a Thursday night.

accordion logo

Thankfully, for whatever else they may be, accordionists are a punctual bunch. Shortly after the listed start time, a fedoraed emcee came out, said a few words, and badabing-badaboom—we were in business. The first performance was a “spoken word opera” devised by a band of local upstarters: Elysse Cheadle, Elliot Vaughan, Aryo Khakpour, and Jonathan Kim. According to the program, the opera was “an examination of the weightlessness of dreaming, and the gravity of waking,” which sounds like it could be right. They made generous use of experimental lighting cues and sound effects—I can still hear the slurping noises that accompanied a particular birth scene. At this point, my worst fears seemed like they were coming true: this evening was going to be weird.

 

Fortunately, next came a palate cleanser in the form of Steve Normandin, a traditionalist. He is described as a master of traditional French chansons, and his background boasts credits with the Quebec Symphony Orchestra and the renowned playwright Robert LePage. The word “accordion” automatically calls to mind amiable, sturdy-looking Europeans; on this, Normandin absolutely delivers. After warming us up with a few songs, he led the audience Pied Piper-style to the sidewalk, where we did our best collective impression of a Parisian street corner. At this point, the evening’s early swelter had mellowed, and the sky had turned a lovely, bruise-y purple. The coupled among us felt compelled to dance – everyone else swayed by themselves – and my terrible mood began to crack. The combination of the night and the accordion felt a little bit perfect—Normandin could perform exclusively in East Van alleyways from now on, and he would probably do quite well for himself.

accordion fest

The final performer was Angélica Negrón, a Brooklyn-based musician and composer, whose accordion was rounded out by the xylosynth percussion of Shayna Dunkelman. Negrón is all bangs and glasses, the kind of person who seems like she can make any hobby seem cool simply via its proximity to her. One wonders if she chose a deliberately old-fashioned instrument simply to test the limits of her powers. In any case, both performers were very, very good. The blend of electronica and accordion felt – for lack of a better word – floaty, and just a touch menacing. The songs themselves spanned far-reaching, upbeat topics such as “The Disappearance of a Young Girl” and “A Happy Song About Death.” These were perfect for sitting alone in a public space and contemplating the future. Despite my early doubts, I deemed the alone-at-an-accordion-festival experiment a success.

 

If you love the idea of an accordion festival, I’d say you should go. If it sounds stupid and terrible, go anyways. Next year will mark the 9th year of Accordion Noir Fest in Vancouver; whatever your ultimate thoughts, I can predict that it will most definitely be An Experience.