Jason’s Reviews
Guerrier
As I approached Co-op Bar Milton-Parc (BMP), I thought about how the last time I was in this place, it was called Bar des Pins. It was a dive sports bar that primarily served first-year McGill students who hadn’t discovered St-Laurent yet, and people coming off the Mountain who knew they wouldn’t make last call anywhere else. I had heard that it had been repurposed as a collective community space serving affordable food and locally-brewed drinks to the people of the Milton-Parc neighbourhood, and tonight it was serving as an OFF-Fringe venue for Guerrier by Ĕthos Cultura, which was billed as an “interactive multimedia experience” and a “one-of-a-kind installation”. I arrived just in time and was greeted outside by someone wearing a Daft Punk-esque mask who checked my ticket and ushered me in.
To say I didn’t know what to expect from this show would be cliché. To say I didn’t know where to sit, or even if I should sit, would be accurate. The space was dimly lit and smelled of incense.There were chairs, tables, and assorted forms of sofa, but we soon figured out, through cryptic instructions from a TV screen, that we had some tasks to accomplish on our feet, using various items provided to us, first. There was a second area, with a projection screen and chairs that we would get to sit in later, but not right away. We had to earn it. Yes, I’m being deliberately cagey, because I don’t want to give too much away. The setting, venue, and even the lighting aren’t just a backdrop for the show, they are an integral part of the show, so talking too much about them could lead to spoilers. Some productions call themselves immersive just to use a buzzword, Guerrier lives up to that promise, and then some.
Misé Johns is listed on the Fringe website as playwright, director, and designer, but that doesn’t really do him justice. He put together all of the videos we saw, and cued up the computer voice, to give the audience instructions, based on what he heard us doing from behind the console. He also silently guided us wearing a similar mask to the doorman (who we later learned is his friend), and even played the show’s one in-person speaking role, sans-mask, during the “commercial break”. Misé pulled off this impressive feat with seeming effortlessness, and that takes talent and dedication. But don’t call this a one-man show. There were other performers, and I was one of them. Guerrier was as much about the audience and our interactions with each other as it was about what was on the screens.
I’ve taken part in plenty of interactive theatre pieces over the years, generally as a performer, so you wouldn’t think entering such an event would catch me off-guard, but it did, and that’s a good thing. Guerrier is more of an experience than a show. As that’s clearly what Misé was going for, Mission Accomplished!
Death of a Starman
Admittedly, I chose to catch Death of a Starman from among the list of available Fringe shows because I secretly hoped it would have something to do with David Bowie. While that wouldn’t be the case (as per the play’s promotional material), I think Bowie would have liked this new theatrical offering from StarStuff Productions.
The starman in question here is Sal Soloman (Zaid Bustami), a washed up sort-of-celebrity TV astrologer going through a real rough patch. Peter Malloch's script follows Sal as he fights with his devoted producer Moonbeam, tries to raise money to pay off mob debts, and questions his own beliefs in the power, reality, and integrity of astrology. While it might not sound like it, this is a comedy. The humour is at times touching, and at times quite dark, making Death of a Starman an unpredictable, and relatable comedic gem. It’s not billed as a multimedia show, but director Kay Komizara made good use of videos of Sal with various other people, including one purportedly shot in the 80s, when he was in his “prime”. He also effectively turned the Montreal Comedy stage into multiple locations like Sal’s home, his studio, his parents’ home and a dreamscape.
In addition to Sal, there are eight other characters that speak on stage: Moonbeam, Sal’s parents, his wealthy benefactor, a pair of mobsters, Carl Sagan, and young Sal. I’ve already established that Zaid Bustami plays Sal, and you could argue that he plays the others as well, after all, he is the only person on stage. However, for me, Sal was playing those characters, or Zaid was playing them through Sal. The direction had him spinning around to switch between the characters, and the couple of times Zaid tripped over himself, and recovered with a joke, it felt like it was Sal who had tripped. It made sense that we would see these characters through Sal’s eyes, as we see things through Sal’s ethical compass, too. He is aware that he is largely a grifter, but he’s one who also believes in, and even falls for, his own grift. By fully embracing Sal, Zaid brought a sympathetic realism to the character, and fleshed out how Sal saw and interacted with his world and the people in it
As I walked out of the dark theatre space into the bright daytime sun, I felt glad I had caught this matinee performance, and also pleased that I had got a bit of the wish I mentioned at the top of this piece. When I got home I was pleased to learn that the show had an in-universe website for Sal’s show on “neocities”. Check it out, and if you appreciate the aesthetic, you’ll definitely appreciate this show.
Caught
Caught is a play that really messes with you, and in the best of ways. The latest Fringe offering from Montreal-based Raise the Stakes Theatre, running at MainLine, unexpectedly gets you questioning your own relationship to media, cultural bias, and truth, or at least it did for me. It also had me question what I was currently watching. I can’t really give you my own synopsis here without potentially spoiling the experience, so I’ll let the RTS press release handle that for me: “Chinese dissident artist Lin Bo shares his story of his imprisonment at a notorious detention centre. Looking through the net of illusion, at the intersection of the West's relationship to the Truth, we catch a glimpse of groundless reality which defies belief.”
Here’s what I can safely tell you: Christopher Chen’s script and Anton Golikov’s directing gelled perfectly to create a narrative that was in a constant state of flux. The pacing slowed down and sped up as needed. Nothing was out of place. There was serious philosophical discussion, there were downright funny bits, and there was enough deconstruction that it felt like they broke the fourth wall, built a new wall in its place, and then broke that wall, too. One bit of dialogue, dealing with media, journalism and “truth” particularly spoke to me: the space outside of the box is in its own box. If you don’t know why that piqued my interest, look at the name of this site at the top of this page. The set was sparsely decorated, and the whole space was used, including some of the seats up front. I realize in retrospect that even part of the introductory “turn off your cellphones” announcement was part of the show. The Fringe’s land acknowledgement was the one thing heard that wasn’t up for debate.
Guest collaborators Lin Bo and Wang Min brought gravitas, frenetic energy, and, unexpectedly, quite a bit of humour to the proceedings. Meanwhile, the Raise the Stakes cast matched their energy, and helped move the stories, and the fast-paced contemplation along The dialogue was snappy, and the scene sometimes went from NPR to WWE (or the proverbial zero to eleven) in a moment. It escalated and de-escalated quite quickly.
That’s not always easy to be on top of, but this cast led the changes. It was impossible to take your eyes off what was unfolding, and it was equally difficult to give your critical brain a rest. Caught brought audience engagement to a whole new level, without needing any vocal audience participation. Caught caught me off guard and kept me there, and I’m glad it did. I’ll be thinking about this one for a while.
Lady KaThy & son Melting Pot
Pedestrianized Mount-Royal Avenue was buzzing on this early Thursday evening, the first night of Fringe proper (if that’s something you can say). I found the black door right next to Bílý Kůň and it opened as I and another audience member approached. We took the stairs up to O Patro Vys. We were there for the world premier of Lady KaThy & son melting pot. Described as a combination of stand up, burlesque, theatre, and clown, this was the first French Fringe show I had ever attended
The multi-purpose venue was configured this night for theatre (of course), black box-style with an elevated stage, decorated with only a dressing screen. It was 15 minutes to showtime and there were only five of us, including the Fringe ticket person, and bar staff at the back. I went to patronize said bar, and when I returned, the seats were almost full and I had lost my spot up front. And this crowd was excited to see what Lady KaThy had to offer. Moreover, they were ready to witness and take part in what Belgian expat living in Montreal, Cathy Lambert, the show’s writer, director, and star, had put together. What we got was a fast-paced and engaging mixing of genres that ran only 30 minutes, and had everyone craving more, some quite vocally. Classic burlesque tease, always leave ‘em wanting more.
There were burlesque numbers that got us cheering like we were at a real cabaret at midnight, and not sitting in theatre seats at 8pm. There was a clown act, too. The real throughline, though, was the “standup” part, or the backstage musings of Cathy with a C, the person, and the dichotomy she had with KaThy with a K, her character. Cathy works at a daycare and takes care of people’s kids by day, and KaThy is the burlesque star, or wannabe star. This show was honest and thoroughly relatable for anyone who has ever tried to balance a day job and a passion project. We all want our KaThy to succeed, but know that introducing her to Cathy’s colleagues may be problematic. One thing the audience clearly related to were the kids’s songs Cathy started them off singing to cover costume changes. I’m fluently bilingual, and understood everything Cathy said or sang in the show. However, my Montreal French-immersion education hadn’t immersed me in the French kids’ songs that were clearly learned here in Quebec French schools, and in Belgium as well, apparently. So I kinda hummed along and picked up some of the lyrics. I wanted to be part of the group, and I felt welcome.
Lady KaThy, or Cathy, got a large group of strangers to laugh, sing, and cheer together like they had known each other for years. Now that’s what I call earnest and wholesome burlesque.
Influenced
Influenced by Theatre Enthused from Toronto carries a trigger warning in the Montreal Fringe program for discussing “abuse (physical, mental, verbal, sexual), depiction of pornography, death and/or dying, any kind of discrimination and/or bigotry (racism, homophobia, transphobia, sexism, ableism, anti-Semitism, Islamophobia)”. Fair play. I’d like to add that you also need to be cool with someone in creepy makeup engaging with you and all the other audience members, and possibly asking you to share your phone’s browser history with the room.
If frequent audience engagement, and dark comedic deconstruction of the politics of social media are your sort of thing, then this is definitely the show for you. Creator and star (well, the only performer physically on stage) Sam Chaulk started us off with some more conventional social media humour, then played a series of influencers to bring us down an internet rabbit hole that was quite deep and dark, to say the least. Meanwhile Algo (get it?), a Siri-eque computer program with a bit of an attitude, played foil, helped move things along, and even served as a disembodied emcee between acts. Kate McArthur, the show’s stage manager, voiced Algo with the right intonations at the right time, and a real nice rhythm to the performance (I take full responsibility for that pun, don’t blame the show). Given the nature of the material, there was probably a decent temptation to incorporate some videos, or at least graphics or screengrabs. Fortunately, Director Suzanne Roberts Smith opted for minimal visual staging, instead focusing on the live performance.
Sam definitely knows how to work a crowd, the whole crowd. I had arrived at Mission Santa Cruz just on time, so I ended up sitting by myself in a side section while the rest of the audience was in the centre, yet I wasn’t spared the direct interaction and engagement. I was surprised when she started singing, quite well, in fact. When I got home, though, I checked the show’s press release and found out she’s a singer, comedian, and clown (explains the makeup) as well as a theatre artist. She also honed her craft here in Montreal. While the show may be from down the 401, Sam’s local, and still remembers how to promote shows here. At the end, she offered other Fringe artists in the house a chance to plug their shows, and also reminded us to all spread the word.
Sure, and I’ll give her the most click-baity quote I can think of: “There are five solid reasons why you must check out Influenced. You’ll never believe number three!”
Vers de Terre et Dents-de-lion: A Guide To Plants
For my final Fringe review this year, I checked out Verres de Terre et Dents-de-lion: A Guide to Plants by HeadEmpty Productions. I downloaded the program via QR Code to my almost out of power phone (a nice eco touch, also a subversion of the “please turn off your phones” trope) and headed into the theatre. The space in Mainline already felt like a forest, with the actors dressed as assorted plants on stage, some of them swaying with the breeze. I got the impression that this piece will be largely focused on movement, like a dance show with dialogue. Movement would be a big part throughout, but I was wrong about a solitary focus. There was so much more.
Written and directed by Sandra Soulard, this show had humour, passion, drama, and it even got a bit raunchy at times. From a concept by Maria-Rachelle D'Amour, Myriam Daphné Olivier, Trinity McQuillan, and Sophie Lane, and co-directed by Kit Vieira, it took the personification of plants well beyond the archetypes I expected, to very real and relatable relationship (including some toxic relationship) drama. I did Google the plants presented when I got home to see if the characterization fit reality, and it checks out. This was also a bilingual show, which I almost forgot to mention, because the switching between English and French in Sandra’s script seemed to flow naturally in this show about nature, but really about us.
The story revolves around Honey, a Honeysuckle plant played with earnestness by Mel Pickering, and two of her relations. There’s her brother, Joseph d'Espinose’s Flytrap Agaric, a fly Agaric mushroom who brings the raunch (and a good chunk of the funny, too). And then there’s Dandil, a wandering dandelion played by Jules Gignon. I won’t go into too much detail here to avoid spoilers. We got more drama and believably passionate emotion from these actors in plant costumes than I’ve seen from actors playing full-on humans. We also have Julia Pye, Suzanne Maat, and Melodie Irving as a cluster of wildflowers, with maternal instincts regarding Honey and Agaric. Combined with Louna Fezoui’s Volcano (played from behind the screen), the four serve as a sort of Greek Chorus for the other characters, which really completes the setting.
I figured a show with plants in the title would be a nice, chill way to close out my Monday evening. Glad I was wrong. Vers de Terre et Dents-de-lion: A Guide to Plants is boldly layered, lighthearted, and intensely emotional all at the same time.
