Insights sometimes sneak up on you. I was blind-sided by one today watching the Toronto Operetta Theatre Canadian premiere production of Oscar Straus’ A Waltz Dream at St Lawrence Centre. TOT play an important role offering local artists a place to hone their craft, giving work to singers & musicians especially now after the horrors of the last two years, aka the pandemic.
Yet they’re also giving us opportunities to sample rarities we might never hear otherwise.
I didn’t expect to connect to this obscure work from a composer who is almost completely unknown, but I had déjà vu, listening to the way some of the characters talk down to one another: a big part of films such as The Shop Around the Corner, where much of the humour and the tensions of the plot, derive from the awareness of class.
One of the perpetual questions with TOT casts is to observe the balance between their skill-sets. Some sing but aren’t fabulous actors, some act but don’t sing so well, and some can do both. I wonder sometimes how Director Guillermo Silva-Marin sleeps at night, given the responsibilities he shoulders juggling three different artistic endeavors. Opera in Concert is over for the year, and with today’s show, so too with TOT, while the workshops of students at Summer Opera Lyric Theatre are just beginning to exhaust Guillermo.
Shows such as today’s display an assortment between younger talents emerging at the beginning of their career, alongside more seasoned performers.
The biggest laughs as well as some of the best singing was created by Gregory Finney as Count Lothar, reminding us of the adage “there are no small parts, only small actors.”
Greg makes everyone better, funnier, giving us the additional pleasure of watching his chemistry with the cast. Alexandra Weintraub as Fifi probably had the most opportunities to share the limelight & laughter, while Brittany Stewart as Isobel also had a few hilarious moments with Greg.
Like Greg, Elizabeth Beeler as Theodora gave us professional delivery of her comedy and terrific singing, even if her role requires her to be more of a set-up for others to get the laugh, somewhat like a comic straight-man.
As so often happens with TOT, Derek Bate had me wondering how he gets so much musical value out of such a small ensemble, playing idiomatically, sensitively and supportively. Straus was well-served by singers, chorus and this tiny but energetic orchestra.
Guillermo and Derek must balance the dramatic and the musical, as not everyone has the multiple talents of Greg or Elizabeth. Andrea Nunez as the Princess Helene and Scott Rumble as Niki, gave us a convincing romance with lots of lovely singing. In this rather big cast I found the women more convincing in reconciling the music and the comedy. Amy Moodie as Franki was central to the romantic plot, while Karina Bray as Princess Adelaide was often right in the middle as the funniest moments of the comedy unfolded.
The title of tonight’s performance by Toronto Symphony was “Gimeno + Beethoven’s “Ode to Joy”, a celebratory concert. It’s the TSO’s centennial season and a perfect way to bring Gustavo Gimeno’s first in-person season as music director to a conclusion.
The orchestra seems to respond to their new maestro. At times they seem to read his mind, everyone in accord. I listened to the quickest tempi I’ve ever heard in this well-known work, one we’ve all heard many times. The TSO have become an assembly of virtuoso talent, sounding fearless and bold. Faster is the way the historically informed players do it, so this is arguably authentic even if we’re hearing modern instruments rather than the sort that you’d hear from a band such as Tafelmusik.
At this tempo, the “Ode to Joy” is very enjoyable. And I think it’s easier for singers, who don’t require as much air, and don’t have to sit so long on the high notes.
The audience went crazy at the end with their applause.
I was a little bit surprised to see the placement of the soloists, in the centre of the choir loft with the Toronto Mendelssohn Choir.
When we heard the TSO and TMC commemorating the departure of Peter Oundjian in June 2018 (already four years ago) the soloists were at the front of the stage which is as far as I know it closer to the acoustical sweet spot than where this group of soloists (Angela Meade, Rihab Chaieb, Issachah Savage and Ryan Speedo Green) were placed last night. Excuse me for the amateurish photo I’m supplying, from the curtain call. Gimeno is not visible, but the soloists are there far from the audience. They sang very well.
While it is true that tenor Issachah Savage likely has a bigger voice than Andrew Haji, I wonder: did they seek out a heldentenor (that is, a tenor with a sufficiently heroic sound suitable to carry over a Wagnerian orchestra) knowing that he and his soloist colleagues would be placed so far away? They all had big strong voices.
The opening of the concert was especially intriguing as the TSO offered three consecutive pieces receiving their world premieres with this concert series, each one a TSO NextGen Commission: 1-A Dream of Refuge by Adam Scime 2-Bite by Bekah Simms 3-Unrelenting Sorrow by Roydon Tse
It was tempting to frame them in context with the Beethoven that was to follow intermission. While each five minute work has a different rationale and style, composed by a different young Canadian composer, I saw them as a kind of triptych. Remember that before the soloists and chorus enter for the fourth movement of Beethoven’s 9th we get three contrasting instrumental movements.
Beethoven’s allegro seems to emerge out of a misty nothingness, the ambiguous void of its open fifths. That was in the back of my mind listening to Scime’s piece, that also employed some ambiguously open tonalities in service of his exploration of alienation and the anxieties of the pandemic. The big existential questions of life underlie both the first movement of the Beethoven and Scime’s work.
Beethoven’s second movement scherzo is a burst of energy, less about asking the meaning of life and more likely to make us ask “how did they make that sound?” It’s a fabulous exploration of orchestral timbres that still sounds fresh two centuries later (the premiere was almost exactly 200 years ago by the way). Simms’ piece is the one of the three new works most concerned with timbre, indeed likely to make you say “how did they make that sound:” which is pretty cool to achieve for 2022. As with Beethoven’s scherzo we’re in ambiguous territory emotionally, neither comical or tragic, but listening to big and small sounds, very much in the moment even with the teasing silences near the end. As with the Beethoven, the tempo is faster –Gimeno’s arms moving faster in this piece (I almost said “movement”… but pardon me, it’s not really triptych no matter how hard I try to make it into one) – than in either of the other two works.
When we began Tse’s work I was reminded of the third movement of the Beethoven. I may be wrong to say this but I’ve always seen the opening two movements (the allegro and the scherzo) as hugely revolutionary, the existential ambiguities of that first movement leading us to such things as the opening D minor chase of Die Walküre and the ambiguities of tonality we get in Nuages by Debussy at the close of the 19th century. The second movement scherzo changes the rules for such movements (even if he already hinted at this in some of his earlier works such as the piano sonata Op 101), opening the template wide for what’s to come in the early 20th century with Mahler and Shostakovich.
The third movement though? The adagio might be Beethoven almost saying “nicht diese tone”. I’m being ironic of course, as I don’t mean in the spirit of the “Ode to Joy” which opens with that phrase, asking us to be joyful, but rather speaking to our sense of musical style: literally not these tones. If Beethoven has so far freaked us out with the newness of his first two movements –and it’s reported that’s how some people responded—the gentle opening notes and the melody coming as consolation and reassurance, take us to something less radical, less threatening, with more than a hint of nostalgia.
That’s how I see Tse’s piece. Of the three new works, in “Unrelenting Sorrow”, where he would explore loss from war and pandemic, Tse is undertaking the most conventional sort of piece in seeking to be melodic and appealing to our emotions, taking us in a late-romantic direction. As such it’s a brave choice, one that not all composers can handle. I think the work succeeds admirably.
And so, let me just ponder the triptych for a moment (given that I’ll never encounter them again this way), this trio of existential angst (Scime), provocative and experimental sounds in the moment (Simms), and a melodic exploration of sadness (Tse). They made a terrific appetizer for the evening, ably executed by the TSO and Gimeno, who so far seems to be championing new composition. I don’t know who’s really deciding the programming and commissioning, but when they’re up there on the stage, Gimeno is truly leading the players, and they’re giving us a full commitment.
The concert repeats Saturday night and Sunday afternoon at Roy Thomson Hall. For further information or tickets click here.
I’m never going to see a better Sweeney Todd than the one I saw tonight from Talk is Free Theatre at the Neighbourhood Food Hub, Glen Rhodes Campus. Wow.
Each night there are just 44 seats available, a cohort providing vaccination documents and masked. It’s a carefully planned show, bringing you into intimate contact with the players and their world, inside a church. I am asking myself how to explain why it’s so good, as it can be described from several different angles, not unlike how you watch the show come to think of it. Yes it’s music and words, great acting, design concept and a brilliant choice of venue. It’s execution of a challenging score led by music director Dan Rutzen, propelled by passionate performances directed by Mitchell Cushman.
44 audience members are sometimes spread around inside the church sanctuary, sometimes we are moved to tight corridor spaces or rooms within the church building. Sometimes we’re downstairs, the players employing the kitchen areas pertinent to the food bank housed on the premises. If you know the plot at all, you’ll recall how apt that makes the space, both for the poverty and the food preparation underlying it. The foodprep factory, with the conveyer from barber’s chair to oven with the overtones of the deadly industrial revolution (as has sometimes been seen in this work particularly in the early productions) was not invoked, in pursuit of something subtler.
You need to be prepared to move, sometimes in the dark, but always carefully led by staff and even cast members. Mrs Lovett spoke to us at one point gently encouraging us to stand out of the way of the traffic flow in one scene change. The blarney coming out of her (!) would do a talk-show host proud, effortless filler not unlike what one finds in a meat pie, come to think of it.
As we did our scene changes (meaning, our moves from one performance space to another) the musicians had to cope with an unending series of segues. We’d begin one place, where perhaps a couple of musicians would discreetly exit, while the other members of the ensemble kept playing. We’d have a kind of vamp until ready happen in our space, as we gradually were shepherded out into corridors and/or down stairs, noticing some of the matching music now coming from the instruments in the new space, vamping away until the scene properly commenced. We might exit from the sounds of piano & cello to arrive in a new location, hearing violin and perhaps keys as well, sometimes percussion generated by the actors. It’s only because I’m a student of this stuff that I noticed at all. It’s very smooth, so self-effacing as to be unheard. Brilliant.
I don’t want to scare you off but there’s something post-modern about this. The church and its performance straddles the boundaries between our modern time and that of the play. Coming in we were asked for money by a pan-handler on the street, in a story that includes a character begging for money on the stage. The church building may not actually be Victorian (likely built in the early 20th century, if I recall the date inscribed on the outside correctly) but when we’re hearing Sondheim’s 20th century score played in this old space, we are amazingly in both places at once. It’s uncanny. They dress in the period costume, they speak with authentic accents, singing a musical style that occasionally offers us something reminiscent of the 19th Century, but sometimes in the soft rock of that American composer on Broadway, Stephen Sondheim. Oh sure it’s his most ambitious score, often dissonant and so difficult that sometimes it gets labeled as “opera”. Opera companies sometimes perform it, although they’d never get the kind of fluidity you get in this intimate show, never seduce you with performances practically in your lap for such a long detailed show.
No you will never be closer to a performance. You have choices in the scene changes, a bit like the choices in a proper smorgasbord. If you are shy? You can more or less hide among the crowd, even though the actors may come striding right up to your location and sing a couple of feet away from your masked face. If you’re bold? Choose to sit closer to the action and you may even be invited to participate a few times. In the smaller spaces there aren’t many options, not when 44 people are being accommodated in a tight hallway, some seated some standing. If we have to stand it’s never for long.
That word “immersive” gets tossed around so much lately, it’s a bit like we’re immersed in immersive. Lepage has his thing, and there are various art things (van Gogh, Klimt, Kahlo) promising yup an “immersive experience”. But this is different. No I don’t really see those artists that way, not wanting those works coming at me from all sides. But first and foremost, there’s a rationale for our space, for the curious reconciliation between centuries, styles. And this play works better done this way. The relentless obsessiveness of the crazed hero bursts out of the heart of this presentation.
While this is a uniformly strong cast, wonderful when the bigger ensembles are sung, there are a couple of outstanding performers. I’m intrigued to discover that Michael Torontow, our Sweeney Todd, who has directed several shows for TIFT, has now been named their Artistic Director.
The play doesn’t fly if you don’t care about the character. Torontow’s Sweeney Todd was a tormented suffering individual, desperately wronged and beyond redemption. One of the immediate benefits of this style is how vulnerable Torontow is, which simply can’t happen when the role is bellowed by a big voice in a big theatre (which I’ve seen a couple of times). This is so much more musical, so much more believable, because it’s on a human scale, clearly audible and intelligible in every sense.
Glynis Ranney was a very entertaining Mrs Lovett, reminding me at times of Carol Kane’s zaney take on the Ghost of Christmas Present in Scrooged, never entirely nice nor nasty but always a deadly brutal mix of both. I couldn’t decide whether I should be afraid or attracted to her. She was arguably the most important ingredient in keeping the tone light, when it was in danger of drowning in blood and gore.
The ensemble was full of talented players. Andrew Prashad was a delightfully slippery Beadle, fun to watch when he was in the Judge Turpin’s shadow, but lovely to listen to when he emerged to take his turn singing solo. Cyrus Lane’s Judge was underplayed, deadpan yet ferocious; his subtlety dodged the risk of melodrama in pursuit of something subtler. Jeff Lillico’s Pirelli gave us an assortment of ethnicities and accents, while Tess Benger was a strong Johanna.
After tonight’s opening, there are only 14 shows left, running until July 3rd. When word gets out the seats will be gone. Even if they extend the run I strongly recommend getting a seat to TIFT’s Sweeney Todd as soon as possible.
If you have any difficulties moving about the show may seem a bit challenging for you. Although I have a permanently stiff neck (arthritis) that didn’t stop me, indeed twisting about to watch the show as the actors moved around us was a big part of the fun. It’s hair-raising.
His art is a curious mix, suggesting a complex personality. Monkman is ambiguous in his persona, his tone, and so much more, when you encounter his alter-ego Miss Chief Eagle Testickle.
Underlying the serious and ironic statements is an ongoing project, that can be nicely captured in a quote from the program to his 2017 show “Shame and Prejudice: A Story of Resilience”:
“I could not think of any history paintings that conveyed or authorized Indigenous experience into the canon of art history. Where were the paintings from the nineteenth century that recounted, with passion and empathy, the dispossession, starvation, incarceration and genocide of Indigenous people here on Turtle Island?”
The works for the big 2017 Toronto show, and especially in his commission at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in NY, can be understood as an attempt to redress that balance, to fix that great injustice of lies and omissions among the canon of art and by implication, in what we know and understand.
The two great pieces (mistikôkosiwak (Wooden Boat People), or Welcoming the Newcomers and Resurgence of the People) take the canon of art as exemplified by works housed in the Met, and then reframe them, in his own work.
I’m not sure how we’re to see these works, but it’s a wonderfully bold approach. As a genre it’s something very original, not unlike parody if we consider the way something pre-existing is reframed in the new form. The brooding sculpture Hiawatha you see (above) for instance recurs in a corner of “Welcoming the newcomers”, while Miss Chief boldly leads the vessel in Resurgence of the People”, in a heroic echo of Washington crossing the Delaware. Miss Chief is at least a trickster figure in being a disruptor, forcing us to revisit our shared assumptions about culture.
I can’t miss the prescience of his images in the background of that painting, those macho yahoos with guns who turn up on the news with heart-breaking regularity over the last couple of years.
The big commission for the Met can be read as a species of adaptation in the same way that a film such as Clueless is an adaptation of Pride and Prejudice. I’m mindful too of the Jane Austen, given that Monkman was himself playing with the title in his show “Shame and Prejudice: A Story of Resilience”.
Monkman is very humble, very generous in sharing credit, with a wonderful sense of humour that you can see in his work. I think there’s a lot more he may show us, considering what we saw in his 2018 show “Miss Chief’s Praying Hands”.
Lest you be too cocky that we Canadians are so much more sensitive or aware of Indigenous issues than Americans? We got smacked down brilliantly. Yes Monkman did say that Americans are more conscious of blacks and Latinos than Indigenous issues. And then he told us of a Canadian woman who, when his name was mentioned said “Honey it’s the gay Indian!”
Ouch. Yes there are racists in this country too. So perhaps we should tread carefully, not be too quick to act “holier than thou”.
Tonight I picked up a copy of a new book about his two works at the Metropolitan Museum, titled Revision and Resistance. I can’t tell you more than that because I haven’t even removed the plastic covering the book. But I want to see more of Monkman, hoping he is again interviewed, perhaps drawn into new projects.
I wish Miss Chief would consider writing an opera or musical. Perhaps there’s a film in their future.
I wish CBC would get them to host This Is My Music: because I’d like to get a better sense of their personality. What kind of music does Kent / Miss Chief listen to? I’m sure I’m not the only one asking.
Someday I hope we get to find out more about Kent Monkman. In the meantime I am very grateful to the Art Canada Institute, whose offerings I’ve just stumbled upon today, via their lecture.
Today I watched an outdoor performance of Alice in Wonderland presented by the Canadian Children’s Opera Company.
Over the past few weeks it’s been a joy to see productions that signal a return by many companies forced to the brink by the pandemic, often with a celebratory tone regardless of what was being presented.
That was especially so for today’s Alice, with libretto by Michael Patrick Albano and composed by Errol Gay, premiered in 2015 and offered this year in honour of its composer, who passed away in 2019. In addition to Alice, Errol had also composed A Dickens of a Christmas and Laura’s Cow: the legend of Laura Secord.
I was impressed watching the complexities of the music in Alice. The cast had memorized their parts, the music sometimes made challenging modulations, with nary a missed cue or note. I have no idea how much rehearsal it took for them to achieve this level of perfection, only that it’s tremendous fun to watch, observing the supportive parents gobbling it up.
Founded by singer, broadcaster and impresario Ruby Mercer and Music Director Lloyd Bradshaw, the company was designed to offer young people top quality instruction in operatic and choral singing, stagecraft and drama. This training, paired with numerous and varied annual performance opportunities, places the CCOC in a central position in the Canadian opera scene.
I was thinking how useful this would be as part of an education. You may well ask me “what do they mean by “children”? What are the ages? To be honest I didn’t know. They seemed pretty sophisticated. So I consulted their websitehttps://www.canadianchildrensopera.com/.
Wow, there’s a great deal of detail there for a parent considering sending their child.
This is no idle recreation. CCOC have carefully studied the subject given that they’re coming up on their 55th anniversary. They break down their activities by age cohort. As they tell you in a couple of places on the site (especially if you’re a parent hoping to find a placement for your child), they “have 6 choirs for children and youth grades from JK and up.”
Today’s performance was accomplished by members of that “Youth Chorus”.
If you follow the links for each age group’s choir, you’ll see that this is a fully developed curriculum, well-planned to train the prospective performer in musical theatre, let alone opera. If you’re considering it for your child, have a look at their page titled “Auditions – what to expect“.
I can’t imagine a better pathway for someone who hopes to end up in a post-secondary theatre programs such as the ones at universities or colleges in this country. But never mind career. This is a brilliant way to socialize children in an environment encouraging discipline, goals, and the exploration of personal limits. If they learn something, so much the better, but at the very least their activities are creative and likely to foster confidence. At a time when some schools are reducing their arts education the CCOC’s offerings could be vital.
It’s June which means the back-lawn has had its first complete trim.
In front I’ve been able to dodge this question – between protecting pollinators by letting dandelions & weeds grow vs trimming and cutting—by allowing other sorts of growth, led by a big spruce and a birch.
In the back it’s designed as more of a progression. The further away from the house you get, the more unruly it becomes (i almost said “beecomes”, perhaps a Freudian slip?).
Against the house things are carefully manicured, although even here nature has her say.
There’s a big remnant from Sam’s winter pathway. When we were dealing with big snows, she had to rely on the pathway a shovel’s width that I created into the snow in the back.
I loved how tiny it made her seem against the yard. The snow made me feel small too. And of course this conditioned precisely (i almost said “peecisely”) where she would pee.
It’s no surprise that for the spring, while she may be gone (a story I’ve shared) we still have an indirect reminder of her. I don’t want to sod over this bald patch (at least not yet): which serves as her calling card.
It seems to say “Sam was here”.
Lindsay Anne Black was the first person I ever heard use the word “rewild” aloud, when I interviewed her a few days ago. I have neighbours whose entire lawns are given over to wild growth although I’m not including any photos.
We rely more on bushes and trees. It’s not just that I’m mindful of bees and pollinators. In the back there’s also the noise factor, vehicles going up and down Brimley Rd. Mother Nature is my pal when she helps the bushes and trees grow, acting as noise absorbers.
Adapting a play into an opera can be fascinating work, especially when it’s as well-known a play as Hamlet. I’ve seen several attempts to turn this play into something else including a couple of musicals, an opera long ago, and today’s production on the Met high-definition series in a movie theatre.
While it may be early to pronounce the adaptation by Brett Dean and Matthew Jocelyn a success, I’d like to stay away from anything like an appraisal. First and foremost, it’s no stretch to say that the work is satisfying to audiences, not when I watched the audience scream their approval, or when I teared up in so many scenes, including the last one. I liked it a great deal but of course that’s just one opinion.
You may remember Jocelyn as the former Artistic Director of Canadian Stage, a champion of inter-disciplinary performance for many years, and a successful opera director. Dean too was here as curator of the Toronto Symphony New Creations festival in 2016.
Yes there are parts of Shakespeare’s original that are missing. But just as I doubt we’d pronounce Verdi’s Otello a failure because of the omission of the first act, making note of divergences doesn’t mean dismissal. I admire the ways Meredith Oakes altered the ending of The Tempest, the one composed by Thomas Adès, changes that resemble some of what Matthew Jocelyn does in his libretto of Hamlet.
There’s no sign of Fortinbras, so the usual last line to bid the soldiers to shoot can’t happen. The ghost isn’t seen on the battlements to begin. And –minor change—it’s Rosenkrantz and Guildenstern rather than Osric explaining the wager and then judging the fencing contest in the last scene of the show. Those distinctions aren’t significant.
Far more important are the ways in which Jocelyn and Dean approach the text. You might recall the Tempest adaptation of Adès/Oakes, where librettist Oakes dared to write shorter lines, disregarding Shakespeare’s iambic pentameter. Just as Mallarmé, when confronted with Debussy’s musical setting of Après-midi d’un faune, said something along the lines of “I thought I already set it to music”, so too perhaps Shakespeare (if he could be reached for comment).
If you’re to sing intelligibly for an audience over an orchestra you can’t also be dealing with humongous lines of imagistic poetry. Oakes wrote shorter lines. Jocelyn did something different but comparable, namely giving short chunks of text to a character and then often having the lines repeated many times, sometimes by another character. Hamlet says “or not to be” over and over near the beginning. And we hear “the rest is…” without that last word several times before finally finishing the well-known sentence. I would have wished for Jocelyn to have made the truly brave choice, leaving out the “is silence” because if he’s dead after having said “the rest is” without saying “silence”, we know enough Shakespeare to fill in the blank ourselves. Oh well.
And sometimes the repetition was handed back and forth among several characters. I liked the effect although at such moments I’m reminded of something I saw in a review, when Zachary Woolfe of the NY Times calls it “”an adaptation about ‘Hamlet’ as much as it is an adaptation of ‘Hamlet’”. Yes. When the actor who will be the player king is the one saying “to be or not to be”, we’re in curiously meta- dramatical territory. But this is possibly the best known play in the English language. I only wish Jocelyn had done more rather than less of this, as for example Hamlet’s last line.
Missing too are most of Hamlet’s famous soliloquys, among the treasures of the play. But the role is already huge, so something had to go. I think the choice is valid, even if there will be those coming to the text feeling cheated of their favorite parts.
Allan Clayton’s Hamlet is tremendous vocally and dramatically. There are places where I might quibble with the choices Jocelyn and Dean made, for instance in emphasizing the conspiracy brewing between Claudius and Laertes against Hamlet, leaving Hamlet to have a bigger share of the scene in the graveyard (where usually Laertes and Hamlet aren’t just debating who loved her more but coming to blows). But in this moment as in almost every one, the results were powerful, compelling, dramatic. And the bottom line that can’t be forgotten is that in a play that’s already so long, trying to include everything would make the opera impossibly lengthy. I think when you watch this opera you will be seeing a Hamlet to move you a great deal, a portrayal that wins you over.
Rod Gilfry is a very believable Claudius, but darker than any I’ve ever seen to be honest. If there’s a problem in this, it’s in the dynamics with the others. I’m reminded of some of the Iagos and Hagens I’ve seen, whose transparent evil makes the characters around them look gullible for believing them. Just as an obviously evil Iago or Hagen undermines your Otello or your Siegfried and make them seem less hero than patsy, similarly with Gertrude, especially when she seems clueless about her son’s feelings. Gilfry’s singing is excellent but the role as written doesn’t have the ambiguities I recall from stage productions, where we may question whether the ghost might just be a figment of Hamlet’s mind. In this operatic treatment Claudius is unambiguous. I welcome productions where I believe that some of Claudius’s motivation is his attraction for Gertrude, that his prayer has some semblance of feeling. Yes Sarah Connolly sings a beautiful Gertrude, convincing in the big scene with Hamlet where Polonius is murdered.
William Burden is quite wonderful as Polonius, a voice heard in Toronto with the COC in Death in Venice and Semele. Jocelyn and Dean giving us some absurdly wonderful text to flesh him out. His final lines as he dies recapitulate his bizarre list of genres with the players. He repeatedly addresses his daughter as “green girl”: a line Shakespeare’s Polonius utters but once, that not only becomes his mantra towards her, but –once she is mad—becomes something she utters too.
Oh my, I cried a lot for Ophelia, a character who has never touched me nearly so much as in this version. I’m tearing up just thinking about her. It may be the combination of Brenda Rae’s performance, as well as the costuming in her final scene that leaves her looking like a ravaged survivor of a ship-wreck without the serenity of the famous Millais painting. I’m accustomed to crying for Laertes too as I usually see him and his sister as innocent victims of circumstance, but he’s made into more of an active conspirator than victim in the Jocelyn / Dean version. I thought we hear Ophelia singing along with Gertrude in the scene when her death is reported, an inspired touch, even if this too seems a bit like a gloss on the play, an adaptation in some respect that’s about Hamlet rather than merely adapting it. And it’s no coincidence that this relatively small role gets one of the last curtain calls, and the audience goes crazy for her.
The other key player is perhaps to be expected, John Relyea in multiple roles, as Hamlet’s father, as the grave-digger and a player. Relyea is electrifying every time we see him regardless of the size of his part, not just vocally but even in his silent moments.
This is a production that premiered in Glyndebourne in 2017. The first Ophelia was Barbara Hannigan who sang “And once I played Ophelia” for String Orchestra and Soprano, another piece by Dean given its Canadian premiere in Toronto in 2019; I can’t recall it well enough to know whether it’s at all like the role in the opera, but the composer’s notes to this piece tell us a great deal about his perception of Ophelia:
Though traditionally portrayed as a meek, even weak character, often dressed in flowing white robes and unable to defend herself before the pressures of Elsinore cause her to snap, I’ve often felt that much of what she says betrays a feistier personality than the one we often are presented. (“And I that sucked from his musicked vows…”) And perhaps, just perhaps, Ophelia drowns not from a romantically-fed whim or madness, but simply because of the pure weight of the words others say about her caught irrevocably in her pockets.” (from the website of the publisher of the composer Boosey & Hawkes)
Just as Adès & Oake alter the ending to The Tempest, letting Ariel and Caliban inherit the island at the end of his opera, so too Jocelyn and Dean, in their approach to Ophelia. It’s the most conventionally operatic part of Hamlet and very powerful, very successful.
Produced by Neil Armfield, conducted by Nicholas Carter I recommend this without reservation. I hope there’s eventually a video. I will watch for the encore presentation July 23rd. Dean’s score is full of thrilling effects, a small chorus in the orchestra pit, some instruments playing from behind the audience. There are moments of brilliant wit, for instance the roles of Rosenkrantz and Guildenstern as countertenors, the players accompanied by a frenetic accordion, the moans of the chorus observing the carnage of the last scene. I kept wanting to look over my shoulder for the subtle sounds around me (in the stereo of the broadcast), leads me to wonder how much better it would be if heard in person.
To close, here’s a small sample of Brenda Rae’s version of Ophelia’s mad scene in a video from the dress rehearsal of the Metropolitan Opera production.
Singulières is a piece of theatre about single women in Québec, although the most remarkable things about the show are not what I expected.
Five women fill the stage of Crow’s Guloien Theatre with vibrant life, sometimes throbbing with joy, sometimes distressed and inconsolable. Some of what we see and hear is like documentary film, as though we’re watching Québec reality TV, courtesy of Théâtre Français de Toronto. They’re mostly speaking French but we have subtitles and lots of video.
There’s also a trigger warning, that the play tackles themes of emotional and sexual abuse.
The synopsis we were given in the program describes it this way:
“Directed by one of Quebec’s fastest rising directors/auteurs, Alexandre Fecteau, Singulières is an unexpected, hilarious, and moving encounter with five “single ladies” from Quebec. This brilliantly imagined live-documentary, explodes with theatrical vitality, and follows the women in their 30s and 40s over two years, each of them living the single life with joy and purpose, all the while defying society’s expectations and redefining their own concepts of happiness, identity, and love.”
As an Anglophone male decoding a mostly Francophone show with subtitles perhaps I’m the wrong person to lead you out of the labyrinth of imagery in Singulières, especially considering that I’m happy when I’m lost, not seeking to escape this kind of delicacy.
It’s an enjoyable evening of theatre, reminding me of some films I’ve seen about single life. Whether we’re speaking of Bridesmaids (2011) or How To Be Single (2016) to name two influential examples, the bar for what’s understood to be crude and disgusting keeps moving lower and lower with each decade, such that our ideas of what we understand as a comedy of manners keep getting revised with each change to what we understand by “normal” behavior. I mention those two because the women in Singulières are so much kinder and more sympathetic than much of what we see from Hollywood. While there is some horror reported from women on a couple of occasions, they have our sympathy, the pathos with which they’re shown at least makes them objects of a respectful gaze, avoiding the denigration or ridicule we sometimes see in films exploiting women.
The performances of the five women (Frédérique Bradet, Savina Figueras, Danielle Le Saux-Farmer, Nadia Girard Eddahia and Sophie Thibeault), taking us through so many brief snapshots of life, are energizing and inspiring.
For me the most exciting aspect of the presentation was the brilliant use of video. I was discussing Robert Lepage’s use of high resolution video in his 887 with Eric Woolfe, who used video in his own adaptation of Lovecraft’s Mountains of Madness this past Tuesday. But in a few short years technology and mise en scene seem to have gone way beyond that in 2022, tonight’s show employing at least four cameras combining images onto three screens, sometimes including brilliant special effects.
Discussing possibilities of marriage with married friends while you’re apparently reduced to an ornament on top of a wedding cake?
Revisiting memories of your youth in close-ups?
A face seen inside the fishbowl?
Friends shown having drinks on an outdoor balcony?
We had both the theatricality of seeing how this was all assembled onstage combined with those remarkable illusions on one or more of the screens: a heady combination that’s unforgettable.
The team of David B. Ricard (Video Projections) and Billy Bergeron (Technical Director and Production Manager) brought this remarkable combination to us, taking advantage of the wonderfully pliable set designs of Ariane Sauvé.
Between Playwright Maxime Beauregard-Martin and Director Alexandre Fecteau, Singulières offers an interesting study in the culture of young women. Is Ontario’s culture different? I don’t know for sure. At times I felt I was observing a milieu that’s not like what we have here, partly because of language but partly because these women were all so nice, so likeable.
Tonight I watched a Tafelmusik concert recorded in April, celebrating the life of Jeanne Lamon.
I knew the curated experience from Alison Mackay and Christina Mahler would be meaningful, and they exceeded expectation.
R.H. Thomson narrated a kind of documentary of the life and times of Jeanne Lamon’s spirit: as embodied in Tafelmusik and their baroque music. Lamon’s life story is almost indistinguishable from the life story of the orchestra, given her role in its founding and ongoing life, their decades long relationship.
But we were watching a kind of memorial service, testimonials and eulogies offered on the instruments of their orchestra and the voices of their choir.
Their was a great deal of joyful energy but at times we saw sorrowful faces reflecting the passing of their leader, mentor and friend. We heard reflections on the extraordinary manner in which she led and shared leadership of the orchestra, with Ivars Taurins, with Bruno Weil, with Opera Atelier.
There were choral pieces led by Ivars Taurins, including some lovely solos from baritone Brett Polegato, although most of the music was orchestral music of the baroque, led by Julia Wedman’s enthusiastic presence on violin.
I’ve often resisted the virtual concert, seeking something authentic, however this concert satisfies completely: because of the emotions in play. It’s not just another concert. Film-maker Barbara Willis Sweete has accomplished something miraculous, the variety of camera angles feeling organic and unforced, the sound wonderfully alive.
Whether your Kafkaesque fate is to wake up to the discovery you’ve turned into an insect, or merely that you have to hide inside your house because of coronaviruses and lockdowns, I think we’re ready for Eldritch Theatre’s current theatrical double bill adapting two of the 20th century’s most acclaimed novellas of the uncanny. Franz Kafka’s Metamorphosis and HP Lovecraft’s At The Mountains of Madness are their Two Weird Tales, created and performed by Eldritch Theatre’s artistic director, Eric Woolfe.
Lindsay Anne Black the designer was also a source of inspiration. Indeed she did the work from her home in Stratford, where she’s largely housebound due to a diagnosis of Multiple Chemical Sensitivity (MCS), interrupting her hugely successful career. This project was conceived as a way to bring her talents if not her actual presence back to the stage, allowing her to collaborate remotely while in isolation.
Zoom was often her pathway to work, and it was the method used for our interview. I had to find out more about MCS and about her virtual design work for Eldritch Theatre.
Barczablog Are you in Stratford?
Lindsay Anne: I am. It made sense to move back here when I had left my career in theatre already. And my ten year relationship broke up and I knew I wouldn’t be able to afford to live in Toronto, by myself, to any degree of safety.I had been living in Parkdale for ten years.
But I had lived here in Stratford when I worked for the Festival in the early aughts, had loved living here. It made so much sense because I grew up in abject countryside.It melds the convenience of the things you can do in the city (I could walk to get groceries) but then I could also see more than three stars at night, and we had a pond in the backyard. It was the right balance when I lived here before and it absolutely made sense to come back. When it didn’t really matter where I lived anymore, it was a place I loved where I still had some friends. That’s the drawback of Stratford if you’re in the arts, sometime your friends are only here for fleeting moments.
Barczablog: I love Eric’s work, and I was so excited and interested to read about your part in these shows.
So the first thing I always ask is “Would you say you’re more like you father or your mother?“
Lindsay Anne: I am absolutely more like my mother in terms of my day to day affect, my sense of humour, my interest in the arts and my work in the arts. Anyone who knows me would say that of me, but my father was the one who taught me carpentry, perhaps a bit too young with things like a lathe, it was something I learned and absolutely shaped the kind of work I wanted to go on to do as I was starting to work in the arts myself and figure all of that out. He also taught me some basic electronics.
He has a company that makes radio remote controls for heavy machinery and mining equipment and locomotives.
Barczablog: Sounds like something Eric could use! I’m picturing remote control creatures crawling the walls.
Lindsay Anne: That’ll be next.
Lindsay Anne: Except I can’t solder anymore.
Barczablog: Forgive me for not knowing your resume and all that you’ve done. So have you done hands on construction of props and sets in Stratford…?
Lindsay Anne: I was primarily a scenic artist and a props builder for the first little while but I was designing at the same time, doing children’s shows, the way you do when you’re starting out as a designer. And I had picked up calls as theatre electrician for many years. And had done carpentry mostly as being a props builder, but also did a few gigs as an assistant carpenter for full shows. I worked primarily in Ontario, a few things in BC but all over Southern Ontario, and in the later years, largely in Toronto.
Barczablog: So I wonder if you could talk about Multiple Chemical Sensitivities: what it is, how it impacts you, your life and what you do.
Lindsay Anne: Sure… ES/MCS….The “ES” is “Environmental Sensitivities”, that’s the umbrella, and “MCS” or “Multiple Chemical Sensitivities”, is the condition that I have.
Aphasia is one of my symptoms. I have to find the right words.
Electromagnetic Sensitivities, (EMS) is also under the umbrella of ES. I only have minor issues with that.
I probably had a predisposition. That seems likely. It is heritable to some degree, we know that for sure.
I probably inherited “genetic damage”, for want of a better word, from my mother. My family is all visual artists back four generations on that side. So starting with my great-grandfather constant exposure to oil paints and solvents, and then the next generation did the same and my mother was a visual artist for most of the 80s. Watercolors: but they were also renovating the house, because they bought an old farmhouse and restored it back to what it might have looked like when it was new.
Barczablog: I was going to ask you if living in Stratford is cleaner than living in Toronto, and that you’d left Toronto because the air is polluted or something like that.
Lindsay Anne: No it’s more of a lateral move.
Barczablog: I suppose farmland can be bad. You’ve got all that pollen
Lindsay Anne: Well pollen isn’t an issue.
The difference between an allergy and this kind of sensitivity is an allergy is your body, your immune system mis-identifying something as a threat and over-reacting to it, to kill it and try to get rid of it. This (MCS for instance) is my body accurately identifying a toxin. It’s at a much lower level. Most people can tolerate those toxins at those low levels, and I cannot. And it’s just a layering on of poisons, which then affect systems.
It can be cognitive if it’s something like a petro-chemical, that’s one of the worst exposures I can have. It will affect my heart rate, my circulation, my cognitive abilities: aphasia, balance, I just lose all of my faculties, which is not great.
[This isn’t the first time in our conversation I’ve seen Lindsay Anne describe something painful or even horrific in its implications yet giggling as she says this…]
Barczablog: Does it come on suddenly with an attack? Do you feel it coming?
Lindsay Anne: It depends on the trigger and how acute an exposure it was. So for example, a couple of days ago a neighbour (I think) was filling his gas-powered lawn mower. I don’t know for sure that’s what happened, because I didn’t see anything. But I was suddenly choking on what was probably gasoline that had drifted over onto my property.
And it affected my equilibrium. I couldn’t see clearly. I couldn’t manage my hands to type to my friend who watches out for me when these things happen. I had to have a shower right away to get the scent out of my hair because if it lingers I’m just putting it in the house.
Because I lose balance that’s kind of dangerous. I have a system in place so I don’t break my neck.
[again the laughter]
But then there are others things that can happen: because that’s a small part of the answer. The other things that can happen are asthma, which is one of the few things they can diagnose separately, and I have rescue inhalers for that. I actually rely on coffee much more.
I can also get headaches, rashes, my heart rate regularly goes over 80, sometimes over 180, again depending on the trigger. And so the other triggers might be something like hand sanitizer, Lysol, paint, adhesives, out-gassing plastic, out-gassing MDF like laminate wood. Things like that. Anything that is emitting a VOC, a volatile organic compound or a petrochemical, which includes a lot of plastics. It can transfer to food through packaging. That’s my food insecurity issue right now. Not so much food, but what food absorbs. I don’t have any allergies but there’s very little I can eat right now.
Barczablog: And there are things in food you might not even know about until they make you unwell. I was reading today that they’re even using certain microplastics as fertilizer, which blew my mind, the thought one could be poisoned without knowing about it. All of us! (here’s the link )
Lindsay Anne: We are all having this same issue, to some degree. It’s just that I’m symptomatic.
Barczablog: You’re the canary in the mine, as it were.
Lindsay Anne: In the support groups for MCS, we will sometimes refer to ourselves as “canaries”.
Barczablog: How long were you suffering some kind of symptom(s) before you figured out what this is? You’re an expert now, and I’m impressed with how articulate you are. You must have been going through times when you wondered “what’s wrong with me?”
Lindsay Anne: Absolutely.
Barczablog: How long did that go on?
Lindsay Anne: Well I remember having symptoms as young as eight. Having grown up in the countryside…
[pauses, turns to look at what I’m looking at]
Barczablog: I was smiling at the cat.
Lindsay Anne: That’s Zigfried Dander Stardust
We lived adjacent to corn-fields. We were there in the 70s, they were still spraying. Now it’s impregnated in the seeds I believe. But I would have been playing in those fields. And my father had the shop on the property for the first little while, and I spent time at his shop after it moved, so there was always heavy machinery, and oil around him. There was renovating the house, the things you’re exposed to, while you live in the place of a renovation.
Plus it was the 70s and 80s, and there was Aqua Net…
[I had to look this up, it’s hair spray].
It’s a wonder anyone’s okay. The first symptom I remember was being unable to climb the stairs because of heart palpitations, and having to lie down halfway up the steps. I went through testing all the way through high school with no definitive answers because there was nothing mechanically wrong with my heart.
But the heart palpitations were frequent.
Then I went away to university, to Queen’s for theatre, and transferred to the university health services. My doctors there never asked any questions like “to what have you been exposed”: which would have solved everything. But instead they said “we don’t really know what it is but we’re going to refer you to psychiatry.”
And so I went through the psychiatry department, where they said “But maybe it’s panic disorder“.
Barczablog: Your body was signaling you, how did you handle it?
Lindsay Anne: The psychiatry department gave me drugs: for something they already knew I didn’t have. Because you’re so desperate for answers. I accepted it at that point and said “I guess I have panic disorder” said very calmly while she had heart palpitations. So I tried to take the things I had prescribed. But I ended up being harmed by the drugs, because I can’t metabolize them. Genetically I can’t metabolize most pharmaceuticals.
Barczablog So they were also a kind of poison.
Lindsay Anne The cure was also harming me. So for years I just didn’t have a doctor. And I just accepted: sometimes I have heart palpitations, sometimes I have asthma and rashes, sometimes I get very confused and sometimes I can’t remember anything. And to be honest, in that period I didn’t know how ill I was, because I never felt good, and there was nothing to compare it to. It was just this long accumulation of harm.
At some point I remember coming home with a burning rash, some paint spatter had landed on my arm, and I said to my partner at the time “I think I might be becoming allergic to paint”. And you know the panic? you suppress that because it was my primary job. Kept painting. Kept designing. Did all the going into poisonous places all the time, like Canadian Tire. I don’t know how anyone survives working in that place. But then in 2010 that was when the symptoms were so bad I couldn’t deny it anymore. I was having kidney pain. Whenever I opened certain types… It was Benjamin Moore Stays Clear Semigloss. And every time I would open it, specifically that can, I would be in crippling pain.
And that was 2010, and that was when I retired from painting and props. I kept designing with assistants and associates. And everyone was really great about trying to keep that going for me and make it accessible. But the process just doesn’t make it possible no matter what you do if you’re keeping the same process.
But in that time I did get a diagnosis. I went to the Environmental Health Clinic at Women’s College Hospital. It’s the only program we have like that in this part of Canada. It was a 16 month waiting list. And I was allowed only three visits: because the demand is so high. There are close to a million people in Canada diagnosed with MCS. And that doesn’t include people like me who didn’t realize how sick they were because they didn’t realize, they just felt that way.
So the diagnosis happened around 2011-2012. And I had to retire from designing by 2014, because even with everyone doing their best, I was still being harmed on a regular basis, just accidentally, inevitably. It was too much.
Barczablog: So let me ask, right now, you’ve done this show with Eldritch Theatre. I’ve seen the pictures, it looks like a great show. What would you like to be doing? Do you see yourself doing more like this?
Lindsay Anne: Not necessarily. It was a bit frustrating, and the only reason it was possible at all was because we adapted the process.
We began work on this before the pandemic, working over Skype and FaceTime well before remote work became ubiquitous. When I had quit designing, it was partly because I was never able to see each colour or texture in person, or feel the hand of a fabric, and I had frequently been disappointed in the finished product. That had also felt like I was letting down my collaborators. Here, we decided that if Eric was the primary writer and I was contributing, and I was the primary designer but he was contributing—he was obviously doing the building of the puppets—if we built the show up together over the full process, it meant that I could still trust Eric was making the choices I would make once they got in the room without me. Working in tandem was the key. This wouldn’t be replicable in a standard process or timeline.
The other thing we did in terms of process that made this possible was normally you would build the puppet, and you would then build the costume to put on the puppet. That’s the logical thing to do. The way that we did things so that I could actually put my hands on something, was I built the costumes for the puppets, and sent them to Eric and he just retrofitted them with puppet.
Because obviously if he had sent me a fresh foam glue latex adhesive painty thing I wouldn’t be able to tolerate that, or even have it in my house. But this way it meant that I could contribute to the actual building of these puppets.
It is frustrating because it is backwards, and it is difficult, to be honest, building a period costume to that scale was beyond my existing skillset. Because as a costume builder, I’m more of a draper. I put things on a model, pin things until it looks right and then I stitch it down. I don’t really know how to draft patterns, and it’s that much harder when they’re only this big [hands 6 inches apart].
So that’s one of the reasons it wouldn’t necessarily work with a more standard kind of theatre piece or performing arts piece, there’s just so much I can’t do, and if I can’t be present for shopping or for fittings, it gets back into that trap of not being able to do any quality control or even accurately know what it is I’m seeing or contributing to.
I have already been engaged to … see writing is different than the designing. You don’t have to be present in the same way. Because you’re using actual language, as opposed to non—verbal language. I’m working on a piece for Prairie Theatre Exchange that is not about my experience but from my perspective. That was the pitch. It’s very much about some of the issues that I encounter in day to day life. But it’s also about the fact that (per the UN) we have to rewild an area the size of China, in order to not have the planet die in a horrible heat-death. How local bylaws push back against the rewilding of certain parts of land and consider native plants to be “weeds”.in some circumstances and how a citizen can make small steps to… you know, corridors for our native birds to help sustain not just their lives but ours. All of that is from my perspective.
Barczablog: Let me ask how your project with Eric was born. You said it started before the pandemic. What seems so interesting to me… When I see a project that begins with that famous first sentence, of The Metamorphosis that seems perfectly matched to what many of us were living with.
As Gregor Samsa awoke one morning he found himself transformed in his bed into a gigantic insect.
The alienation, the mysterious transformation, life turning into something unrecognizable and strange, a metamorphosis. You’ve been talking to Eric about this since before the pandemic. And then along comes this reason why everyone suddenly should be working this way (on zoom) from a distance, with masks on, concerned about things coming at us that will make us sick. It’s such a perfect parallel.
Lindsay Anne: Yes. We were chatting over Messenger and over a period of more than an hour, I think we had been improvising the story of a play and making each other laugh.
He disappeared for awhile, and so I thought he’d gone to have dinner or something, or become bored of me. I didn’t know. And he came back, and said “sorry I was looking up the grant deadline dates”. And it was too soon to write the thing we had been improvising but he had already had the adaptation in mind to do some day. He had done a version of it when he was very young, and he wanted to do a professional version of it now.
So Eric pitched it to me because he saw the crossover, the Venn Diagram of That Story, and My Life. And so we did start to flesh out how we could specifically help young people. We were planning to target at the time, high school students, how to build empathy for people who live with chronic illness and disability.
Because there’s so much we have in common. You know, your body changing, and your not understanding why and it impacts everything you do, impacts how people react to you, perhaps there are things that you used to do that you loved to do, and you’re feeling the loss because you shouldn’t really do those things that kids do anymore. There are so many ways we thought we were going to be presenting this almost educational piece to the general public, but also go into schools. And the conversation at first was very much about building empathy. And I don’t think it’s changed much now that it’s become this other thing informed by a global pandemic and the isolation everyone has felt in general and the fear and loss that everyone has had, loss of agency. All of those things are now a bit more universal but we all still need to work on the empathy. So the goal, in a way, has not changed: despite everything that has happened in the last few years.
Barczablog: Can you talk about the project? I’m dying to see i. I don’t know the Lovecraft story. There are two stories (“two weird tales”).
Lindsay Anne: The first half is Metamorphosis and that’s the one on which I worked, and the second half of the night is Mountains of Madness and that’s the Lovecraft. Melanie McNeill designed that one. And I was laughing when we did our tech run, it was the first time I’d see a run of our show and then their show, and realized that what we’re really presenting is the story of a man who lives with chronic illness, comes to terms with it, befriends the physical manifestation of his chronic illness and then goes off on an adventure through the mountains where he ultimately goes completely insane. I love this story. They go together in the most interesting way. They aren’t intended to be understood as the same story, two different plays that we’ve presented at the same time.
Barczablog: Could you talk about your influences, teachers?
Lindsay Anne: Yes.
Natalie Rewa was my professor in “Women in Theatre” which I believe I did for two years. She was influential for some of the conversations we had out of the class, even more so than in class, just for shaping how I engaged with all sorts of work I did later, not necessarily design.
Natalie said something that stayed with me and has served me in a lot of different capacities, that “meaning is found where repetition fails”. In the same way that Philip Glass gives you a pattern but changes it slightly or brings it back in an inverted way, that’s how you know where you are: to whatever degree, and to whatever degree that matters.
Natalie put to us that meaning is found where repetition fails. If you are a stage manager or house technician as I was for a time and you’re watching the same show, what is supposed to be the same show night after night: but it isn’t the same show. If you are a person who doesn’t like that kind of repetition the way to avoid the boredom is to look for the things that are different and ask why: and that’s always interesting. And if you are a designer working with pattern line colour texture sometimes the choice that best supports what you are presenting is to create a pattern and then break it. Or use a pattern that tricks your mind into thinking something is larger or smaller than it actually is. That’s the all-encompassing thing that she gave to us.
Craig Walker was a fantastic professor but I also designed for him. Some of the first designs I did were for Theatre Kingston, and plays he directed.
Fred Euringer was one of my playwrighting professors: and he was a huge influence.
Out of school the person who influenced my work the most was Karen P Hay , she had been the head scenic artist here [unconsciously pointing out the window because she’s in Stratford, and I’m not] at the Festival. And she quickly became one of my best friends as well I was hired by the Festival, but she really (indirectly) taught me how to run a department, how to manage a department. The way that shop ran was the ideal. It was the best place I’d ever worked. The Stratford Festival paint-shop was the best place I ever worked. But it was not because of the Festival at large, because if there was something going on in the greater company, stressful upsetting things perhaps, that didn’t enter the room. But: it also wasn’t a secret. There was the respect. If you asked she would explain what was happening. You could have a conversation about it. You were shielded if you needed to be shielded. And you were let in if you wanted to be let in. And that allowed everyone to engage with the work, with the company at the place where they were most comfortable. There was also a lot of frivolity and joking in the room, and the rule was you can be as silly as you want but: your brush has to be moving.
Barczablog: The work has to get done.
Lindsay Anne: The work has to get done. And so the way the tone was set I realized early on, was really important: and I tried to take that forward, wherever I was the head scenic artist. I don’t know that I was always successful. But those were some of the most important lessons.
Barczablog Did you migrate from one area to another, so did you start in props or design and then move…You kind of did everything eventually. But what did you do first?
Lindsay Anne: Well I was a dancer first.
[pause after picking my jaw up off the floor]
Barczablog: Wow, I wouldn’t have guessed that.
Lindsay Anne: No you wouldn’t. My mom was a visual artist, my whole family on that side, visual artists. Photographer, sculptor. I think I wanted to do something in the arts that wasn’t exactly what my family already did: so I wouldn’t be told how to do it, which in retrospect, wasn’t a great choice. That was how I felt at the time.
But I did start in dance, and was doing some paid gigs, was approaching semi-professional: but then had a car accident where I couldn’t walk for four months, and left for school to do theatre, so that was sort of the end of that. I couldn’t continue to dance at the level, the frequency of classes that I would need, to work, in order to stay at the level at which I had been, let alone improve. That was just dropped. That was the first career where I had to just forget about it and go on to do something else.
But then theatre seemed to be the thing I really wanted to do. But I went in thinking I was a dancer – director and it turned out I didn’t want to do either of those things anymore, so I sort of got streamed for design. And I had been making masks since Grade 10. My high school actually sent me to some Theatre Ontario events with Theatre Beyond Words, when I was in drama classes. I had been building masks and working with them. So that was how I got into puppets. And I did a lot of puppets in university. But then I also ended up painting shows, just because in a liberal arts theatre program you have to do some of everything. And then I was hired from school by Thousand Islands Playhouse as head scenic artist there.
Barczablog: So you were working in that area around Kingston / Thousand Islands?
Lindsay Anne: Just after school I was there, but after I moved to Toronto shortly afterwards. I’ve moved a lot but ultimately not very far away. So I guess paint was the first thing that I did professionally at a higher level but I was also doing electrics calls, carpentry calls and whatever else.
[again the laugh]
Barczablog: I was thinking: if you hadn’t had the car accident you might have still been dancing. I wonder if you would have had the same exposure to paints and so forth, if you kept dancing.
Lindsay Anne: There are a lot of what-ifs.
Barczablog: I’m looking at you now wondering: are you able to go for long walks or jog or exercise? [shake of the head] Does that even interest you?
Lindsay Anne: Hiking interests me, but I can’t walk around town. I’m now completely housebound, at this point. It’s not safe anymore to just walk up and down the street, for fun. And it’s not fun. Because I’ll always get nailed by barbecues and laundry perfume, bonfires and people washing their car and whatever else toxicity is going on in the neighbourhood.
Barczablog: There’s a rising awareness of this. We’re not allowed to wear cologne or scents in the theatre anymore. Everybody is becoming a little more sensitive. And I wasn’t joking, this canary in a mine metaphor is very powerful for me.
Lindsay Anne: I think we’re all suffering from the exposure in some way but I’m one of the people who is symptomatic and most other people are not. So I think the damage is probably being done, it’s just that the bodies aren’t reacting in the same way because perhaps the predisposition wasn’t there, and there wasn’t the same level of chronic and acute exposure that I have had. Certainly if anyone in the medical field had asked me “to what are you being exposed” I would have changed courses, I would be doing music, or something else that would do less harm.
It’s a big question because the research isn’t really being done. There isn’t any money in researching MCS because if we’re not able to metabolize pharmaceuticals then there’s nothing to sell to us. So there’s actually more money in the grand scheme in discrediting the existing research. Because that allows people to continue to manufacture and sell the goods that are doing the harm, to I think, everybody.
Barczablog Do you ever go out or do your friends come in?
Lindsay Anne People come here now. I used to have some safe spaces. But all of that is now different because in order to be open at all, they’ve mandated certain other types of cleaning products. Without any safe spaces out in the world I can’t even try a new place because I’ll be trapped. It’s too dangerous.
Barczablog: Do you do a lot of home delivery (to your place)?
Lindsay Anne: Exactly. My friend Mike McClennan, who is the composer for Eric’s show, does a lot of my grocery shopping. We used to go grocery shopping together and he’s the friend who best knows my parameters, in terms of what I do and don’t buy, should and shouldn’t buy and he knows what questions to ask if he’s making a substitution.
Barczablog: I saw you with your keyboard, you did music for a show.
Lindsay Anne: Yes. So my dayjob right now –because it’s something I can do from home—is mostly social media. I have mostly dog-trainers as clients actually. Which is hilarious because I’m obviously a cat person.
The other thing that I do is to assist Donna-Michelle St Bernard, who’s a wonderful playwright. She has been very supportive of my transition into doing music as a sideline. I’d like to be making music that would then be licensed to people who are making mini-documentaries, or even youtube videos, in the way DW uses music in their documentaries. DW is like the German TVO. Creating that kind of music where it can he put in a place and licensed and just be a side thing. Donna has been completely supportive and that includes that she gave me some of her poems to underscore. “Here’s a project, let’s do this thing together.”
Barczablog: There are so many things you’ve done. Dancer, musician, painter, designer…. Puppet maker, prop-maker. And you probably have a few more up you sleeve.
Lindsay Anne: They all inform each other. It’s all part of the same body of work.
Barczablog: You didn’t mention sleep issues. I’m wondering because that’s often relevant for artists.
Lindsay Anne: Yes, that’s when asthma issues tend to build up from the day. I have a rescue inhaler beside my bed. But I sleep now far more than I ever did before. During my theatre career, I was working extremely long hours, going from one theatre 8-5 to another from 9-11 and possibly doing an overnight… it’s the way of scenic art. It’s the way of trying to eke out a living in indie theatre. The joke used to be: “Due to scheduling issues, I will be taking my day off overnight.” I would not be as sick as I am now if I had ever slept, and let my body repair itself as best it could. Now, I’m almost narcoleptic at times. It’s one of the only tools I have.
It’s learned, and almost addicting in a way. But it’s incredibly damaging in the long term. I learned it in high school. I would leave early for the long commute with my step-father, who taught music at the middle school, do a full day of school, walk to the dance studio and teach until 11pm, and then drive home for an hour and begin my homework.
Barczablog That’s probably hard on the body, and the brain.
Lindsay Anne: Absolutely
Barczablog: The moment of your diagnosis: did you feel a sudden blast of validation? Suddenly it all made sense, for the first time. I am guessing your life changed.
Lindsay Anne: Yes and no, because it was also rather a slow burn in the sense that I had to find a lot of the information myself. It took a full year of research before I was able to get the referral from my GP to go to the Environmental Health Clinic at Women’s College Hospital. Then there was a 16-month wait to be seen by the specialist. So all-in, I spent almost three years researching, and by the time I got the official diagnosis it was more of a bureaucratic exercise. That’s an exaggeration to some degree, because obviously they also helped me by doing the expensive bloodwork a GP is not authorised to do, but to some degree it did feel like I was helping them with their research more than they were changing my life.
What I wrote on the giant application to the EHC—while I was still working, and having horrible daily reactions to triggers—was very different from what I reported to them in person in my first appointment. So much time had passed that I had already begun to isolate and remove all the known triggers from my day-to-day life. Interestingly, I actually felt worse for a while. That’s because the baseline shifted. Once I was removing the toxins from my daily life, I was having moments of feeling much better. Unfortunately, by comparison, that can make the reactions feel worse than before.
Barczablog: Total elapsed time since first symptoms? Was it over 10 years? perhaps 20 years? or more? oh wait you said you were 9 and now you’re over 40, so wow…
Lindsay Anne: Yes, I’ve likely had this my whole life.
Barczablog: I have one other question, which is more of an observation. My wife always asks me why i laugh at some things that are painful. Throughout our conversation, you were laughing and guffawing while reporting pains and horrors. Fascinating. You’re so stoic coping with challenges. Are you even aware of your laughter? I feel a kinship & connection even if I think you are so much bolder in what you have faced.
Lindsay Anne: In first-year university I earned the nickname “The Plant” because I am an active listener. Ha ha ha. Yes, I am aware of it, and further to one of your first questions, it is one of the ways in which I am most like my mother.
Barczablog: You mean, they’d put you in the audience for comedies? To laugh at shows that needed support? You were “the plant” like a claque.
Lindsay Anne I also try to find the humour in everything. It’s the only way forward. I was cracking jokes to the nurses while they stitched up a puncture wound in my leg; I don’t know any other way to negotiate the challenges of life. It’s a defence mechanism at times, of course. But it is also just part of my personal lexicon, I suppose. It can’t be helped.