Two re-posts (ripostes?) to share from the wider theatre-writing community that nonetheless gave me local pause.
The first comes from the Guardian theatre critic Lyn Gardner, whose wonderful contributions to that paper's Stage blog usually keep me up-to-date with what's on the boards in the UK. Today, however, she was talking about a recent incident at our very own Vancouver East Cultural Centre, when the actress Miriam Margolyes, in town with her one-woman ode to Dickens' Women, apparently berated an audience member in the front row for refusing to join with her fellow patrons in giving the performance a standing ovation. Am I ever glad we decided to give a pass on that one. And now I have one more reason not to capitulate and start watching the Harry Potter movies. I just wonder why the incident hasn't received more play in the local press.
Then, in the Globe and Mail, it was J. Kelly Nestruck's turn to offer his annual Canadian theatre round-up, which basically turned into a catalogue of all the sins committed by different organizations' Boards of Directors over the past year. Included alongside indictments of the Factory Theatre Board (for canning Ken Gass) and the Tarragon Board (for apparently censoring longtime playwright-in-residence Michael Healey for his satirical play about Stephen Harper) was a sharp (and, I have to say, deserved) rebuke of the Vancouver Playhouse Board for closing up shop after 49 years at an eleventh-hour, in camera meeting, leaving the community without the time or resources to mount a rescue plan in response. Not that any of this should find me looking over my shoulder as President of the PuSh Festival Board. I serve with 17 other incredibly talented and professional and supportive directors, all of whom have absolute faith in the vision and talents and fiscal responsibility of our ED and the entire staff. This year's Festival is our biggest yet. And my only worry as Board President right now is how I'm going to see everything.
You can join the fun by purchasing tickets here.
P.
Showing posts with label Ken Gass. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Ken Gass. Show all posts
Monday, December 17, 2012
Saturday, July 14, 2012
Effort over Time
Heidi Strauss and adelheid dance projects' this time was a splendid way to finish my 2012 Dancing on the Edge experience. The piece, as the program notes inform us, is a response to a 1970 play by Ken Gass. Until his recent and unceremonious firing, Gass was Artistic Director at Factory Theatre in Toronto, where Strauss has worked as dance-artist-in-residence for the past several years. Indeed, Strauss has choreographed frequently for theatre and opera, and while this time is a wordless performance, the narrative it crafts out of its intense physicality, combined with the canny use of lighting and projections, suggests that Strauss is a choreographer who is very comfortable with theatricality.
In the case of this time, that theatricality began with the transformation of SFU Woodward's Studio T, where the performance took place. Upon entering, we discover that the black box space has been reduced in size by about one-third, an internal wall having been erected, and through which, we soon discover, the seats have been arranged on opposing sides, with audience members, once positioned, facing each other like sports fans cheering for different teams. However, as we wait for the performance to begin, we have something other to watch than each other; below each set of raked risers is a long and narrow screen, on which we glimpse a loop of projected images of dancers Justine A. Chambers and Yuichiro Inoue, presumably in rehearsal for the piece.
Turns out the sporting arena metaphor is an apt one. Upon entering, Chambers and Inoue, dressed casually in street clothes and both wearing trainers, eye each other warily while leaning in the doorway, or sitting down next to the opposite wall, or circling each other gladitorially in between. At this point, the house lights are still up and there is no sound other than the tap of the dancers' shoes on the floor. Gradually music builds and the first of a series of horizontal shafts of light bisects the floor, and the dancers begin a contest of wills that, we eventually discover, is less about self-expression than collective submission. When, after 45 minutes of intensely physical movement, Chambers and Inoue end up in a clutch on the floor, we get that this is not about a "you" or a "me," but an "us"--and what it takes for "you" and "me" to become that "us." If one definition of power is the expending of effort over time, then this piece demonstrates just how much more effort it takes--and how delimited our time might be--to give up power.
It's a lesson that is equally apt for an audience that becomes an "us" (that is, something more than the sum of our individual selves) through compelling performances such as this one.
P.
In the case of this time, that theatricality began with the transformation of SFU Woodward's Studio T, where the performance took place. Upon entering, we discover that the black box space has been reduced in size by about one-third, an internal wall having been erected, and through which, we soon discover, the seats have been arranged on opposing sides, with audience members, once positioned, facing each other like sports fans cheering for different teams. However, as we wait for the performance to begin, we have something other to watch than each other; below each set of raked risers is a long and narrow screen, on which we glimpse a loop of projected images of dancers Justine A. Chambers and Yuichiro Inoue, presumably in rehearsal for the piece.
Turns out the sporting arena metaphor is an apt one. Upon entering, Chambers and Inoue, dressed casually in street clothes and both wearing trainers, eye each other warily while leaning in the doorway, or sitting down next to the opposite wall, or circling each other gladitorially in between. At this point, the house lights are still up and there is no sound other than the tap of the dancers' shoes on the floor. Gradually music builds and the first of a series of horizontal shafts of light bisects the floor, and the dancers begin a contest of wills that, we eventually discover, is less about self-expression than collective submission. When, after 45 minutes of intensely physical movement, Chambers and Inoue end up in a clutch on the floor, we get that this is not about a "you" or a "me," but an "us"--and what it takes for "you" and "me" to become that "us." If one definition of power is the expending of effort over time, then this piece demonstrates just how much more effort it takes--and how delimited our time might be--to give up power.
It's a lesson that is equally apt for an audience that becomes an "us" (that is, something more than the sum of our individual selves) through compelling performances such as this one.
P.
Friday, June 22, 2012
Factory Turmoil in Toronto
Meanwhile, at the Factory Theatre in Toronto, another bit of history has abruptly come to an end with the firing of Artistic Director (and company founder) Ken Gass. Details here.
George Walker is threatening to pull his new play, and urging others to do the same. All of this potentially has local repercussions: one of next season's scheduled shows at the Factory is the PuSh-developed Craigslist Cantata, mentioned in my previous post.
P.
George Walker is threatening to pull his new play, and urging others to do the same. All of this potentially has local repercussions: one of next season's scheduled shows at the Factory is the PuSh-developed Craigslist Cantata, mentioned in my previous post.
P.
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