the-wheelchair-critic

[the-wheelchair-critic]

May I Take Your Arm is a Stunning Immersive Performance Installation

May I Take Your Arm. Cahoots Theatre. September 21st-23rd 2018

When I was first asked to review May I Take Your Arm? (Red Dress Productions)I wasn’t entirely sure what I had just agreed to participate in. Was it a guided neighbourhood walk? A devised theatre piece? Was it open to the random happenings of the Toronto streets? It turns out, that in many ways it was all of the above.

Walking into the theatre, one is greeted with five replica displays (Anna Camilleri) of various East-End Toronto landmarks including Riverdale farms, Allan Gardens, and Necropolis Cemetery. The replicas are built out of a combination of natural and man-made materials and are entirely interactive. Patrons are invited to interact with the representational environments; they are encouraged to play with floating boats, toy animals, and cars, and can even place a representational paper cutout that was included in the program in the settings that they wish to explore.

As a wheelchair user I take delight that all the displays are placed at the perfect height for me to explore them easily, and that the paper cutouts on the replicas represent a variety of bodies in motion including wheelchair users and paper cutouts with white canes. I only wish that instead of having paper cutouts representing only walking people of one body shape and size included in the programs, patrons were presented with a variety of bodies to place on the replicas and were able to choose to represent themselves in the way that felt closest to how they typically interact with the world.

As the period for interacting with the displays ends, the background street noises intensify. Without the typical visual cues that accompany these sounds they can be disorienting, difficult to spatially locate and identify. This experience gives patrons the opportunity to experience the overwhelming sensation of not having full access to the visual and auditory information that they use daily to navigate spaces safely, asking audience members to become more attuned with their own visual and auditory memories to make sense of the cacophony.

The performance segues from interactive spatial exploration into an audio (Tristan R Whiston), tactile (Anna Camilleri), and experiential experience. Alex Bulmer opens the piece by explaining that upon moving to Toronto’s East End a number of months ago, she needed to get to know the area of Toronto she resides in as a blind person. For her this need resulted in a deep fascination with the process of determining how a physical location moves from space, to place to home. Bulmer explains that her primary mode for getting to know her new home was engaging with several Torontonians and having them accompany her on guided walks exploring various locations in their neighbourhood, which frequently begin with the phrase “May I take your arm?”.

The performance blends audio recordings of these walks, along with a video projection (Katie Yealland) of Bulmer’s real-time interactions with the replicas that mirror their experiences with the actual locations. At one point during the performance Bulmer interacts with one of the replicas by eating the herbs from the garden, reminding us that we do interact with our natural and built environments through using all of our senses. Bulmer’s hosts within the community are a fascinating blend of people, including young people and adults, newcomers and established Canadians, and disabled and non-disabled. The conversations range from educational information about burial practices, encounters with Beaver Scouts on a scavenger hunt and comparisons of disability inclusion in Portugal versus Canada. Each of Bulmer’s walks do more than introduce us to a landmark through her experiences, they also expose the people that Bulmer walks with and the significance that these places hold to those who accompany them. It is a powerful reminder of how human experience shapes our experience of place, and that the relationships that we form within our physical environment are an integral part of feeling established within a community.

May I Take Your Arm showcases previously underexplored possibilities through challenging common assumptions about how people typically interact with their environment. While this piece may challenge mainstream understandings of what constitutes performance art, it is a delightful example of what is possible when blindness is centered as the default way of experiencing the world and performance. It underscores the importance of disability art, and the limitless creative potential that can be harnessed by disabled artists in developing new art forms.

With the exciting possibilities that   May I Take Your Arm provokes, I find myself imagining and wondering what it could look like as it moves forward. I get excited about how it could collide with other attempts to make performance art more accessible for blind patrons such Audimance where patrons are able to curate their own auditory experience from a set of pre-created audio experiences, and how this could potentially offer new pathways for interacting with the built installation environment as an audio-guided tour. I wonder what would happen if a crowd of adults was encouraged to jointly interact with the replicas while listening to the stories housed within them. No matter what form this performance installation takes next, I look forward to the future of this piece.

[the-wheelchair-critic]

Toronto Fringe Festival Accessibility and Disability Art Round-up

Now that another year of Fringe has come and gone, I decided to write a post on my experiences at Fringe, both as a reviewer for NOW Magazine, and when we set ourselves loose on Fringe to explore for ourselves. It’s been a wild ride, impossible to sum up in one article, but I’m going to give it my best shot.

The Extraordinary

The Front of House manager at Theatre Passe Muraille (TPM) gets major props for providing us (my partner who also is a manual chair user and I) the best access experience that we had in our entire Fringe experience. We were at the theatre twice in one day, and for those of you who don’t use manual wheelchairs, the entrance way to TPM is not accessible at all. The incline is too steep to be able to self-propel up it, and the doors too heavy to manage opening by yourself even if you are somehow able to have super human strength and get up there. It’s a doable venue, but I won’t do it unless we’ve made arrangements to have someone outside assist us with getting in. The front of house manager was incredible about assisting us into the venue, by which I mean she didn’t just agree to help, but also checked in with where on the chair she should touch and push, and asked for consent before she touched us. On our second entry into the building later, a volunteer came up behind me and just started pushing, and she found us a few minutes later in the lobby, and apologized that the volunteer hadn’t asked before he did it.  She said that she had spoken to him and that he now knew that that was something that he shouldn’t do. Given the number of screaming fights I’ve had with the general public about not touching me without my consent, this was a refreshing and amazing change of pace!

Also making the extraordinary list was Generally Hospital. It was amazing. The team of Ophira Calof, Grace Smith, Alla Rasul, Devan Islas and Sabrina Friedman under the direction of Leigh Cameron make a tight finely tuned comedy machine. Exploring themes that are incredibly relevant to disabled and chronically ill people’s lives such as how to have sex in a wheelchair, and love not being the only thing in the air in the colonoscopy recovery room, they had me in stitches the entire time. My favourite scene was when Rasul, having made a typical able-bodied comment about being a wheelchair user, gets stared down by Calof as she raises her chair to its full height, sticks her fingers out in an “I’m watching you” gesture and silently turns and wheels away, fingers following Rasul. Having spent significant amounts of time in the hospital myself over the years, it makes me wish that next time I need to be in the hospital, I could check myself into Arbitrary General, provided it isn’t during the purge.

The Great

Leading off the great list, is Awkward Hug. I knew it was a story that touched on disability, but I was on guard a bit going in because Cory Thibert is not disabled himself, and was instead speaking about his parents experience of disability and how it impacted him. Caregiver stories about disabled people can often be problematic, and speak about disabled people in ways they haven’t consented to, or share a side of the disabled person that they don’t want to be shared. I was really happy about the way that Cory told his story. It was genuine and real, and gave me so much to relate to as a disabled person in the audience. One of the main themes in the play is how Cory’s father, full of anxiety about missing paratransit, and all the ways that can and has left him stranded, leaves all of Cory’s performances just before the final scene. Being a paratransit user, this resonated, and having personally experienced the terrors of an Ottawa winter as a wheelchair user (2 pairs of socks and a protective blanket under good quality boots isn’t enough to keep you from losing feeling in your toes) I can appreciate the particular chord of fear this experience strikes. The emotions are genuine, complex, and nuanced, even as Thibert self-professes his difficulty with expressing his feelings and communication. The only weakness of the work is that sometimes the story loses focus and takes us on unnecessary side trips. I’m not quite sure how the multiple pet stories connected to the core of the story, which is Thibert’s awakening to his parent’s disabilities, and how that influences the relationship that he is able to have with them. Otherwise, this is a fantastic piece from a creator who I look forward to seeing more from.

Also on the great list was the #UrgentExchange with Generator. I got to facilitate a conversation on criticism in disability art, and I had a blast. We didn’t get to any concrete answers, but managed to cover some of the core tensions between the disability community and the theatre criticism community. Some of the key points that came out of our conversation included tensions between wanting to have disability art recognized as part of the mainstream arts scene, which includes opening the door to criticism, but recognizing that mainstream media and disabled people have had a difficult relationship which continues to this day. This leaves many disabled artists distrustful of the media. Another tension is that if critics don’t have adequate language or knowledge of the disability community, are they qualified to comment upon or judge that work? If they aren’t, or they don’t, who is responsible for providing that education? Is it up to the critic, should it be up to the production itself, or the PR company (if one is engaged)? Does the arts sector have the capacity to support this kind of education? Where are the institutions that might provide it? Who do we want even reviewing disability art? Should we even invite able-bodied critics to review disability art pieces? I don’t know if I have any of the answers, but I’m really happy to be asking the questions and having the conversations.

The last item making my great list was Birds Make Me Think About Freedom. I reviewed it for NOW Magazine, so you can check out my writing on it there.

The Bad

There were numerous instances of sketchy accessibility throughout Fringe. George Ignatieff Theatre, I’m looking at you. It wasn’t that it was impossible, it is that it was poorly marked, and if you didn’t know the accessible way into that theatre already, there was a lot of extra uphill walking/rolling required. On my second day there, I had to cover about 50 m on grass because they were doing construction on the building and the truck had blocked the accessible entrance. Not cool U of T. Not cool. Also not so great was signage posted around some of the site specific venues that wasn’t placed in ways that a wheelchair user could access it.

Also, coming in on the bad list was Aspergers: More Tales of a Social Misfit. I also wrote about it for NOW but I want to say a bit more about it as I’ve had some more time to reflect on it. I really wanted to like the show. I came into Fringe being incredibly excited about it and eager to see it. When I left, I felt disappointed, mostly because it felt like to me rather than turning the joke around on neurotypical people, it gave people an excuse to laugh at autistic people. I think Aaron is a smart and capable comedian, and I was hard on him because I think his work has the potential to become this. I think that the disabled community, and able-bodied people too, are ready for work that diverges from old tropes and comedic standbys and gets real with people about the realities of ableism. So, despite the bad review, I hope Aaron continues to work towards this, and I would go see his work again.

The Ugly

Thankfully, there are only two entries to the ugly category. First up, is The Randolph and Annex theatres. Both venues were marked as accessible by Fringe Toronto, and neither of them were. The Randolph scores slightly worse than the Annex as it is completely unsafe for a variety of mobility devices including manual chairs, power chairs or scooters. The ramp to the door was designed for trolleys and not people, and it was not wide enough to accommodate disabled people safely. The ramp to the bathroom also is not doable or safe either. The Annex would be much better if they could address the gravel parking lot a disabled person (but notably not an able-bodied person) must cross to access the ramp. The good thing that came out of this situation however was a really good conversation with the Fringe team, and a plan going forward to make sure that venues used are accessible, and deemed as such by actual disabled people, with detailed information available to the public in advance, moving forward into future years.

The last ugly thing was receiving hate mail for a review. It comes with the territory, so I’m not too shaken about it other than feeling like “woo, now I’m a new critic”, but it sucks when you’re being accused of doing the thing that you’ve stood against publicly again and again. Ultimately, give people a computer and anonymity to hide behind and people will say whatever they feel entitled to though.

So there you have it. With a final evening of Fringe ahead for those of us who don’t have rehearsal tonight, get on out there and Fringe it up!

[the-wheelchair-critic]

Go see Shadow Kingdom. Better yet, round up some of your friends in the struggle and take them with you. I feel like it's a powerful antidote to the world we are living in today, and if kids can truly take in this message and hold it to heart, we are in amazing hands for the future! I'm so glad that this was the last Fringe show that I reviewed for NOW. It was an amazing note to end that experience on.

[the-wheelchair-critic]

Another Fringe review has been posted!! This one makes my list of shows to watch out for. It’s going to be a tour de force with more production time under its belt!

[the-wheelchair-critic]

My review of Aspergers: More Tales of a Social Misfit is up. It missed the mark, but I’m feeling really hopeful about what future versions of this work can bring. 

[the-wheelchair-critic]

Check out my second Fringe Review! Up now on NOW Magazine!

[the-wheelchair-critic]

Check out my review of Harvey & The Extraordinary as part of NOW Magazine’s Fringe coverage here!

[the-wheelchair-critic]

Out the Window

Written in the Style of The Globe and Mail

3 Stars

Written by: Liza Balkan

Directed by: Sarah Garton Stanley

Starring: Sarah Kitz, David Gerry, RH Thomson

Venue: Harbourfront Centre Theatre

Out the Window seeks to answer deep and important questions about the role of policing in situations where a person is experiencing a mental health crisis. Are the deaths of those who are in crisis inevitable, or is there another way that we, as a society, can respond to those in moments of vulnerability and need? Programmed as part of Toronto’s Luminato festival, the show is an exploration of violence in policing, and our responsibility to care about each other as human beings. Playwright Liza Balkan created Out the Window as a response to witnessing the 2000 death of Otto Vass during a violent encounter with Toronto police which resulted in his death. It acts as a realistic, yet sensitive depiction of the trauma that one experiences both as witness to such an event, and the way that witnessing such an event can unravel a witness’ life through court cases, inquests and attempts to make sense of everything they are experiencing.

The first two acts of out the window are a tight, fine-tuned, precision machine. The scene rapidly changes from moments of Liza’s (Sarah Kitz) testimony, aspects of police officer training, and testimony from the officers involved in the incident. During one striking scene taking place several years after Otto’s death, wait staff in a restaurant slowly morph into police officers over the course of a meal, as Liza becomes increasingly agitated, aptly demonstrating how after a police fatality there are always multiple victims. Time morphs and stands still in a jumble of unanswered questions, and closure that will never come.

The third act of the performance is a more recent addition, oscillating between the tightly choreographed forms of the first two acts, and allowing pauses for dialogue, sharing and celebration. It is at times both profound and confusing, rapidly changing directions between celebratory and critical. It begins with a performance by the Bruised Years Choir, a Workman Arts performance program, and leads into a raucous moment of the cast enjoying food and drink together celebrating Otto’s Hungarian heritage. Another vignette is a demonstration of a common police de-escalation tactic and how the uniform changes our perception of those who wear it. During this third act Syrus Marcus Ware, who was on stage silently drawing for the first two acts speaks about his involvement with the show, and the relevance that it has on his life as someone who lives at an increased likelihood of a violent police encounter. After that, the audience are invited on stage for a tour of Syrus’ drawings and to partake in a communal meal in celebration of Otto’s life. While the third act is chaotic and unpredictable, it continues to hammer home the message that there is nuance and subtlety that is required when attempting to make space for these stories. While the juxtaposition of the elements of the third act is initially confusing and jarring, it becomes clearer when understood as an attempt at recognizing the complexity and myriad emotions that mark these events. There is a need to recognize that there is more to remember about victims of police brutality than their mental health crises and much to celebrate within their lives.

Rather than concluding that deaths like Otto Vass’ are unavoidable, Out the Window paints a picture of an alternate future where deaths involving police can become a thing of the past. Alternative community resources for those who are experiencing mental health crises, and how to intervene safely are presented. The show is unapologetically anti-policing as an institution, but mindful that alternatives need to feel real and viable to their audience. Rather than denying the harmful ways that mental health crises can sometimes play out, the audience is given simple advice to empower them to respond and advocate on behalf of those in their lives who may experience such a crisis.  Out the Window tells us that it is time to demand better, and that by caring just a little bit more, it might be well within our grasp to achieve.

[the-wheelchair-critic]

Preview for bug

Written in the style of the Toronto Star

There is an urgent need for Canadians to understand the legacy that colonization has left on Indigenous peoples. Bug’s creator Yolanda Bonnell explains that while it would be unheard of for Canadians to leave school unaware of shameful historical moments such as slavery or the holocaust, too many Canadians remain unaware of the residential school system and the intergenerational impacts that the forced removal of children has had on Indigenous peoples. That particularly for Indigenous women who are continuing to be silenced and murdered, there is a critical need to create space for these truths and create a dialogue where healing can occur. For Bonnell, the key to creating these kinds of spaces, is ensuring that they can safely hold the hard truths that need to be spoken.

Bug, running from June 22nd-24th at The Theatre Centre as part of Toronto’s Luminato Festival, serves as a voice for the inconvenient Indigenous woman and child. It is a deep examination of how intergenerational trauma can create circumstances where Indigenous women are unable to overcome circumstances of addiction, abuse, and neglect. It is a circular telling of the ways in which generations of colonization and cultural genocide leave young women vulnerable to harmful forces that can make them feel loved.

Bug seeks not to be a show that the audience is invited into passively, but rather are welcomed in with full arms, and are invited to bring their whole selves into the experience. Care and intention drip from every aspect of the production. This includes a storytelling workshop facilitated by Bonnell prior to every run for Indigenous youth, who are further invited to perform their own versions of a creation story at the beginning of every show. Recognizing the potentially troubling subject matter, and a responsibility to take care of the audience, each show has a healer present to address any feelings that the production stirs up for the audience. Each show ends with a Q&A session, which Bonnell explains has been quite important for the audience to engage with her as herself, and gain some assurances that her own well-being is being looked after, rather than only serving as an opportunity to address questions that arise. There is an understanding throughout the production team that bug is about more than putting on a play, it is about creating a set of conditions where people can feel safe, and can learn together.

This intentionality extends beyond the structure of the performance itself, to the physical set up of the show. The show has recently transitioned to being performed in the round, from previous versions which utilized a traditional stage. The set is dotted with natural features including rocks, lights, and tree boughs. Bonnell works her audience in the round expertly during the run through, creating an unmistakable connection with those seated closest to her. These moments of connection are not always comfortable, as Bonnell reaches out in vulnerable moments, when addiction and need control her actions and responses more than rational thought. Begging for someone to recognize her humanity, the audience has a choice to make, whether to reach out and provide a moment of human connection, or rebuff her. A stark choice that brings home the realities that some Indigenous women face daily, increasing their susceptibility to violence and abuse.

Overall, bug is a masterful piece of intentionality. It is striking how a performance that covers such difficult material can create such a feeling of being held for both audience and performers alike. For Bonnell, this work is best understood as being akin to a form of artistic ceremony. While there is no intention of recreating ceremony or medicine on stage, the intention is to re-create the feeling that participating in ceremony can provide people through the artistry and holding of the audience during the performance. That in keeping everyone safe, there is room for a dialogue to emerge which can accept the painful continuing legacy of Canada’s history, and move forward to a broader reception of Indigenous voices speaking their truths. Towards a vision of the future where true reconciliation between Indigenous peoples and settlers may be possible.

[the-wheelchair-critic]

This video is a direct counterpoint to how Swan Lake handled wheelchair dance. This is what is truly possible and what we need to continue to strive for and the brilliance and beauty that is possible when we actually use people who live in these devices.

[the-wheelchair-critic]

Swan Lake

Written in the style of The Dance Current:

June 6-10 2018, Bluma Appel Theatre, Luminato Festival Toronto

Entering the theatre my eyes land on the woman on stage almost immediately. Looking past the near naked man squawking and chained to a cinder block, I am drawn instead to her, excitement coursing through me. It is rare to see wheelchair users on stage. Rarer still to see wheelchair users as part of a mainstream dance piece. I am momentarily thrilled that tonight I will be treated to seeing a fellow wheelchair dancer exhibit their craft.

Quickly, my excitement turns to dread. The woman sits in a hospital-type wheelchair, heavy and difficult to maneuver. There are no footrests, her legs hover awkwardly above the floor. The woman forgets and reminds herself of how her disabilities impact her perch in the chair, curling and uncurling her feet and hands in an unnatural way. Signs that using a chair is unnatural to her. Before the lights have even dimmed the performance has been tainted. My identity is not something that can be reduced to a prop. It is unacceptable that someone without a disability has been given permission to portray my experience on stage. I know in this moment, that before the end of the show the woman will stand from her chair and dance, seemingly justifying the use of an able-bodied woman cast in a disabled role once again.

Swan Lake/Loch na hEalais an Irish retelling of the story of Swan Lake. Placed into a contemporary Irish context, Jimmy O’Reilly (Alex Leonhartsberger) is reeling from his father’s death, and his mother Nancy’s (Elizabeth Cameron Dalman) need to move into accessible housing which will take away the only home he has ever known. His story is interconnected with the terror and tyranny of The Holy Man (Mikel Murfi) who in his role as priest commits sexual atrocities and banishes young women into life as speechless swans to avoid their ability to tell his secrets. Jimmy falls in love with The Holy Man’s victim Finola, and their irreversible march towards tragedy is cast.  

Within the arts world, the practice of hiring non-disabled actors, dancers, and performers to play a disabled role is known as cripping up. It is a practice that is as problematic as it is insidious. The writer and director create a character who is disabled, from their limited understanding of disability. Then, when time comes to cast this character, disability is recognized as an inconvenience to the story they want to tell, or to their production process. Several of the ideas that influence their understanding of a disabled character permeate their ideas of the disabled actors who might portray those roles on stage. There is no space to imagine a wheelchair user who might be able to stand for short periods of time, or dance independently of their chair.

Cripping up is particularly problematic as non-disabled people have been socialized to understand disability as tragedy, and something that is to be pitied. This is evident in the role of Nancy. She is a pitiable character. Gnarled and twisted. Moved about the stage by either her own inefficient and awkward push, or by attendants who magically appear and move her around the set like an object. She is cast as helpless against her own growing medical needs, and her inability to provide for her adult son. She is further cast as victim of the Holy Man, who sexually assaults her during a party.

I hold this perception and conceptualization of Nancy against my own understanding of my wheelchair using disabled body. Rather than feeling disempowered by my disabilities, I find using my wheelchair thrilling and empowering. I do not spend my days mourning when I was able to traverse the world on two legs, but rather rejoice in how much more reliable and active in my world I can be. The only regret I feel is that I was not empowered to use my wheelchair years ago. Seeing characters like Nancy whose disability exists to provoke pity provides no service or justice to disabled people, and creates further distance between public perception of disability and our realities. It is clear we have more work to do to ensure that disabled characters of the future are better written.

The disconnect from reality is emphasized in Nancy’s repeated movement from her wheelchair on stage. In a 75-minute production, a severely disabled woman gets out of her wheelchair no less than four times. While the most vulgar of these instances is the finale dance scene, the one that strikes me the most is the birthday party scene. Nancy leaves her wheelchair, laboring furiously with a cane to carry a birthday cake full of candles to the center stage. This is outright dangerous, and there is no call for it. Disabled people have adopted many strategies to carry objects while in their wheelchairs, however, most occupational therapists agree that carrying objects that are on fire is a poor decision, particularly when you are using your least supportive mobility aid and have a substantial fall risk. Given the attendants who constantly surround her, there is no reason why they could not, under her direction, carry the cake for her.

Finally, the finale adds insult to what has been a trying disability story: The wheelchair user dances joyfully on stage, underneath a cascade of goose down, free of the bonds of her wheelchair. Once again, the only acceptable plot line for a disabled dancer is that our only dream is to be free from mobility devices, the only way in which we can have value is to shed them. I wonder for the umpteenth time why a wheelchair dancer was not hired to play the role, and recall the many dancers who would have been exceptional casting choices. This is the final blow to what has been a horrific exploration of a disability story. The disabled community deserves stories that represent our realities and our experiences, where we are whole characters, told from our perspectives, and portrayed by us. Anything else is insulting.

[the-wheelchair-critic]

Music Music Life Death Music: An Absurdical

Written in the style of the Globe and Mail (ish... I’m pretty salty)

Music Music Life Death Music: An Absurdical

½ star

Written, Directed & Composed by: Adam Seelig

Starring: Richard Harte, Sierra Holder, Theresa Tova, Jennifer Villaverde

Venue: Tarragon Theatre Extra Space

When I enter Tarragon Theatre on Sunday at about 2 pm, it’s clear the box office is expecting me. The woman behind the desk smiles knowingly at me as she hands me my ticket. She leads me into the theatre, and directs me to a spot between two pieces of tape on the floor in front of the risers that have been designated as the “safe zone” for me to park my wheelchair. As in many theatres with riser seating, my seat is on the stage floor, providing me with a close-up vantage point of Music Music Life Death Music.

From this position, the effect of Jackie Chau’s living room set is unmistakable. In fact, I am only slightly back from where I would have chosen to position myself if this had been a friend’s home. Prior to the show, patrons making their way to their seats pass by me uncomfortably closely to avoid stepping on the set. As the show starts, I realize that this discomfort was minor in comparison to what else was in store for me.

I quickly realize that my position in the theatre has left me on the wrong side of the fourth wall. The premise is familiar. Late one night there is a knock at the door, on the other side is DD’s (Jennifer Villaverde) distraught mother, B (Theresa Tova). The aptly billed absurdical follows the family as they attempt to make sense of B’s appearance and send her on her way so that DD and JJ (Richard Harte) can get back to getting busy. From where I sit I am an unwelcome interloper; the scene calling to mind the family counselling I participate in as a child and youth care practitioner. Sitting with my notepad I felt far more like I was expected to be the family counsellor than a theatre critic. In fact, had I interjected, the audience’s heads would have turned, expecting me to be handed a microphone and burst out in perfectly coordinated song and dance.

Director, writer, and composer Adam Seelig has blocked this production to be extremely close to the audience, and did not allow for the possibility that there would be mobility device users in the audience. At one point Harte trips over my chair, clearly thrown that his mark has suddenly shifted. To his credit, he does not break character. This is repeated several times during the show, with all cast members having moments of nearly tripping over my chair, risking injury to both of us. For a large portion of the production I would have been able to reach out and crotch-punch members of the cast. This is uncomfortably close taken to a new level.

Tova as B plays the part of obnoxious wounded diva beautifully, complete with a powerhouse vocal range. However, when you have a diva singing at the top of her capabilities standing four inches away from you, you had best hope that you are wearing a raincoat to protect you from the inevitable spit. Of all the hazards that I expect when going to the theatre, being spat on by the cast does not rank highly.

I find myself unable to offer critique of either plot or music. Being hard of hearing, I found the music to be completely inaccessible, and thus, I was not able to make sense of much of the plot either. The band of Tyler Emond, Joshua Skye Engel, Lynette Gillis and Seelig completely overpower the space. The microphones that the cast utilize (a further absurdity in a tiny theatre) only distort the sound further, making it entirely incomprehensible.

I am putting the entire Toronto theatre scene on notice. It’s time that we do better. We must expect disabled people to be in theatre spaces as actors, producers, audience members and critics. We must take accessibility into account in all productions from the earliest planning stages. It is crucial that movements to increase diversity in theatre include disabled people. No one else should ever have to have this kind of an experience at the theatre. There are no excuses.

[the-wheelchair-critic]

Innocence Lost

Written in the style of Now Magazine

INNOCENCE LOST: A PLAY ABOUT STEVEN TRUSCOTT by Beverley Cooper (Soulpepper). At the Young Centre (50 Tank House). Runs to June 23. $32-$96. See listing. Rating: NNNN

What happens when the justice system that we place our faith in as a democratic society gets it wrong? Beverley Cooper’s (2008) play about Steven Truscott, explores the lives ruined amidst a miscarriage of justice in the aftermath of the rape and murder of Lynne Harper in 1959.

The play is meticulously researched and centers on the real-life residents of Clinton Ontario, as seen through the eyes of fictional narrator Sarah (Courtney Ch’ng Lancaster). Director Jackie Maxwell takes the audience through a rapid-fire examination of Steven Truscott’s story that manages to hit just the right pace, allowing the audience to sit with the questions the story raises without having to hear every detail of the case. Events taking place over decades were handily covered in a two-hour production that flew by.

The story unfolds against a backdrop of trees (Camellia Koo) which are perfectly lit (Bonnie Beecher) and act as metaphor for the mood of the story throughout the play. They are in turn the site of a thriving small town community, site of horrific crimes, cover for whispers and innuendo, and a jail. They are a poignant site for the deep questions asked of the audience regarding innocence, guilt, truth objectivity, and who we owe justice to more, those who are dead or alive.

The ten-member ensemble handle a dizzying array of roles deftly, however adult attempts at conveying child-like understandings of the world are sometimes disingenuous. Lines are frequently delivered as recitations – such as one might find in a police or court room report – which while effective at demonstrating the fallibility of memory, is overused to the point where it interferes with the audience’s emotional connection with the material.  

Despite the frequent flat affect of the cast, moments of vulnerable emotional honesty shine through. The haunting scene where Sarah is forced to choose a side was executed breathtakingly. Set against a sea of voices and opinions, she finally feels ready to articulate her feelings about events that happened decades before, using the wisdom of her adult years to guide her.

In an age where justice is not blind, and many marginalized groups such as Indigenous and racialized persons are overrepresented in an increasingly bureaucratic justice system, the questions asked in Innocence Lost have never been more relevant. 

[the-wheelchair-critic]

Sutra - Video Version

This review was written as a blog style post. Enjoy!

It’s a classic chronic illness story. Person recovers from a chronic illness flare, and applies for an exciting new opportunity, hoping that this will be the time their body will actually cooperate with them. Person gets accepted into a highly competitive performance criticism training program, which demands a significant portion of their usable time and energy, even during a time of good health. Person’s chronic illness, upon hearing that their host is excited and engaged about a new activity, can’t resist the chance to demonstrate who is really in control: knocking the budding performance critic into a state of being bed-bound for days on end.

This is the situation in which our intrepid genderqueer fatale found themself in this week. There is some irony in that the show that we were meant to see this week is Sutra, a dance performance which examines the lives of the Shaolin Temple Monks, choreographed by Sidi Larbi Cherkaoui. Through this show we are led to understand the fulfilment that can come through communal living, prayer and a contemplative practice such as martial arts and mindfulness. This is demonstrated through a child’s eyes predominantly, as the youngest monk and Cherkaoui play games which come to life through the larger set (designed by Antony Gormley). Each wooden box on stage represented through smaller wooden boxes, moved into various shapes and forms, mirroring each other and creating a landscape for the action of each scene. Therefore, watching this array of movement and prayer, while unable to conceptualize movement beyond momentary trips out of bed requires a suspension of disbelief from my current experience of embodiment. While effort is beautifully recognized in this piece, my body currently feels more like the wooden boxes being manipulated and tumbled over, rather than one of a limber and light monk, ready to engage as a warrior at a moment’s notice. To view this piece at this moment in time, forces an almost willful disconnect between the actions watched onstage, and the levels of activity that my body is currently capable of.

Instead of being able to join the cohort to view the live performance of Sutra, I am reviewing a recording of Sutra which was filmed at Sadler’s Wells on May 31st, 2008, which was watched in my pajamas in bed. It feels important to talk about how often there seems to be a divide between the worthiness of Theatre, which is consumed in person in a live state, and forms of theatre which are more accessible to those who might not be able to attend in person. Alongside of class concerns, such as the high price for tickets to attend mainstream live theatre events, there are also many people for whom live theatre may not be a possible outing. In fact, many theatres remain inaccessible to those who use mobility devices, require accommodations for hearing or vision loss, and those with unpredictable health; who have difficulty spending money on tickets when they do not know if they will be well enough to attend the performance. Not to mention that many other barriers can prevent various groups of disabled and non-disabled people from attending. Therefore, far from being a lesser option for performances that should be avoided at all costs, videos of performances can be a powerful tool in increasing the reach that a performance has. They can help us bring the human element of performance art into spaces where there is no other way of having that experience. This is something to value and appreciate, rather than denigrate as being unworthy.

One of the most meaningful moments for me in Sutrawas an invitation into one of the monk’s prayer rituals. Each monk sits on the top of a wooden box standing vertically that plays as much of a role in the show as each individual performer does. Each box acts as an extension of the performer themselves, their body, and their practice. The monks are led through a prayer ritual by Cherkaoui, who sits on the floor facing the group. As someone fluent in American Sign Language, the hand gestures that the monks use as part of their prayer practice read more like prose, and have me as a viewer wondering about the gestures that they are using, wishing I had been sitting in on the rehearsal where they were established. However, in my current state this moment feels like encouragement to engage with the world where I am at in this moment, rather than looking to uncertain futures

As someone who has spent a large portion of their life bed-bound, my computer and the access to the media that it offers have frequently been my lifeline to a world that otherwise feels like it is passing me by. I’ve spent days at a time with my only human contact being through social media and the cast of whatever show I am binge-watching on Netflix at the time. There is power in the media we consume to make us feel as though no matter what we are going through, we are a little less alone.

Overall though, I find Sutra difficult to watch in my bed-bound state. There is something about the juxtaposition between martial arts and bodies that are easily able to flip, bend and bounce, and my own body, with its current resistance to movement that makes it difficult to feel immersed in the moment. In watching, I feel familiar feelings of resentment of bodies that are more capable than mine bubbling up inside of me. The movement of the monks and Cherkaoui has a genuine embodied feel to it. Where one can recognize the strength of a sense of presence in the moment, and an awareness of space that can only happen in performance. It calls to the performer in me as recognizable, and brings with it a sense of longing for a return to a body that can inhabit those moments and resentment for the state that I currently find myself in. While Sutrais an introduction to the ways the Shaolin Temple Monks are orientated to the world, the current limitations of my own body find it difficult to allow myself to be fully drawn into their sense of their own physicality. Perhaps Sutra isspeaking to an experience of the body and embodiment that is slightly less universal than what they are aiming for. One that leaves the realities of my disabled body aside to be contended with another day.  

[the-wheelchair-critic]

Lulu V.7

This review was written to match the style of The Toronto Star (Also, for those new to reading criticism the critics don’t write the headlines, the editors do, so none of these actually have one)

3.5 stars

Co-Produced by Buddies in Bad Times Theatre & Red Light District. Directed by Ted Witzel. Until May 20that Buddies in Bad Times Theatre, 12 Alexander Street. http://buddiesinbadtimes.comor 416.975.8555.

When staging a classic play, it is always important to consider how the messages and themes hold up to a modern context, in LULU V.7co-creators Susanna Fournier, Ted Witzel & Helen Yung don’t let playwright Frank Wedekind off the hook.

Wedekind’s 1894 play Lulu: A Monster Tragedyrevolves around a young woman, Lulu, and the men and women in her life who are destined to both be obsessively in love with her, and die tragically. Rose Tuong plays the role of Lulu brilliantly, and is in equal measure naïve and child-like seemingly unaware of her effect on others, and cunning and calculated, beseeching men to kill at her behest. This production of the play is presented in two parts, the first a modern “deconstruction” of the original play, and the second a critical engagement with how the themes and messages found within the play continue to be relevant to both straight and queer lives.

Care has been taken in this production to ensure that Wedekind’s play is accessible to a modern audience. The show begins with a lesson on the context of the play; providing insight into the social and political atmosphere of 1890’s Paris. Throughout the first half of the show there is a careful balance between staying truthful to the source text, and updating references to appeal to a more modern audience. The second half of the show, is best understood as an interrogation of Lulu, where nothing is taken for granted, and where Wedekind’s treatment of the characters is perfunctory, this half instead dives deep into personal storytelling and motivations. This critical appraisal is deeply rooted within a modern Toronto context, touching on the Bruce McArthur murders, the Pulse nightclub shooting and the relationship to the very theatre where the show is taking place, and the horrors of the 29 Dufferin bus.

Wesley McKenzie’s audio visuals play an integral role in this production. The production takes place on Helen Yung’s simple set, consisting of a raised stage with an angular grate in the middle, with two side offstage areas. McKenzie’s use of these offstage areas is innovative, incorporating video technology to display what happens just out of sight across the back drop of the set. However, as someone who is hard of hearing, I found the sound distortion effect used too frequently, without consideration for how those with hearing loss or audio processing difficulties may be able discern the message from the noise. After the first act Yung’s stage is literally ripped apart in pieces, preparing the audience for the deconstruction that is to come.

Thematic elements play a strong role in this production. There are many repeated motifs throughout the show, including those found within Sarah Doucet’s costume design. Whereas Wedekind’s Lulu is marked by her love of frivolous costumes, and inability to dress herself, in the deconstruction the entire company is Lulu wearing a white crime scene jumpsuit and red wig. The second half further emphasizes the unity of the cast, with ensemble movements, and during the poignant rush toward the ending, their nudity.

Overall, perhaps the conclusion that one is expected to draw after seeing LULU V.7 is that stories such as Lulu’s still serve a purpose as one tries to make sense of loss and life in Toronto’s queer community. Where a community grapples with the fact that until very recently a monster walked among them, unable to walk more than a few steps without running into the ripples created by homophobia and violence. Fittingly, LULU V.7 ends on a hopeful note, reminding the community that even in the face of endless violence it is possible to choose to remain hopeful about the power of love, and for a time when the monsters are best left to the minds of those who write tragedies, rather than enact them.

[the-wheelchair-critic]

My first review of Circus Sessions 2018 is up now on Circus Talk!