Art Adultery

Act 1, Scene 1

JENNA and LIZ are sitting at the kitchen table. It is Thursday, their day off. They both have lattes in front of them and JENNA’s homemade cookies are in a dish between them. It is quiet.

JENNA           I don’t know how to tell him —if I should tell him. Physically, he’s a crime. Mentally, I can do whatever I want with him. Not in that way, I know what you’re thinking. I don’t want a lover or anything like that. Really. I’m happy. It’s just that when I look at his paintings, I can feel them dancing inside me. Picture this. I’m at the gallery on Friday. He is giving a talk about his newest addition. The one with yellow oils. He’s brilliant. He analyzes the world like a poem. He’s looking all around his room at his audience, his eyes shifting from person to person and he locks eyes with me. He doesn’t look away. I stop breathing. He’s killing me. All I want to do is stare right into his mind. And he’s still talking and staring and I’m staring back. It’s like were the only two people in the room, only were not. And when I can finally breathe again, I realize something. (to Liz) Don’t laugh. I think his painting is about me. I don’t know him too well. I’ve only spoken with him a couple of times. One night it was just him and I closing the gallery. I had on a pale yellow dress and we hardly spoke all day, but before he left he looked at me and said “I like pastels”. I thought he meant the art crayon. I’m like “Me, too”. I didn’t know what else to say. But that wasn’t it at all. He was talking about the colour, Liz. He painted my dress. How do you tell somebody that you know you’re their muse? It’s bizarre isn’t it? It’s eating me alive. I go to bed at night and I see her...me ...the painting. I sometimes put on my dress and I dream of posing in it for him as he paints me. His genius hands stroking the brush, while I do pirouettes for him. It’s art adultery. (pausing) I wrote him a letter. I love Peter, but I can’t control my thoughts. We’re upstairs the other night and he has his classical music playing; I’m drifting off to sleep on his chest and I’m thinking to myself: “see Jen, he’s all you need”. And just before I fall asleep, I see the dress. It lulls me off to sleep. She gets up and walks towards the door. I need to mail this letter. You can’t breathe a word of this. Please. She opens the door to find Peter just getting home, flowers in hand.

                        Peter. You didn’t have to come home early for me. Wow, I can’t believe it’s the eighth already. Thank you, baby.

Kissing him, she takes letter behind her back, rips it, and lets it fall on the floor to pieces.  

 

                          The End

You'll Need More than a Thinking Cap for Tear the Curtain!

“How smart do you have to be to understand this?” This was one spectator’s question after the show. I found this response amusing because the truth is, it doesn’t matter how intellectual you are; once Alex Braithwaite wakes up for the third time from a “dream” which is not a dream, you won’t even know what to think. And the best part is: there are more than three dreams. The surrealism of it all will boggle your mind and have you searching frantically for the truth.
The duo-medium aspect of this play is meant to give the audience precisely that confusing feeling: what will succeed people? Film or theatre? Director Kim Collier aims to show her audience that amongst the discomfort, there can indeed be reconciliation between the two.

Tear the Curtain! was created in 2006; it was inspired by Stanley Theatre in Vancouver, which was initially planned as a live theatre, but opened as a cinema. The concept for this play is brilliant: film and theatre as conglomerates. Theatre brings live-ness, while film can zero in on important moments that are more resonant close-up. From eerie film scenes of chases in a forest, to Stanley carrying a corpse on stage, this play definitely gets your blood flowing.
My one disappointment was that I sometimes found myself lost in a whirlwind of intriguing film and live acting; I simply did not know where to look. I was entranced by images of a strange man climbing walls on film, behind Mila Brook and Sender scheming on stage. I wish I had more eyes. Both the acting on stage and in film is powerful enough that playing both at the same time is often just plain distracting.

Dawn Petten states that Electric Company’s goal for the play is to have the audience use their imagination and go on their own journey with Alex. Now, don’t get me wrong, I like to think, but this play does not simply provoke thought; this play urges a complete re-write in every single one of the spectator’s minds.

What we do know is that Alex is psychologically distressed: a theatre critic from the 1930s, working in a time when the film industry is becoming more prevalent, looks back to his past when now diseased Stanley Lee created a type of “ultimate” theatrical experience. Alex struggles to bring back Stanley’s ideas in order to create the perfect story for his column; in doing so, he becomes stuck in his own subconscious. He speaks to dead people, finds secret codes, becomes a murderer and wakes up for the final time to go to the cinema with his girlfriend. In the midst of all this, Alex is also involved with the mob, in an intense battle for a piece of real estate between Patrick Dugan who is running the theatre shows in town and Max Pamploni who wishes to open up a cinema. Bizarre? I think so.

However, amongst all the confusion, Alex has you on his side, sweating and rooting for a solution to the madness, the entire time. Let’s face it, we don’t know if he’s crazy, but that doesn’t matter. His journey is a definite thriller, that will surely keep you on the edge of your seat.

Playwright and actor Jonathon Young states that though this show is often perceived as a battle between the worlds of film and theatre, it is more of a “conversation” between the two. This goal has definitely been achieved by Collier who shows the audience that film and theatre are two important separate entities that can come together to create a world so surreal; it is like tapping into Alex’s mind. Supported by an all-around talented crew— a melange of artists from both the film and theatre industries— Tear the Curtain! really is the best of both worlds.

–Tear the Curtian! runs through Oct 20 at Canadian Stage Bluma Appel Theatre

Veronica Appia, York University Theatre Critics

Fifty Shades Book Review

Fifty Shades of Scandal

By: Veronica Appia

Ok, I am guilty as charged. This trilogy took over my life for a few weeks; I could not put these novels down, until they were finished. When I first entered the book store to purchase these reads, I was told how “lucky” I was that they received shipment that day, because they were selling out like crazy. And sales were not about to slow down any time soon...

Well, it’s no secret; the Fifty Shades Trilogy by E. L. James has caused much controversy among literary critics everywhere. While they are not the most elaborately written novels, they are definitely captivating with emotionally profound story lines and I think this aspect is lost on many critics who cannot see past the S and M aspect.

Let’s be honest. Erotic Romances are old news.  We have erotica novels such as Delta of Venus and Lolita, written over fifty years ago, which are just as provocative. So, what makes Fifty so scandalous? Well, it takes the pre-1960’s mentality of the “submissive” woman and applies it to present day (how dare she!) Can I be the first to say: so what? This novel does not condone submission and violence against women; in fact, it does quite the opposite.

This is a story about Christian Grey, who had an abused and troubled childhood and youth, leading him to turn to sadomasochistic behaviour for relief. Though he initially wishes to coax her into his dark world, he finds something in Ana Steele that he has never found in anyone else before: the capacity for love.  That is Christian’s ultimate objective. It is not a struggle for power and to control. That is a ramification of his past. Christian requires love in order to live; before Ana he had not truly lived, and there is some sort of beauty in that notion. Through Ana, Christian is actually able to overcome his former tendencies and the most important aspect is that he wants to. This is a novel about choices; Ana is not forced into anything and contrary to popular beliefs, I think Ana is a rather strong character. She consistently makes the conscious decision to do everything that she does, irrespective of what her friends and family will think. And when it comes to Christian, she initially is opposed to his invitation for an S and M relationship. Everything she does throughout all three novels, she decides on her own and sometimes I think she can be surprising. Something to remember is ultimately that Christian and Anastasia are from two completely different worlds, with completely different upbringings, morals and perspectives. This is a story about reconciling these differences and finding a middle ground. They have a give and take relationship and I think they both highly impact each other and learn a lot from their differences. Just as Christian tries to persuade her to live his lifestyle, she begins to do the same. They both experiment with aspects of each other’s lives until a comfort point is achieved. If these novels promote submission, I suppose Christian is somewhat of a submissive as well.

I’ll be the first to admit that James’ quality of writing is not the most exquisite. And “oh my” is it ever redundant. The sex began to lose its pizzazz after “her nipples elongated under his expert touch” about five hundred times. However, other than her repetitive word choices, James’ novel is thrilling and her characters are well developed. I love Ana’s inner goddess, as she is both the angel and the devil on Ana’s shoulders. It is a treat to be able to see Ana’s thought process, and this only contributes into making her character more intricate and more human. This novel proves to be psychologically complex and the characters are rich and three-dimensional. That is what makes this trilogy so appealing. Oh and the steamy sex scenes, of course. If you ask me, James is a creative genius, because whether you’d like to believe it or not, sex sells, and with over 40 million copies sold worldwide, who could argue that this isn’t much more than just a guilty pleasure?

Seeing Through the Facade: Death of a Salesman Review

A classic play that is simultaneously heart-wrenching and thought-provoking. Death of a Salesman has still got it. Eat your heart out.

Death of a Salesman opened at Soulpepper Theatre on September 5 and is running until October 6. At the time that it was written, the psychological complexity of this Arthur Miller play was “groundbreaking” as Associate Artist Derek Boyes puts it. For those who are unfamiliar, it is the story of the mental deterioration of Willy Loman, who consistently sees visions from his past in his disparity for he and his sons to be “well-liked”, and creates lies and stories on which he bases his entire life. With much attention being paid to Willy’s inner psyche, this play offers its audience a character so three-dimensional, you will not know whether you despise him for his ignorance, or whether you want jump on stage and embrace him for his hopelessness. This show is unique in emphasizing the Loman house as an object of transparency and Willy Loman as the facade. After Willy’s death, it leaves the audience with nothing but the real Lomans: dysfunctional, unsuccessful and full of grief.
Though written in 1948, Albert Schultz makes relevant the struggle to climb the social hierarchy, which is an issue more prevalent in society now than ever. Nowadays, there is endless competition and a constant struggle for success in a more educated society and Joseph Ziegler, as Willy Loman, really personifies this inner conflict and makes it significant to the contemporary audience.
Ziegler could not have been more perfectly paired with Nancy Palk, as Linda (I wonder why?), whose unconditional love and patience makes Willy’s fall that much more tragic. Unlike the rest of the characters, she sees through her family’s illusions from the beginning, however her eagerness to please her husband and her mandate to protect her family, prevent her from successfully altering their fabricated way of life.
Lorenzo Savoini designed a set that accurately represents the entire world of the play: a house with no walls. A house is a symbol of privacy and stability and there is something unnerving about the transparency presented on stage. The Lomans built a life based on fabrications and hidden truths, but in this house there is no facade—literally. This set design accentuates the true vulnerability of the Loman family and is brilliant in giving its spectators a “fly on the wall” feeling while watching the action unfold.
Though the play shifts back and forth across a span of fifteen years, the house never seems to change. In every scene it remains with the same floors, doors, furniture and kitchen appliances. The static state of the house parallels the mentality of the Loman men; they are so stuck in their old ways that they are unable to change for the better.
Death of a Salesman allows the audience to trespass into the forbidden truths the Lomans have concealed their entire lives. This play is emotionally charged from start to finish and Willy’s struggle is incredibly agitating; though this made me not want to sympathize with him, I just couldn’t control my feelings (or my tears, for that matter). If this show does not move you, I don’t know what will. A must see.
-Veronica Appia

Naturally Supernatural: The Crucible Review

The Crucible, playing at Soulpepper Theatre, opened on July 26 and is running until October 6. It is Arthur Miller’s classic story about the seventeenth century Salem Witch Trials. While this play resonated with me on a visceral level and is effective in speaking against political malfeasance, I wish I saw more of an abstract side to it. The show is inherently naturalistic, while the content is completely supernatural. This is a play about satanic possession; can I be the first to say: where is the thrill of black magic?
I heard about it, time and time again, but the physical action of the play remained at a standstill in the courtroom. I waited in anticipation, during the hearth-thumping trials, for some sort of supernatural action and was terribly disappointed in this regard.
However, there were instances that still had the capability of deeply affecting the audience. One moment that tugged at my heartstrings involved Courtney Ch’ng Lancaster, as Mary Warren, and Hannah Miller, as Abigail Williams, in the final hearing scene. In this instant where Abigail and Mary were completely demonically possessed and brimming with fear, Lancaster and H. Miller’s genuine emotion penetrated the audience and you could cut the tension in the theatre with a knife. In addition, this scene was a breaking point for our protagonist John Proctor and Stuart Hughes expertly portrays his very human struggle to maintain his name and save his wife’s life. Though it was a powerful scene, it could have been made more potent, had the audience been able to not only see what was going on, but to feel it. At that time, I wished to feel the cold gust of wind and hear the demonic spirits; I wanted so badly to not only feel for the girls, but with them. Unfortunately, this point never occurred.
During the last blackout before intermission, thunder is heard and cooler blue lights possess the stage; this left me with an immense sense of frustration as I greedily wished for more of these elements. Speaking of the lights, it is evident that Schultz was going for naturalism, but did they really have to be so dim? Steven Hawkins’ portrayal of candlelight was beautiful, but at the cost of my strained eyesight, I could do without.
Aside from the lack of transcendental elements, The Crucible delivers an integral message to its audience. It was written with a political intent, and director Albert Schultz remains true to Miller’s objectives. The beauty of this play lies in its continuous relevance to society, irrespective of the time period. It was written during the time of “McCarthyism”, and while it was somewhat of a political attack in the 1950s, corruption and political aggression are still very present problems that require addressing in contemporary society.
Joseph Ziegler, as Judge Danforth, plays the reckless political leader with ease. He is easily swayed, constantly changing his mind and responsible for the death of innocent civilians; his ignorance is completely outrageous and necessary to preserve Miller’s intentions. His evasive comments during the trials gave the audience a good chuckle and we cannot forget that “the pure in heart need no lawyers”.
The Crucible affects the modern day theatre-goer in a radical way; no play set in such time period can get you thinking of contemporary societal ills, as this play does. A must see. However, drink your coffee prior to, the lighting does not help with fatigue.
-Veronica Appia

Running on Empty: The Tox Box Review

“A high tech interactive playground for all ages.” Sounds fabulous. If that was what it actually was. While Beth Kates and Ben Chaisson are charismatic and passionate about their project, this playground is definitely lacking in many aspects.
The Toy Box at Theatre Passe Muraille is running from September 12 to September 23. It is what Kates calls a “kinetic theatre” created in the Mainstage, with the objective of allowing the audience to participate in the action, by interacting with the people and “toys” found in the space. At first glance, this project is pleasing to the eye; it is a room full of colourful mats, some costumes, a flashy screen and a table with play-doh and Lego blocks. Kates and Chaisson got right in on the action and began playing with us —I loved that—but once fifteen minutes had passed, I could not help but wonder: what now?
Kinetic Theatre has the possibility of having a profound impact of the audience —if done correctly. It can be not only an interactive experience that allows people to play, but a great educational experience as well. It is not a common occurrence when an audience gets to participate in the making of a project. This type of theatre allows them to get a little taste of life behind the scenes, so it is imperative that they actually learn something about the creators’ artistic processes. It is not enough to be blindly thrown into a space. Assuming they know the bare minimal about theatre, the audience should leave knowing a thing or two that they did not know when they entered. When asked about his intentions for the audience of The Toy Box, Chaisson gave us a charming message: “Hi audience. I like you. This is what we play with. We want you to play too.” We like you too, Ben, but I sincerely doubt that you sit around and play with play-doh all day.
The one technological element of the room is intriguing, as all the audience members are allowed to experiment with a camera and green screen. This allows them to create their own videos with special effects. However, the problem lies in my former statement: there is one technological element. I understand that this is a travelling theatre, which needs to be disassembled and reassembled; however, the crux of this assembling process is the screens, themselves. Adding a few more elements surely would not hinder this process much.
Now, let’s talk theatre. Do you know what fun we could have with a couple of Source 4s, some gels and a gobo? That is art and that is fun. This project loses its relevance to theatre, because other than the green screen and some minor costumes, the rest of the toys — which are minimal — pose no relevance to the theatre world. Why not introduce children and adults to things that theatre artists actually play with? How about some props or some audio? Come on, you can do better.
-Veronica Appia

Jesse (Part Three)

He didn't fight for me. And he was a fighter. He couldn't stand us going to bed mad at each other —ever. We always made up, no matter what. This time it was different. I could feel it. I don't know exactly what it was. He didn't look at me the same way. Something was missing. Mind you, I did say some pretty nasty things. I couldn't help it at the time, but thinking back to it now, I really wish I could take it all back.

I don't remember much of the ride back home. Oftentimes, when bad things happen, we subconsciously block them out from our memory. I think it's our body's way of consoling us. I will never forget the first night, though. We left Vancouver early and had to stop at a motel to spend the night. I am a germaphobe and the place was less than hospitable; it was old, it was grungy and it smelled like musk, but at that point, nothing mattered. The silence was agonizing. I walked straight into the bathroom, opened the faucet and splashed water on my face. I stared at my reflection in the mirror as the water dripped off of my face and onto the floor. I looked ugly. Really ugly and pale —not in my usual porcelain-ish kind of way. My skin was almost transparent and my eyes were red and swollen. I had this glazed look on my face and it was scary how the person staring back at me seemed so unrecognizable. Finally breaking the silence, I succumbed to my sadness. "Who are you?" I screamed. My body convulsed with sobs and hot tears stung my cheeks. "Who the fuck are you?" And then a whisper. "I don't even know who you are anymore." With that, all the energy drained from my body and I fell to the floor. I looked desperately through the crack in the door, but my eyes were watery and everything was blurry. I gave up. Exhausted, I fell asleep. It was cold. And this time, he didn't come to get me.

                                                                   ~

He had the same ring tone. Elton John's Benny and the Jets. I used to love that song. It used to bring memories of good times. Of Jesse. But that was a long time ago. A time so perfect, it seems to have never even existed...

                                                                ~

I saw that number so many times that I memorized it. It was pretty annoying; it called probably every week. The caller never left a message, so Jesse didn't care; he didn't think twice about it. Maybe that day in Vancouver, I was in an extra happy mood. I don't know, but things got pretty bad, pretty quickly. I was sitting on the shoreline, watching the tide go in and out over my legs, spraying me with foam. Katie once told me that I would get a better tan in the water. She used to call me Casper, as this was virtually impossible, but regardless, it was worth a shot. I turned to look at Jesse. He was also basking in the sun; with his eyes closed, he looked so serene. I got up, stepping gingerly in the sand, careful not to make too much noise. When I got close enough, I jumped on him, startling him. "Hey!" He laughed. "You're going to give me a pretty weird tan line, lying on me like that." I spread out my fingers and put my hand flat in the center of his chest. "Yes," I giggled. "This one will tell all the girls to back off 'cause you're mine." He smiled and lifted his head, before gently kissing my forehead. "You're eyes are blue today," he cooed. "They're gorgeous."

We lied together, hand in hand, for a long time, just enjoying the day, until we heard that notorious ring tone. Jesse picked up his phone and stared at the number. "These bloody solicitors," he mumbled and pressed ignore. But, as we lied back down again, the phone beeped. This time, the caller had left a message. I watched Jesse listen to the voicemail. He blanched. "I'll be right back," he said, abruptly, and began walking toward the rocks, redialing the number. "Wait. Who is it?" I called after him. "No one, baby," he said, reassuringly. "Don't worry." I smiled, picked up my new romance novel that I brought, and began to read. I was a few chapters into my book, when I realized he had been gone for a while. Wondering what was keeping him, I got up and headed toward the rocks, taking quick strides in the scorching sand. I found Jesse sitting behind the rocks. His phone was thrown in the sand, about five feet in front of him, and he looked like he had seen a ghost. “Jesse?" I called. He didn't respond. "Jesse, what's going on? Who was that?" Minutes seemed to go by, before he shifted his gaze. "It was Catherine," he replied, still staring into space. "What does she want?" I snapped. "She's the one who's been calling you?" Jesse crawled towards his phone, opened it and handed it to me. On the screen, was a picture of the most beautiful baby girl I had ever seen. Pink, chubby and smiling. I turned back to Jesse, who was staring blankly at me. "That's my daughter, Sam," he said, almost inaudibly. "I'm a father."