Last week, the Ottawa Public Health Twitter account posted a link to information about the health risks of shisha.  As shisha (also known by a whole lot of other names) is basically molasses-soaked tobacco smoked through a communal water-pipe (known sometimes as a hookah), this is no surprise.  It is accepted wisdom that smoke inhalation carries with it certain inherent health risks.

Smoking in public places, such as shopping malls, has been banned in Ottawa since about 1995.  It’s been against the by-laws to smoke in bars and restaurants for a few years now; I think the last over-21 cigar lounge closed shop a few years ago (to be replaced with Yet Another Uns-Uns Bar).  Smoking is still permitted on unenclosed patios, but that’s being gradually phased out too.  You can’t smoke within spitting distance of a bus stop, a government building entrance (which could be anywhere in Ottawa), or a healthcare facility.  Within the year, it’ll be illegal in public parks as well.

In short, in Ottawa smoking—let alone smoking indoors—is officially frowned upon.

You may imagine my surprise, then, when I first visited Garlic Corner (at the corner of York and Dalhousie in Ottawa’s historic Byward Market) and found that, in addition to being licensed, this shawarma spot offered free shisha to its customers.  They just bring out a big ol’ hookah, put it on your table, light your choice of flavoured shisha, and you and your friends sit there puffing away on the damn thing.  It’s not a secret—in fact the large, full-colour sign advertising this free perk is as prominent as their sign advertising vegan breakfast.  (I used to live two blocks away.  I still don’t think I went there often enough.)

I had visions of sitting in the place, enjoying a Large (because their Really Large is actually Ridiculously Huge) falafel sandwich, when all of a sudden a team of by-law officers bursts in through the windows, wrestles a table of short-short–wearing Lebanese girls to the ground, and fines everyone for Conspiracy to Smoke Tobacco Indoors.

I figured it was only a matter of time.

On Saturday, my friend Jean-Pierre and I were kicking around in the downtown heat, looking for refreshment.  At my urging, we bypassed Dunn’s Deli in favour of Garlic Corner.  While he bought himself an iced tea and got us a seat with a view, I got in line to order a sandwich.

Behind two by-law officers.

Probably these gentlemen got the impression I thought they were cute, the way I kept sneaking sideways glances at them.  I was dimly aware that outside on the (enclosed) patio, a couple was smoking cigarettes at their table.  At any moment one of the officers would notice, and the other one would turn around and see the sign offering Free Flagrant Flaunting of Ottawa’s Anti-Smoking By-Laws.  Great, I thought, I’m not going to get my falafel sandwich because they’re going to shut the place down.  One of the officers leaned in closer to his partner.

“They have shots,” he said, pointing at a sign advertising the availability of cheap, colourful shooters in what looked like test tubes on a desert island.  The guy behind the counter was slicing off chicken for their sandwiches.

“Hey,” the other officer asked, “has your beer always been this cheap?”  He pointed at another sign.  ”How do the bars around here compete?”  I looked directly at them, and I’m sure my mouth was open.

“We probably shouldn’t have one,” said the first officer.  I was about to say no, you’re in uniform, when my eyes re-focused on the table between and behind the officers, where the waitress had just set down a hookah for a couple.

Here we go, I thought, the moment of truth.

Then: I’m not going to get my bloody sandwich.

However, the two by-law officers did not appear interested in the slightest.  There’s no way they could have missed the shisha—on the table, the whole contraption comes up to about eye-level, oh and it emits smoke.  But there wasn’t even a raised eyebrow.  They simply paid for their sandwiches and left.

So.

Either there’s a loophole in the by-law you could blow smoke rings through (which, as an inveterate pipe smoker and proponent of civil disobedience, fills me with hopeful optimism) or these guys are rather openly on the take.

I suppose I’ll have to read through the by-laws to find out.

In the meantime, I shall continue to enjoy the anomaly.

Fret not!  Ottawa Theatre Confidential is far from defunct.  Tania (Levy), Heather Marie (Connors), and me (myself) are still very good friends and have not had more than the usual artistic differences (without which the podcast would be boring).  In this case, there are simply life situations that require the attention we would normally devote to putting together the podcast.  However, we have plans to resume producing regular episodes in September(ish).

To make up for the lacuna, we have a couple of improvements up our collective sleeve.  For one thing, we are in the process of moving the podcast to a more suitable host (there have been some persistent problems with billing; my bank has made an awful lot of incidental money off of this podcast but I’m not bitter).  This will likely be transparent to our loyal fans and subscribers (you do use iTunes, right?) but it will ensure that we can reliably and consistently deliver you a product worth listening to.

On that note, we’ve had various issues with sound quality in the past, seemingly intractable despite Heather Marie’s practical common sense suggestions and my efforts to correct recording issues with a barrage of digital effects.  Having had the recent opportunity to observe operations in a professional sound studio while recording voice-overs (I get all the cool jobs), I think I have a more solid idea of how to produce the best quality sound product we can with the equipment we have.  Will it work?  I guess we’ll all find out.

So, while you’re waiting for the next exciting episode of Ottawa Theatre Confidential to come down the pipe, why not catch some theatre?  Odyssey Theatre is celebrating its 25th Anniversary Season with their production of The Fan until August 21, A Company of Fools continues to present Antony and Cleopatra in parks across the city until August 20, or if it’s not quite a sit-in-the-park day, the Ottawa Little Theatre production of The Patrick Pearse Motel opens on August 16.

Plenty to keep you occupied.

By now, you’re well aware of the federal government’s highly questionable decision to withdraw funding from Toronto’s SummerWorks Festival.  While I’m not quite ready to say that I categorically believe this was in direct response to the festival’s production of Homegrown, this is the same government that has a documented history of lying to the public, altering documents in a way that would get a private citizen thrown in jail, castrating organized labour, and blinding itself in both eyes by crippling its own Census.

So, you know, I wouldn’t put it past them.

Then again, there’s only so much grant money to go around, and more and more arts organizations competing for the same pool of cash.  It seems reasonable that established, successful concerns might see their funding fall off as the government tries to spread it around to encourage groups just getting their start.

One way or the other, the arts have to find a way to depend less on the financial support of a small-minded, dishonest government that seems intent on marching us straight back into the 19th century, and more on… well, us.  The general public.

It’s not a begging game.  The arts are more use to society—and individuals—than can be put into words alone.

For instance, there’s no better way to learn good, persuasive English (or any other language) than through the study of literature: poetry, plays, and novels.  Is it important to learn good, persuasive English?  Oh, I should say its rather important.  The number of people boasting communications degrees who can’t compose a single simple coherent sentence… why, I heard just recently on the CBC (what’s left of it) that they’re thinking of taking Shakespeare out of the Grade 9 and 10 curricula.  Yet almost every day I see someone on Twitter swept up in the throes of an epiphany, some new revelation about the human condition, that was eloquently summarized in a heroic couplet about 400 years ago.  It turns out that artists have been distilling human experience for as long as our species has been able to make marks on rocks.  Why ignore all that work?  It may be too late to redo high school, but if you read a little and go catch a little theatre, you might learn something and save time by not reinventing the wheel.

Any person involved in business should certainly experience, if not study, the performance arts.  I’ve been to too many truly awful presentations; the average person could stand to take in some theatre or some spoken word to see how it’s really done.  You’d be surprised what a little stagecraft or attention to cadence will do to your ability to influence a roomful of people.

By the way, have we thought of what we’re doing to the cultural record?  As it stands, if future generations write of us at all (provided they can still write), what will they say?  That our popular symbols included the Guy Fawkes mask, lifted wholesale from history?  That half of our correspondence consisted of repeating the same phrase over and over again with minor variations (I believe you call that a “meme”.  I recommend looking up “memetics”).  That people were willing to pay money to hear already well-known (misogynistic) rap lyrics overlaid on already well-known classic rock guitar riffs?  Will this be known as the Age of Copying?

Or dare we encourage the creation of something new?

How do we go about doing this?

Probably the most obvious way is to choose your favourite sector of the arts (theatre?  dance?  the visual or plastic arts?  music?  literature?  film?) and devote as much of your entertainment dollar as you can stomach to enjoying that art.

Maybe you can spare some of the cash you would normally export to the States by going to see shitty movies, and catch a local theatre production instead.  Or you could divert the forty bucks you drop on alcohol any given week to buy a locally-written book, throw five dollars in the box at an art gallery, catch a local band—and still have cash left over for a pint!  If you’re bound and determined to exchange your pay for a headache at the pub, you could at least buy beer from breweries that sponsor the arts (McAuslan comes to mind).

Speaking of sponsorship: if you own or operate a small or medium business, sponsor an arts organization.  Large businesses do; heck, the banks do, and nobody’s better at making money than the banks.  Follow their lead.  Most arts organizations will be more than happy to put your name on everything they print and the walls too if you help them pay the rent.  Artists are also fiercely loyal customers and clients with very long, accurate memories.

The greatest artistic renaissances in history occurred after periods of great oppression—helping to end them, and lift entire societies out of ignorance and economic depression.

I’d rather prefer we headed it off at the pass this time.

This year, they were all one-person shows—in particular, one-woman* shows.

Now I believe back during the Great Canadian Theatre Company’s inaugural undercurrents festival, I remarked (if not publicly, then privately), that I was a bit skittish about seeing My Pregnant Brother because it was a one-woman show, and they can go one of two ways.  Of course, Johanna Nutter’s show blew me out of the water: it was autobiographical without being self-absorbed, and presented a difficult, unfamiliar subject (not only from a heteronormative perspective, either) in an accessible, real way.

What My Pregnant Brother did for me was to raise the bar even further for solo shows.  I began to expect more from them, since I had been shown just how gripping they could potentially be with the right performer and the right story.

So the three shows I saw yesterday evening, and their performers, were: The Animal Show (Katie Hood), Old Legends (Emma Godmere), and Dying Hard (Mikaela Dyke).

Now, these are very different shows, and very different styles of solo performance.  The Animal Show is semiautobiographical first-person, depending for its effect upon (and highlighting) the personality, experiences, and insight of the performer.  Old Legends is fictional realism, the most traditional of the three (and therefore easier to analyze as theatre) and depends on the ability of the performer to assume a role, remember and deliver lines, and present a narrative to an audience.  Dying Hard is verbatim theatre with real people and their words and mannerisms as a source, where the skill of the performer in presenting this reality (and, by the way, verbatim theatre is a particularly strong echo of the oral historical tradition—I find it satisfying that the apex of our society’s technological development has led us full-circle to the imitative storytelling that predates written language) is the theatre of the piece.

These are each worth seeing since, in each case, the performer is more than adept at the make-or-break skill on which their specific show depends.  Furthermore, it is worth seeing all of them to destigmatize the solo show.

Maybe there was a time when all solo shows really were an exploration of the writer/performer’s crisis of identity/battle with addiction (and not all of those shows are unwatchable—many are brilliant—but they tend to run together).  This is certainly not the case now.  If someone turns up their nose when you say “solo show”, you can ask them if they’re going to see Nirvana live since they’re clearly still living in the 1990s.

I think it’s fairly accurate to say that a solo show benefits greatly from the involvement of a director (or a director-dramaturg).  A director keeps a self-written solo show from becoming introverted, ingrown, and self-involved.  I don’t believe, especially in the case of a solo show written by someone other than the performer, that the writer should also direct; in fact I think (and this may be the only time I admit this) that letting a director, dramaturg, or script consultant—one with an appropriate attitude towards the vision of the piece—have a go at the text with a long, long leash is probably the best way to keep the solo serpent from swallowing its own tail.

You can see The Animal Show, Old Legends, and Dying Hard, as well as a number of other solo (and non-solo) shows, as part of the Ottawa Fringe Festival.  Showtimes are too complex for me to list here, but the Ottawa Fringe Festival website, iPhone app, and paper programs have full schedules and maps.

* Is there a difference between a one-man show and a one-woman show?  Hey, that can be your Master’s thesis.

“I don’t know,” she said.  She asked me if I was involved with the Fringe; I said that I was, indirectly, writing reviews for FullyFringed.ca.

“Oh,” she said, “well, I’ll probably only see one thing.  What’s good?”

It took me a couple of seconds to realize what she was saying, and what she was asking.  Never mind that she had plans to see only one out of sixty shows, she didn’t know which one.  And, two days before any of them had hit the stage, she wanted me to pick—or at least make a suggestion.  Could I even remember a third of the names of the productions in the program?  Worst of all, I didn’t even know her; how could I tell what she might like?

So I asked, “Do you like comedy?”  She nodded.  ”Well, Jonno Katz is coming in from Australia, and he hasn’t been here for a while, and his show Cactus—The Seduction… is probably going to be really good.”  I mean, not knowing you from a hole in the ground.  You might not like Australians.  Or cacti.  ”It’s a safe bet.”

I said goodbye, reminded her to buy a Fringe pin, and hurried away.

The problem with making recommendations for Fringe shows is that it’s largely guesswork; unless it’s a show that’s been touring for ages, most of the productions are completely new and unknown, and even in a close-knit theatre community like Ottawa’s, many of the performers are unfamiliar.  Before the Fringe opens, you have to go on word-of-mouth, promotional materials, video trailers, press releases, and reputation—and that’s about it.

Bearing that in mind, I’ve compiled a list of shows that I think people must see at this year’s Ottawa Fringe.  (In the interests of full disclosure: I am under contract to the Fringe—I compiled this wonderful 15th anniversary commemorative book called OFF The Record that you can purchase as of this morning—but my duties and responsibilities do not involve the promotion of any individual productions.  In fact, the Fringe only benefits financially from the sale of the Fringe pins (which I insist you buy—collect all four!) and other merchandise, not from ticket sales.  Those funds go directly to the producing artists.  The opinions I express here do not necessarily reflect those of the Ottawa Fringe Festival, its staff members, or its Board of Directors, and I’d like to see you get them all in the same room and have them come to an agreement on which shows you should see, because that’s a pretty diverse group with a wide range of tastes and opinions.  Right?  Right.)

This is not that list. (That list is here.)

This list is the list of shows I must see at the Fringe.

There are some overlaps, but it’s a different list.  Why?  Well, for one thing I have my own tastes and preferences.  I work very hard at not inflicting my personal taste on others (unless they ask, poor souls).  When I write a review or discuss a production I strive to remain aware of what my tastes are and separate taste from criticism.  There are some things I don’t plan to see because they aren’t to my taste (and I have no other compelling reason to see them).  I’m not huge, for instance, on social issue theatre—that doesn’t mean that I don’t believe it serves a purpose (let’s talk about that sometime) or has artistic merit, I just personally don’t care for most of it. (Strangely, this does not include political satire, which I eat like candy.)

For another thing, there are a number of productions where I know (or know of) the people involved, and I’m curious to see their work.  This is known as peer pressure or puppy-dog eyes.

Also, I happen to like the really outrageous, even if it’s bad—and I don’t know that it is bad until I’ve given it a chance.  Is it a musical rendition of 2001: A Space Odyssey starring a watermelon puppet?  Great!  Will someone throw me a toilet-paper bouquet?  Awesome!  Is the action dictated by the contents of fortune cookies brought in by the audience members?  Sweet!  This is Fringe.  It’s not like you’re paying fifty bucks to see a guy sit on a stool and talk to a teaspoon for an hour—you’re only paying ten.

Alright, so here are (some of) the ten shows (and one not-show) I must see:

Peter ‘n Chris Save the World (Peter ‘n Chris)

I wish I’d known about these guys when I was talking to that lady outside the Bridgehead.  Not that Jonno Katz didn’t knock everyone dead (he did) but these guys cracked me up and captured my heart with The Peter ‘n Chris Show.  They’re physical, they’re choreographed, and  they’re funny.  If that wasn’t enough, I’ve become friends with their superfriend and sometime collaborator Melanie Moore so I have another reason to see them, and see them early.

LIVE from the Belly of a Whale (Mi Casa Theatre)

We don’t want another Countries Shaped Like Stars situation, where I miss the boat and have to wait two years because I miss all the other boats too.  Okay, a lot of people are going to expect Nick and Emily to turn out something of the calibre of Countries and… they don’t have to, eh?  They made Countries, now they’re making something else, why compare them?  I find Nick and Emily entertaining in the course of casual conversation.  John Doucet’s doing the design, superhero stage manager Anna Chambers runs a tight ship, and if I say Pat’s a great director one more time even he’s going to throw up.  I’m looking forward to this, and you won’t catch me saying “Well, that was no Countries Shaped Like Stars.”

Playtime with HM

Okay, so this isn’t really a show per se, but a series, and it’s the Artist Series, and I’m part of the first panel on Monday, Reviewing the Reviewer, so I kind of have to be there for that one at least.  You know Heather Marie Connors, right?  One of the co-hosts of the ever-more-popular Ottawa Theatre Confidential podcast?  Gave me the nickname “Softie McLovesTheatre”?  She runs really interesting and fun panels, and debates, and whatnot, and has a good sense of humour.  She asks the hardest (i.e. the most important) questions, and she really cares about the peripheral issues of theatre and its part in the greater scheme of things.

Roller Derby Saved My Soul (Broken Turtle Productions)

Speaking of Ottawa Theatre Confidential co-hosts, Tania Levy is directing Nancy Kenny‘s roller-derby vampire-slaying solo play and I’ve had snippets of the development process from both of them… I’m really curious to see how this will turn out.  Nancy’s a funny actor with natural comic timing, and Tania has the courage to do bold, wacky things (with a lot of thought, consideration, and hard art back of them).  Some really good shows have come out of a bumpy, compressed development process (Ditto Productions’ This Is A Recording is a prime example) and I hope this follows that path.

Complex Numbers (Silent QUEMB Productions)

Playwright, performer, poet, and a lot of other things Nadine Thornhill‘s Oreo was a hit of the 2009 Ottawa Fringe Festival, one of the few things that I got to see (I took an awful lot of volunteer shifts) that year.  I’m looking forward to this, not least because as I understand it Ken Godmere is directing.  Sweet.

Einstein’s Bicycle (Fractual Theatre Company)

Jodi Sprung-Boyd (whose for-school production of The Open Couple (hey, Ken Godmere was in that too!) I raved about on the Ottawa Theatre Confidential podcast and elsewhere) invited me to a workshop preview of this.  I’m not going to say too much about what I saw (obviously!) because I don’t want to give anything away about what I think will be a fun show.  It has good performers, a good director, good writing, and is undeniably 100% a Fringe show, in the best way possible.

glitch… (Ottawa Theatre School)

David Hersh (I) wrote this.  My favourite class ensemble of the OTS including Jodi Morden, Kaitlin Miller, Kyla Gray, Diego Arvelo, and Greg Shand (2010′s Impassioned Embraces, Hamlet 2011, and some other good things I didn’t see) is putting it on.  I’m going.

Old Legends (Bio-Punk Productions)

In the continuing effort to get my Godmere badge*, I’ve got to see the unpigeonholeable Emma Godmere in this.  Dark comedy, guitar, dance, storytelling… sign me up.  You had me at “Old”.

Dying Hard (A Vagrant Theatre)

I follow Mikaela Dyke on Twitter and I’m curious to see this; from the description I gather it’s a verbatim/documentary theatre piece about Newfoundland miners.  That happens to interest and fascinate me.  I grew up hearing mining stories from the east coast and elsewhere, and some may laugh (or worse, be unaware), but mining is one of the few things that we actually can point to as Canadians and say is a part of our shared cultural identity.

Pick Your Path (Garkin Productions)

I’m pretty sure Ray Besharah and Laura Hall approached me at the Mi Casa party to talk about this show, and I hear (from someone whose real name I don’t know) that the technical cues are very complex—from what I understand, the action is audience-influenced, and that’s the kind of audience participation I can get behind.  I do not promise to not wear my “No Commies” pin to this show.

The Interview (Ottawa Little Theatre)

I saw The Interview as part of the Eastern Ontario Drama League One-Act Play Festival last year, and I really want to see it again particularly with Ken Godmere taking on one of the roles, for purposes of comparison.  I’m curious about the effect that’s going to have on the dynamic of the piece.

If you didn’t make this list, it doesn’t mean I’m not going to see your show.  I do have another list forthcoming of shows I think will be of general interest, and I needed to keep the list reasonably short.  Heck, I may burn out early and not see everything I intend to see, or change my mind, or decide Alumni is too far to walk (it isn’t).  Also: it’s Fringe.  Pretty much anything can happen, from mystery bees to finding true love.  So don’t hold me to anything.

* There are four members of the Godmere family performing in and/or directing Fringe productions this year.  The family that does plays together stays together, kids.

Like Lam, I too attended St. Pius X High School on Fisher Avenue in Ottawa (not the more famous one in Montréal), and had the pleasure of two consecutive years of English class with Mr. Durnin. The stories I could tell about Mr. Durnin would fill, if not a novel, at least a booklet.

Some English teachers are pretty neat, and some are stellar. One of the things that put Mr. Durnin squarely in the latter category was his treatment of theatrical texts. There are so many teachers that suck the life out of Shakespeare by concentrating too hard on the meaning of each dirty word, that treat every play as an extended short story composed merely of dialogue. Mr. Durnin really brought it home that a play can be appreciated on many levels: as a work of written literature, as poetry, as a theatrical performance—and that in many forms: simply read aloud, played live, or on the television or cinema screen.

By happy synchronicity, as we were studying Arthur Miller’s The Crucible, the film adaptation (starring Daniel Day-Lewis as John Proctor and Winona Ryder as Abigail Williams) came out in theatres. We took a field trip (and I’m not even sure it was a sanctioned field trip; Mr. Durnin tended to teach in spite of the rules rather than in strict adherence to them) to the World Exchange Plaza to see it on the screen.

I think we did better reading it out loud in class.

When I found out that Patrick Gauthier would be directing The Crucible for the twelfth annual GCTC Lawyer Play, I was thrilled… and a little scared, too. Pat clearly loves the play; when I visited him at home for an interview late last year, he was deep in research, reluctant to leave it and quick to return to it. I have confidence in Pat as a director and as a writer. But I didn’t know what to expect from the lawyers—even though I was assured that many of them had participated in many previous Lawyer Plays and were accustomed to working with a professional director in this setting.

A merely competent actor (someone capable of committing their lines to memory) can be coached out of a few bad habits by a decent, patient director. A bad actor, on the other hand, taxes even a heroic director (who, if so saddled, does better to concentrate on the starfish that can be saved, rather than achieve stunted mediocrity). We may joke that lawyers are ipso facto good actors, but not all lawyers are criminal defense lawyers; most work behind the scenes, in offices, and such. (I’ll probably get into trouble for saying this, but lawyers are apparently also generally very good-looking people! No wonder everyone picks on lawyers; they have intelligence and aesthetic appeal.) So there are no guarantees, right?

In my opinion, you should go to the theatre primarily to see good theatre, not to “support the arts” or make a charity donation. Thank goodness you don’t have to make a choice here; you can do all of the above at once. There’s no need for me to say “but it’s for a good cause” because the production’s great.

However, if you need a little help over that $100 ticket hurdle: You receive a $50 tax receipt for your charity donation. The money goes to the GCTC and a partner charity, in this case Operation Come Home. Operation Come Home is an organization that reunites street youth with their family or guardian, or gives them the support they need if that’s not an option. Personally, from what I’ve heard it’s a great social service; it gives these kids the chance to produce something to earn money, encouraging productivity and independence rather than dependence. They’re squarely in the “teach a man to fish” camp, and that I can get behind.

So how do you turn over a dozen (busy) lawyers into credible actors? Apparently you start with a good text, a director who loves and understands that text and who has a vision for it, give them a brilliant set, lighting, and costumes, and make sure the actors learn their lines. Then you coach them.

Here’s where the musical swell at the end of a scene, which technique I marked with a frowny-face in my review of Hamlet 2011, works: when you have actors who, though quite competent, are not overwhelmingly stellar, it doesn’t hurt to underscore their action and motivate them with strong musical (and lighting) accents. When I say “quite competent,” I mean, for example, that Daniel Hohnstein was a far better John Proctor than Daniel Day-Lewis at the very least. I could go through each cast member and tell you why I liked what they did, but I will save that for the Ottawa Theatre Confidential podcast. It’s not really an ensemble cast so much as it is a set of good individual performances that dovetail well.

I do feel much more willing to pay for legal services after seeing the play.

I recall that The Crucible had made a profound impression on me in high school, but I couldn’t put my finger on exactly why until I saw it again: the theme of the play is personal integrity, which is a very important philosophical, moral, and ethical concept to me (never mind whether or not I actually live a life of personal integrity). The Crucible is thus also a play about religion, or in a religious setting. Both law and theatre have their origin in religious practice; the law from the practical application of religious doctrine, and theatre from the ritual enactment of mythology. The Crucible highlights what happens when the word of the law becomes superior to the spirit of the law, or when mob mentality overwhelms an individual’s common sense. In that way, it is very much like Antigone, or some of the lighter writing of Ayn Rand.

No wonder Marilyn Monroe married Arthur Miller. He was a damn good playwright.

Anyway. I found the 2011 Lawyer Play to be a great production of a text that has meant something to me for half my life. It’s the only time I’ve seen it live, and it’s probably the only time I’ll see it live. I’m glad it was done well.

You have tonight or tomorrow night to see it. If you can, do so.

Get tickets here.

I came across descriptions of a fascinating technique called “statement analysis”. I would say it’s about as scientifically rigorous as graphology—i.e. not very—but the premise that how someone says something or what words they use can tell you what they think about what they’re saying is worth considering.

Creative writing, unlike criminal investigation, does not (generally) demand scientific rigour, so I think we can afford to look at one part of the theory which specifically applies to writing believable dialogue. This comes up not because I’ve been subjected as an audience member to unbelievable dialogue, but I’ve noticed one or two instances in plays where this principle was conspicuous in its absence. Since they were plays that paid special attention to the use of words, I paid special attention to the words used.

The theory is that a person will almost always use the same word to refer to the same thing (or person) unless they have a reason to do otherwise. This is called a personal dictionary or personal lexicon.

We see novice fiction writers violating this all over the place, possibly because some well-meaning English teacher (very likely not a published author) instilled in them the mania for using every word in their vocabulary as often as possible.

Here’s an example:
“You’ve met Sheila, haven’t you? My wife is a great admirer of yours. I was telling the other half just as we were leaving that we might run into you here. Dearest, this is John Bigslow.”

Reading it off the page (or the screen), you may find yourself wondering if “Sheila”, “my wife”, “the other half”, and “Dearest” are four different people. God help the actor stuck with that line in anything but a farce.

This is perhaps more natural:
“You’ve met my wife, haven’t you? She’s a great admirer of yours. I was telling her just as we were leaving that we might run into you here. Sheila, this is John Bigslow.” And then have our nameless doting husband refer to his wife as “my wife” in the third person and “Sheila” throughout the rest of the text—unless something catastrophic happens to their relationship, in which case the change of attitude can be subtly underscored by a change in language: “the wife” versus “my wife” works wonders.

Of course, this is an exaggerated example. However, on topics people feel strongly about, particularly those of politics, religion, and identity, they are utterly rigid about their vocabulary. What would you think of a person or character who used “Israeli” and “Jew” interchangeably? Do they think all Israelis are Jews and vice-versa? At least unconsciously. Do they think the distinction is important? Clearly not. Is this what you are trying to convey with the character? I hope so, otherwise you need to go back and clean up that dialogue before someone else reads it.

You can’t have someone explain the distinction between two terms, such as “sister” and “nun”, and then use them both to refer to the same person. Someone who self-identifies as “queer” or “African-American” is highly unlikely to switch suddenly to “gay” or “Black”. Even “kid” and “child” are decidedly different words; almost never will you hear the same person use both, and when they do, they mean two different things.

An exception to this principle is heightened or poetic dialogue, which is why Shakespeare is credited with adding so many words to the English language. Meter and rhyme call for a different approach to word choice. Just be sure you intend to be a poet before you commit poetry.

People actually use a smaller set of words than the average writer or playwright knows. This is to their advantage, as they can easier separate characters by varying their vocabulary space accordingly.

Never mind principles and rules. The best way to learn how to write effective, realistic dialogue is, of course, to listen to how people speak (this is why the best writers tend to be the least talkative people). Then you can evolve your own personal principles and rules of dialogue.

For her poets and writers are apt to be drawn thither, for the better companionship there and the higher rate of pay. —Rupert Brooke, Letters from America

Emma Godmere is leaving Ottawa, and I can’t say I blame her.

Anywhere two rivers meet, a city will be built. So it is that, at the junction of the Rideau and Ottawa rivers, we find the City of Ottawa, capital of Canada, and its conjoined twin Gatineau.

Ottawa became the capital of Canada simply because of its relatively remote location—not, as the tongue-in-cheek myth goes, because Queen Victoria, in one of her many efforts to amuse herself, closed her eyes and pinned the donkey’s tail here on the map. At the time a logging town, it was subsequently connected to the important military port of Kingston by a canal. Accessible, but safely out of the way.

The city is a lot smaller than municipal amalgamation makes it look on paper. It’s spread out, and without a reliable transit system to link its bedroom communities to its core, much less cohesive than the Katamari Toronto that threatens to absorb Hamilton (if it has not already done so). To make matters worse, Ottawa is barely habitable, or at least inhospitable, due to its wide range of temperature, and high-humidity valley microclimate.

Whenever I hear or read of someone comparing Ottawa to ten-times-bigger Toronto, as I bite my tongue, I recall Rupert Brooke’s Letters from America, written in 1913. Brooke, who died only two years later from an infected mosquito bite whilst serving in World War I, was an educated upper-class young man who took a trip through America—including New York, New England, and much of Canada—and wrote a series of letters detailing his observations to the Winchester Gazette in England. His travel diary thus published is of a style somewhere between a modern travel blog and Jack Kerouac’s On The Road, if it were written by Oscar Wilde.

Letters from America is unlikely to find its way into schools, even Canadian ones, due to Brooke’s (appropriate for his time and social class) cheery, unabashed racism (including the chapter blithely titled “Some N—rs”). We are much the less for this, as he has set down the clearest cultural description of each of our major cities, among them Montréal, Ottawa, Toronto, and Winnipeg.

Then, as now, “… there is an atmosphere of Civil Servants about Ottawa, an atmosphere of safeness and honour and massive buildings and well-shaded walks.”

Whereas, “Toronto, soul of Canada, is wealthy, busy, commercial, Scotch, absorbent of whisky; but she is duly aware of other things. She has a most modern and efficient interest in education; and here are gathered what faint, faint beginnings or premonitions of such things as Art Canada can boast (except the French-Canadians, who, it is complained, produce disproportionately much literature, and waste their time on their own unprofitable songs).”

Is there any wonder that Ottawa suffers so, culturally? It is like a little flower planted late in the season between two huge trees (Toronto and Montréal) whose vast canopy of leaves blocks the sunlight and whose thirsty, spreading roots draw all the water and nutrients from the soil.

If our creators are leaving for another city (I don’t count Nancy Kenny, who lives and works in a Littlest Hobo eigenstate between Toronto and Ottawa) with its established audiences, what about our Ottawa audiences? I don’t, by the way, think it’s fair to blame Ottawa audiences; we should be taking the non-audiences to task instead.

Here is the thing: Ottawa’s economy is composed (mostly) of government, universities, and a technology sector. Each of these attracts people (workers and students) from outside of the city. A significant portion of the middle-class population, therefore, has no particular roots in Ottawa.

This is not a question of immigration. Immigration, as in Toronto and Montréal, serves rather to catalyze cultural evolution. Ottawa’s nascent live spoken word community, for example, is at least 50% driven by first- or second-generation immigrants.

The Ottawa middle class is culpably resistant to the changes required to develop this city into a metropolis capable of sustaining a local culture. If we want to be urban, we must build buildings; we can’t chisel out Manotick-like villages in the middle of it all. The trade-off has always been, and should remain: if you want to live surrounded by limitless greenspace, commute from the country. The people that can afford and do appreciate cultural enrichment can also afford to travel to Toronto or Montréal to get it, and they are guaranteed an ample, competitive supply.

If any environment is culturally and economically inhospitable, the most promising twentysomething minds will leave it for one that is—thereby decreasing the rate at which local cultural offerings will be improved to the point that they impress people into becoming new audiences.

I’m not convinced, either, that the same folks who have been running the show for decades have earth-shattering “new ideas” that will coax the public from their suburban bunkers. I’d love to be proven wrong, but I’ll keep my cow until I see the beanstalk.

Emma Godmere’s imminent departure (JUST when I was getting used to seeing her on stage) is good for her, but also a symptom of the underlying syndrome. We lose our best and brightest to our neighbours, whether due to talent, ambition, or a healthy synergy of both.

And who could blame them for leaving?

The quote preceding this post, by the way, refers to artists at the time leaving Toronto for the States. So there is hope that we can overcome our disadvantage of proximity in due time.

The discussion touched briefly upon a fact which, although it seems self-evident, frustrates the hell out of people who make a living (or aim to) out of creating art: quality and popularity are independent quantities. In other words, just because it’s “good” doesn’t mean it will sell.

Quality and popularity are independent quantities.

There is a fair amount of subjectivity involved in the assessment of quality, to start with. I’m of the opinion that aesthetic value, like any physical measurement or other perception, depends on the observer, that which is observed, and the act of observation. These things are variable. But there is such a thing as technique, and even if it cannot be objectively measured, some value can be established by consensus. We all agree, I hope, that an actor standing two feet to the left of his mark (and well out of his light) is bad quality—the craft is lacking.

Popularity, on the other hand, can be measured by attendance or box office revenue with a fair degree of accuracy. If a show sells out, it is popular; if there are blocks of empty seats, it is unpopular. It’s not that it rained or that there was no parking; unless you kept your show a secret, it’s unpopular, by definition. (Could it have been made popular? Very possibly. But that’s not what we’re talking about right now.)

Here’s where it falls apart: something can be very good, very well-done, yet be unpopular. This is less of a problem in the “durable” arts (the plastic arts, literature, recorded music—anything you can put in a box and save for later) than the performance arts, since tastes may change over the years and decades (unfortunately the creator often dies first).

If the critics are doing their job, the good stuff gets critical acclaim.

We have evolved critics ostensibly to determine what is good, and ideally they will laud high-quality theatre. When the public doesn’t know any better—and they can’t, really, in advance—they must turn to the critic for an opinion with which to compare their own. The critic walks a tightwire strung between public opinion and the accepted (in some cases centuries-old) wisdom as to what determines quality in a given art form. Criticism is, in one sense, the art of thinking about art, and the art of articulating that thought. The role of the critic is, ideally, to attempt to rotate the “popularity” axis counterclockwise so that it more closely approximates the “quality” axis.

Popular theatre is profitable theatre… one hopes.

Since popular means that people showed up and (presumably, or what are you doing?) paid, it follows that popular productions are financial successes (hopefully, they made a profit). The definition of a financial success is an accounting question rather than an economic one, and it’s muddled somewhat by the issue of grants. You can always, however, peek out from the wings and see how many seats are full. Popularity, all other things being equal, can depend upon such factors as appropriateness for season (try producing an intellectually-charged tragedy in the middle of winter) or local relevance. It is rarely influenced by the rain.

Now here’s the diagram that’s going to piss everyone off (with any luck). These are the regions of the graph we might expect professional and community theatre to occupy.

Professional vs. Community Theatre: what we might expect

Let me start by saying that I love community theatre. For one thing, it’s pretty much the only way, in a market like ours here in Ottawa, that we will see plays with a cast of more than four characters on stage. Also, perhaps also because of the state of the market, some of our community theatre is pretty good quality.

On the other hand, I also think that the people who produce/create a product should, if they so desire, be paid in accordance with the perceived exchange value (with society) of their contribution to the product. That means, if you consider that theatre has value (and why are you reading this if you don’t?), then actors (and crew, and everyone else involved with a production) deserve to be paid. Unless, of their own free will, they waive that pay.

Can community and professional theatre co-exist? Certainly. But there are certain conditions that must be met for that to happen.

The Rideau Awards Gala is just over a month away, so it’s probably not too early to speculate as to the winners. The trouble is, I somehow failed to see everything that was nominated for last year. Despite promising myself after last year’s Rideau Awards to see more French theatre, I managed to miss every single one of the nominated French productions. Je débordes de chagrin honteux. Of the English productions, I did not see: Swimming in the Shallows, Heroes, Twelfth Night, They All Do It, Macbeth, Trouble on Dibble Street, Facts, The Danish Play, The Radio Show: It’s A Wonderful Life, or It’s Just a Stage (for which I apologize to Ken Godmere each time I see him in person, which is not nearly as often as I’d like). These glaring omissions will not, however, stop me from making some violent stabs in the dark; at least for the English-language awards.

Here, then, are my predictions for this year’s Rideau Award winners for English-language productions (please visit the Rideau Awards site for the full list of nominations; I didn’t feel like copying it out in full):

Outstanding Production
Wow, I missed over half of these. Shame on me. I’m personally leaning toward Turn of the Screw, but I heard so many good things about Heroes that it may just get it. I’m awfully glad Blackbird was nominated in this category; I was afraid it would be overlooked. Now I don’t feel so bad bringing it up as an example so often.

Outstanding Direction
Did I only see two out of five of these, too? Oh, wait, that’s because it’s basically the same list; just swap out Facts for Twelfth Night. This is a bit tougher. Okay, how about Patrick Gauthier for a brilliant site-specific staging of Turn of the Screw, and Heroes can have Outstanding Production? Does that work? I think it works.

Outstanding Performance, Female
Oh, I am torn. The only one of these I didn’t see was They All Do It. Now, if we were talking about Sarah Finn‘s latest go at Shadows during the undercurrents festival, that would be my pick. But we’re not; we’re talking about the original run at the 2010 Fringe—still a stellar performance, mind you. Sarah McVie‘s Rita was great, but I don’t think it was great enough to take this category (we’ll have to wait and see if her adorable Sophie from Strawberries in January makes next year’s list). Kristina Watt exceeded expectations (and shut a few people up) in Blackbird, but then Catriona Leger crafted a set of characters in Someone For Everyone that basically made that show (I think I called it The Catriona Leger Vehicle at one point, in private). Maybe it’s a good thing I didn’t see They All Do It, or I’d be split five ways. Watt or Leger will likely take it, and I’ll put my money on Leger, ever-so-glad that no actual money is involved.

Outstanding Performance, Male
This is interesting. If I recall correctly, the Capital Critics Circle had such a hard time deciding who merited their version of this award that they jointly awarded it to Paul Rainville, Peter Froehlich, and John Koensgen, for their performances in Heroes. Sly move, and probably well-deserved. The Rideau Awards Committee doesn’t allow itself such deus ex machina, however. To complicate matters, Koensgen is nominated rather for his performance in Third Wall’s Blackbird. Oh, and then we throw Kris Joseph into the mix for good measure. DON’T MAKE THIS EASY OR ANYTHING. I would take a gamble and say that rather than choose Rainville over Froehlich (or rob Peter to pay Paul; either way), it’s going to be a battle between Koensgen and Joseph (for Screw), and Kris Joseph‘s going to take it, if only because he played 697 characters to Kate Smith‘s one and did sound effects.

Outstanding Lighting Design
Guillaume Houët is bound to win something. He’s up against Jock Munro in the English nominations, so he may not sweep lighting entirely, but if he doesn’t win in English, he’ll win in French. I unfortunately didn’t see what Lynn Cox did with Swimming in the Shallows, but if it was as good as what she did technically with Shadows, she’s a viable contender too. Every single one of the shows I did see had remarkable lighting. This is a tough call. Despite the fact that lighting made The List, and was integral to the characteristic feel of Vimy, and Houët’s masterful crafting of darkness itself in Blackbird was breathtaking, Turn of the Screw was probably the most difficult and unusual lighting challenge of them all, and depended on crackerjack lighting direction so thoroughly that it was virtually a third actor. So I’m picking Screw.

Outstanding Set Design
I only saw Vimy? What was I doing? And why isn’t The List on here? Maybe I’m the only one, but I really liked the set of The List. I am hideously unqualified to even guess, so I’m crossing my fingers and saying Vimy. I hope I’m right, or I missed a set that was better.

Outstanding Costume Design
Shadows. Vimy was accurate (although I’m still not sure about nurses wearing boots, but the research I did suggests that they were issued boots) but there’s not much room to get creative with a well-defined military setting: you either do it right (which they did), or not at all. Turn of the Screw was simple, and if I recall correctly (from hearsay), Macbeth was minimalist costume as well—both of which are eminently suitable costuming choices… but not award-winning. Judith DeBoer created a whole wardrobe for two characters centred on one colour scheme, with costume changes an integral part of the action and essential to straightening out the timeline. Add to that the plays within the play, and she should get this award. But that’s just my opinion.

Outstanding New Creation
I am most sad that I didn’t see Airport Security (although I did read every one of Kris Joseph‘s tweets from the stage). However, I would kind of like Six: At Home to get this: for being innovative, creative, and “christening” the Laurier House space. If Shadows, for some reason, doesn’t win anything else, it will probably win this. And here I thought They All Do It was an adaptation of Cosi Fan Tutte, rather than a new creation. I guess I stand corrected.

Outstanding Adaptation
I bet Heroes will take this. It’d be nice if A Flea in Her Ear did, but I don’t think it’s likely.

Outstanding Fringe Production
The way I forgive myself for not having seen It’s Just a Stage is by remembering my Fringe mantra: You can only see 53 out of the 60 shows, so see stuff from out of town first. It’s kind of a cumbersome mantra, but it works. I am so overjoyed that multinational gRape corporations got nominated. I can feel the toilet-paper bouquet as clearly as the day I caught it; I kid you not, I dreamt of it the other night. The Last Goddamned Performance Piece was good, although I would have liked to see the Nancy Kenny night for comparison’s sake. Probably Shadows will take this category, but it would be really cool if Six: At Home did.

Emerging Artist Award
I’ve got an idea! Instead of having an award, why don’t we have Anna Chambers and Hilary Nichol co-stage-manage a production starring Nathan Ings, Cari Leslie, and Guy Marsan? I would totally pay good money to see that. Those poor judges have to choose one? I do not envy them their task*. Well… Anna’s done pretty damn well this year, even if you don’t count her being Natalie Joy Quesnel‘s eyes, ears, and right arm for the Fringe Festival. I can’t go to anything—media call, opening night, random theatre party—without Ms. Chambers popping out from behind something. That’s what emerging means, right?

Technical / Stage Management Award
Oh, look! I is nominated for something. Why is it only one thing? Never mind: I pick it. That was a technically difficult show and set, with lots of props and pretty near 40 people moving around. But mostly because I should win the one thing for which it was nominated.

So, on April 10th, we’ll find out just how wrong my “predictions” are. In the meanwhile, I have to find a date… and some wings.