Review: FRINGE FESTIVAL: BATCH FIVE

MAIL ORDERED

Shanice Stanislaus’ MAIL ORDERED is a broad, daring satire that’s likely to be divisive. Stanislaus plays Lila, a young woman from a unnamed rural village, who has come to Canada in the hopes of saving her family from her father’s gambling debt. To do this, she has one objective: to sell herself as a bride to any man who has $100,000 to spare. In Borat-like fashion, she mercilessly harangues the audience, asking individuals if they want to be the lucky buyer. In the meantime, she shares stories about her village and situation, tells esoteric jokes, and performs traditional dances to show her worthiness as a mate—even though, she confides, she prefers to express herself through hip-hop. Lila has concentrated so hard on her goal that she’s neglected to think about one crucial element: what does she want?

The show succeeds beautifully in doing what it wants to do, which is to generate laughs while causing the audience some genuine discomfort. At the same time, its over-the-top humour is oddly gentle, for all its willingness to cover taboo topics. Stanislaus is a skilled performer who remains deeply in character at all times, even convincingly conveying that she doesn’t know what a “date” is. As well, the second half contains some genuine surprises which make things feel refreshingly unpredictable.

If you can handle some excruciating audience participation, give it a try.

FATAL CHARADE

FATAL CHARADE is the name given to a punishment in Ancient Rome; a convicted prisoner was sentenced to act in a play in which part of the entertainment included his real-life murder on stage. This grisly business forms the heart of Jack Rennie and Andrew Cameron’s tragicomedy, which succeeds in both parts of the word, a Fringe highlight and my top pick of the festival so far.

We never fully find out what the prisoner (Varun Guru) has done, though there are hints at its depraved and unforgivable nature. Interestingly, it’s never implied that he was wrongfully accused, politically persecuted, or actually correct in his actions, either; merely that he is a human being who may deserve to be treated humanely, and that he turns out to have great, sympathetic acting talent.

This works out well for the company director (Eva Petris), whose recent productions have all been flopping, and who has promised magistrate Tittus Tattus (the one truly silly joke in an otherwise sophisticated script) a new script by retired writer Virgil (a gloomy, intense Cameron, in full theatre blacks) in in one last bid to stay afloat. The team, a wisecracking, bitter “older” performer (Sean Jacklin), young himbo (Brendan Rush), and ingenue (Emma Nelles), are soon wowed by the prisoner, who teaches them the concept of naturalistic method acting, and become morally uneasy with the act they have to commit while acting. Even Marcus (Leon Qin), the macho prison guard with secret acting aspirations, gradually becomes aware that he’s merely playing a role in the Empire’s plans.

FATAL CHARADE is metatheatre at its most entertaining, using this genre to comment on the value and meaning of theatre and its ability to build bonds between participants, but also on larger issues about the intersection between entertainment, talent, and morality. At the same time, the antics of the hapless troupe are beautifully funny, while the quiet dignity of Guru’s doomed prisoner might make you shed a few tears.

I hope this play has a life beyond the Fringe; it’s more than just a charade.

ALL THAT REMAINS.

ALL THAT REMAINS. is an extremely well-intentioned show based on the gun massacre at Orlando’s LGBTQ+ Pulse nightclub that is still in its first draft stages. Angela, a psychologist (Natasha Fiorino) with a personal connection to the incident has been waiting for months for the last parents to claim the cremated remains of their child. When Joe Ferrer (Stephen Flett; in the performance I saw, playwright/director Josh Downing seemed to be filling in, but this was not explained to the audience) shows up, he insists that he has no daughter, only sons, and refuses to have anything to do with his trans daughter’s remains, to the psychologist’s distress.

Downing’s script uses a strong structural device, with placards featuring Kubler-Ross’ stages of grief introducing each scene. However, this merely highlights that the resolution comes too quickly, as “anger” and “depression” are missing entirely, winnowing the stages of grief down to three and going straight from “bargaining” to “acceptance.” Though there is definitely the shape of real, complex people here in the two characters, right now the dialogue is too similar to a series of right vs. left wing talking points, and could use more personality and nuance. Unfortunately, while the dialogue demands a fluid, volleying delivery, the mismatch between the preparedness of the actors caused a large issue in the performance I saw; since Downing was on book, the performance settled into a static rhythm where a pause and sigh followed each line before the next was delivered. The powerful concept gives the team plenty to work with for the future, and I’d love to have seen what Flett could do with the part.

LEVELS: THE PLAY

LEVELS is a sweet teenage high school dramedy that, while containing the improved diversity, sexual politics and technology of 2023, reminded me fondly of my favourite 90s and early 2000s teen movies. Six students, all performers, try to survive their final year of high school, put on a pop-inflected Midsummer Night’s Dream, and go on to bigger and better things; there’s the Type-A uptight director Zoe (Annelise Forbes) and her long-suffering girlfriend Bre (Nadia Cassandra), the latter beginning to resent being pigeonholed and overlooked as they both apply to the same dream performing arts school. There’s the loud and proud Kiki Ballroom dancer Chris (Chris Otchere), who begins a flirtation with the new, handsome and cultured Montreal transplant JP (Tavaree Daniel-Simms). And there’s the basketball player Cyrus (Isaiah Nembhard) who decides he wants to cross the court to join the theatre kids based on his infatuation with Izzy (Luca McPhee), a talented songwriter who’s questioning her sexuality while trying to recover from a sexual assault.

The script, by recent Sheridan College musical theatre program grads Clarence Jura and Abby Grass, effectively takes us through the year with a clear structure, punctuated by hilarious, protracted student announcements over the PA system which activate teen movie nostalgia with a vengeance. What’s updated from the ‘90s is the show’s focus on queerness and race, looking at issues of intersectionality and consent; what’s impressive is the frank way these topics are explored without sacrificing character or going full after-school special. Particularly enjoyable is the complex, budding romance between JP and Chris, and the way Cyrus, while imperfect, doesn’t conform to jock stereotype and sensitively supports his friends. The way Zoe and Bre fracture over white, blond Zoe’s inability to see Bre’s Blackness as anything but an affirmative action benefit is heartbreaking, and Izzy’s assault produces a realistic traumatic impact while life also realistically goes on.

Musical numbers are fun and catchy, though not as memorable as the characterizations each of the fine young actors have developed, and it would be nice to have a clearer idea of everyone else’s future plans as the year comes to its conclusion. But this is a mature show from young writers and a young cast with a ton of promise. It’s a ‘90s cliché to say, but the kids are all right.

DANIELLE TEA’S INFERNAL LATTE

Danielle Tea…or should I say Dan T, or Dante? Victoria Sullivan’s play is an extremely loose retelling of Dante’s famous The Divine Comedy, in which barista Tea (Christa-Marie Waugh) is taken by Britney Spears (Sullivan) to tour through the nine circles of Hell on the way to retrieve the Princess of Pop’s soul from Satan (Brandon James Sim), with an assist from Joan of Arc (Katie Lawrence, full of feisty French fury) and even Vlad the Impaler (Ryan Kotack, doing his best What We Do in the Shadows impression) along the way.

The show is full of campy infernal fun, with silly references to the poet’s Inferno and pop culture. Demons and questers alike are clearly having a good time, and there are even a couple moments of effectively suggested horror and murky morality, while lively direction by Isabelle Ellis keeps things moving quickly. The story tumbles a couple of levels in that the least developed character is Tea herself, as the key piece in the puzzle that will let Britney take on the devil. She is said to be a genuinely good person, taking care of her ailing mother and putting her singing career on hold. But her career seems to be on hold due to shyness rather than self-denial, and caring for her mother, while admirable, still doesn’t explain why she is the only human who can help Britney lower the veil between Hell and Earth. Since Tea’s story is the main aspect differing from Dante’s, the play could either hew closer to the original, or explain its special circumstances. However, as a silly diversion, you could do worse. It's brimstone, bitch.

B-MAX AND THE RE-REVOLUTION PRESENTS: MAGIC ON THE MIC, AN ACOUSTIC EVENING OF THEATRE

B-MAX is an incoherent mess of a vanity project, whose thesis seems to be that writer, director, and lead Bryce Volrath has been unjustly denied his rightful stardom based on his dream to one day be a star. But it’s hard to figure out the thrust of the script, which alternately seems self-aware and delusional about its shortcomings, as others criticize B-Max (why B-Max? No-one knows, but the play seems to assume a previous familiarity with B-Max as a character and person) for his lack of life planning but praise his talent. The lead reads stage directions, including the ones that are also acted, without a clear reason; Volrath also reads most of his monologues bent over a music stand with his head down, and sits in the audience laughing loudly at his own jokes when not in the scene.

The first scene goes on for a very long time to set up a character dynamic to which we never return, and the abrupt ending of the play is preceded by two scenes from a different, unrelated play (or “anti-play”) by the same playwright, about the difficulty of maintaining artistic integrity. The proceedings are made watchable by the rest of the cast, who throw themselves gamely into the fray, making the most of their lines. One funny scene involves Chelsea Mathieu having a one-sided conversation with Volrath, replying as though he hadn’t responded with the same line each time. Otherwise, there is no magic on this mic.

Photo of Annelise Forbes, Clarence (CJ) Jura, Luca Mcphee, Nadia Casandra, Isaiah Nembhard, Tavaree Daniel-Simms, Abby Grass, Taylor Williams and Chris Otchere by Bradlee Dela Cruz

 

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