If you have doubts about global warming then think on the fact that this summer it has been hotter in the great white north of Central Canada than it is in Austin, Texas. The temperature has even reached eighty in Halifax and after an unprecedentedly cold spring it is now getting into the eighties in Saint John’s Newfoundland. While I’m off-topic I’ll also note that with the Calgary Stampede in full swing the death of horses and the injuries to riders is suddenly in the news. As with the recent running of the bulls in Pamplona, Spain is it really news that people who run with bulls get gored or that bulls get killed in the bull ring? In their effort to sell news media are reporters and editors fueling the animal rights frenzy?
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Having been busy seeing and doing I’m a month behind in reviewing Rising Tide Theatre in Trinity Bight. As an uptight mainlander I cannot resist a gentle poke at the gal in the Tourist Chalet at which I stopped to make sure I wasn’t totally lost who told me that I couldn’t miss the theatre if I followed the signs. What signs? Even the building itself now a different colour from the pictures lacked a sign. Blundering into the artistic director’s office herself assured me she’d see to getting it back up and true to her word it was two days later. Finding the box office I was confronted with the possibility that the first performance that evening could be in two separate locations depending on the weather which were some distance apart at other locations unknown to me. Apparently I wasn’t the only one confused, no tickets were sold for that performance.
The comedy Culture Shock by Lorne Elliot was having its dress rehearsal even as I purchased my ticket to see it. It’s always a challenge to get their comic timing down when actors have no idea where the laughs are going to come. A rehash of the oft-told tale of an outport boy who goes down the road to the big city this is a work-in-progress both for the actors and the writer. Being an obsessive compulsive I was at pains not to straighten the painting on the wall of the simple set in which an old vinyl chair, an old TV propped on an orange crate, a few doors and windows, and Hillyard’s roped cardboard box were the principle props. With three actors playing multiple characters each the wardrobe department was kept busy doing quick changes backstage. This is one piece in which a little over-acting would not go amiss.
Rising Tide Theatre runs as an extension of Artistic Director Donna Butt’s force of will. Herself greets her audiences and stands in front of the set chatting them up until she acknowledges that she should not be responsible for causing a production to start late as she has admonished her production staff to be punctual. She commissioned and directed Paul Rowe’s Silent Time, an adaptation of his book of the same name and the author appears in the play. An elaborate set demands a great deal of the audience as for example actors walk through a kitchen to get to the back door. The nosey postmistress who knows everybody’s business spying behind her window blind is priceless. [I was amused later to see cancellations in the museum in which the postmistress had scratched out postmaster and substituted Postmistress.] Illustrated here is the condescending paternalistic way in which politicians and business owners have interfered in the lives of Newfoundlanders for centuries believing that they know better than the people themselves what is best for them. Somehow the production left me oddly disquieted. I could do with a little more humanity and a little less didacticism.
The weather Sunday Night left little doubt that that evening’s performance of David French’s Saltwater Moon would be done outdoors with seven audience members sitting on lawn chairs in front of a rocking chair and rickety park bench. That bench caused some consternation as to whether it could support the rather husky Lee Fowlow perching on it at odd angles. Otherwise with only the full moon missing, (it was first quarter and the moon was visible), as a kitten mewed in the background at someone’s door this was a perfect Newfoundland setting as Jacob Mercer opened the backyard gate to come romance the girl he left behind him when he left home for Canada. Jacob’s old suitcase held together with a length of ship’s rope and Mary’s amber spyglass were the only other props as he arrives fresh off the boat from Port-Aux Basque. Allison Kelly the actress is as bowled over as Mary Snow the character she portraits by Jacob’s wooing. Only in a place like this would one run into the actress later and be thanked for being such a responsive audience member. It was a rare privilege to see an actor so fully inhabit a part as Lee Fowlow did that of Jacob, his wooing was so realistic that only a tumescent crotch was missing. This performance was so real it left one feeling like one was intruding.
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Having been busy seeing and doing I’m a month behind in reviewing Rising Tide Theatre in Trinity Bight. As an uptight mainlander I cannot resist a gentle poke at the gal in the Tourist Chalet at which I stopped to make sure I wasn’t totally lost who told me that I couldn’t miss the theatre if I followed the signs. What signs? Even the building itself now a different colour from the pictures lacked a sign. Blundering into the artistic director’s office herself assured me she’d see to getting it back up and true to her word it was two days later. Finding the box office I was confronted with the possibility that the first performance that evening could be in two separate locations depending on the weather which were some distance apart at other locations unknown to me. Apparently I wasn’t the only one confused, no tickets were sold for that performance.
The comedy Culture Shock by Lorne Elliot was having its dress rehearsal even as I purchased my ticket to see it. It’s always a challenge to get their comic timing down when actors have no idea where the laughs are going to come. A rehash of the oft-told tale of an outport boy who goes down the road to the big city this is a work-in-progress both for the actors and the writer. Being an obsessive compulsive I was at pains not to straighten the painting on the wall of the simple set in which an old vinyl chair, an old TV propped on an orange crate, a few doors and windows, and Hillyard’s roped cardboard box were the principle props. With three actors playing multiple characters each the wardrobe department was kept busy doing quick changes backstage. This is one piece in which a little over-acting would not go amiss.
Rising Tide Theatre runs as an extension of Artistic Director Donna Butt’s force of will. Herself greets her audiences and stands in front of the set chatting them up until she acknowledges that she should not be responsible for causing a production to start late as she has admonished her production staff to be punctual. She commissioned and directed Paul Rowe’s Silent Time, an adaptation of his book of the same name and the author appears in the play. An elaborate set demands a great deal of the audience as for example actors walk through a kitchen to get to the back door. The nosey postmistress who knows everybody’s business spying behind her window blind is priceless. [I was amused later to see cancellations in the museum in which the postmistress had scratched out postmaster and substituted Postmistress.] Illustrated here is the condescending paternalistic way in which politicians and business owners have interfered in the lives of Newfoundlanders for centuries believing that they know better than the people themselves what is best for them. Somehow the production left me oddly disquieted. I could do with a little more humanity and a little less didacticism.
The weather Sunday Night left little doubt that that evening’s performance of David French’s Saltwater Moon would be done outdoors with seven audience members sitting on lawn chairs in front of a rocking chair and rickety park bench. That bench caused some consternation as to whether it could support the rather husky Lee Fowlow perching on it at odd angles. Otherwise with only the full moon missing, (it was first quarter and the moon was visible), as a kitten mewed in the background at someone’s door this was a perfect Newfoundland setting as Jacob Mercer opened the backyard gate to come romance the girl he left behind him when he left home for Canada. Jacob’s old suitcase held together with a length of ship’s rope and Mary’s amber spyglass were the only other props as he arrives fresh off the boat from Port-Aux Basque. Allison Kelly the actress is as bowled over as Mary Snow the character she portraits by Jacob’s wooing. Only in a place like this would one run into the actress later and be thanked for being such a responsive audience member. It was a rare privilege to see an actor so fully inhabit a part as Lee Fowlow did that of Jacob, his wooing was so realistic that only a tumescent crotch was missing. This performance was so real it left one feeling like one was intruding.
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