Month: March 2011

One Electric Ride: “Jesus Hopped the ‘A’ Train”

/ Lauren / 2 Comments

Glass City Theatre‘s production of “Jesus Hopped the ‘A’ Train” at Pacific Theatre is not for the faint of heart. It is not for those of us whose enjoyment and appreciation of a show requires a happy ending. It is not for those of us who are comfortable in our assessment of the way the world and people work and do not want to be challenged. It is for those of us who are interested in a solid, uncompromising script, difficult themes, and unapologetic performances.

The play, written by Stephen Adly Guirgis and directed by Angela Konrad, takes place on Rikers Island, New York, where two men, one a convicted serial killer, the other on trial for a murder he doesn’t think was a crime, spend their days in solitary confinement. For one hour each day they are brought outside to  separate cages to spend some time in the fresh air. Sometimes friends, sometimes enemies, the meat of this play can be found in the conversation and complicated relationship that builds between these two prisoners during their time together at Rikers. This particular production also boasts a simple, effective, and altogether stunning set and lighting design by Itai Erdal.

Not having been raised in a religious household, I occasionally find myself nervous when I attend performances at Pacific Theatre. I sometimes worry that perhaps the spiritual mandate of the company (which operates on the property of the Holy Trinity Anglican Church) will result in productions that exclude a non-religious viewer (like myself) or otherwise prevent my enjoyment of the work. So far this has not happened. Yes, religion is a central theme of the play. Lucius, the convicted serial killer, believes he has found God and tries to convince Angel, who is still pleading innocent for the murder of a cult leader, to do the same.

This plot could have easily alienated a viewer like me, but it did not. The strength of the script lies in its forever altering lines between black and white, right and wrong. Upon first appearance,  Lucius is presented as a sympathetic character, even though we know he has murdered eight people. Angel is also presented as sympathetic, a victim of circumstances. And yet, as much as we begin to like these men, as much as one has found God and the other’s lawyer insists that he is innocent, the fact we must always contend with is that both have taken human life. Is there ever a good and moral reason to do so? Is an unspeakably horrible upbringing an excuse to cause so much pain to victims and their families? Can you ever reach a place, after you have done something wrong, where you can make it right and be forgiven, whether it be by God, or by society, or by yourself? Even if a jury were to find you innocent, if you have broken your own personal laws of right and wrong, what then?

While the entire cast is strong, Carl Kennedy (Lucius) and Robert Olguin (Angel) are electric together. There is such an overwhelming energy onstage it verges constantly on either giddiness or violence. The script can be very funny. And there is violence. But it is not the characters’ actions that are violent (they are prisoners), it is their words and their lives that are violent. I found myself on teetering on the edge of tears during the second act (I was not the only one), not because the acting or directing was “milking” a reaction out of me but because I simply couldn’t bear the strain of watching the struggle to make right out of something so horribly horribly wrong.

The play is a struggle.  The characters struggle. Heroes, villains–everyone is both. “Jesus Hopped the ‘A’ Train” shows us a world where nothing is completely saved, and yet, nothing is completely lost either. Much like ours. A constant struggle to find the right. What is the answer? I don’t know. Struggle struggle struggle.

I appreciate leaving the theatre with more questions than I had when I walked in. I appreciate the occasional challenge to my own moral compass, and the opportunity to put myself in the shoes of a person whose eyes I will hopefully never see through.

“Jesus Hopped the ‘A’ Train” runs until April 2 at Pacific Theatre. Tickets can be obtained at the Pacific Theatre Box Office through visiting their website or calling 604-731-5518.

Final notes: I received a comp ticket from the good-hearted Lois Dawson,  all-around Super Vancouver Theatre Woman and author of the theatre blog Lois Backstage. She gave me a comp because she’s awesome. I was not asked by Pacific Theatre or Glass City Theatre to write a review of this production.

Adventures in BC: Salt Spring Island

/ Lauren / 7 Comments

I think by now I have made it pretty clear that I love Vancouver, and East Van in particular. But sometimes, this city is a drag. Day after day of grey sidewalks and grey skies makes even my imagination grey.

Enter a very appealing proposal that I use my recent three-day weekend to go to Salt Spring Island. I had never been before. I said yes. I may have even said, “Hurrah!”.  I was pleased.

Apparently, one can take a little float plane from downtown and be on Salt Spring in under an hour. The CHEAP way to get to Salt Spring involves ferries and several hours. On the way there we took the ferry from Tsawwassen to Swartz Bay and hopped onto what can only be described as a cute but dumpy little ferry to Fulford Harbour. Once landed we were literally twenty paces from a lovely little eatery called the Rock Salt Restaurant & Cafe.

I wish I had taken a picture of the interior of this restaurant: yellow walls, big windows, and stained glass everywhere. It was a children’s drawing come to life. Although Salt Spring was all aflutter that Raul Pacheco had recently posted a very positive review of the Rock Salt’s Burger Deluxe in his blog Hummingbird604, I decided to go with the Mexicana naan sandwich and it was delightful. I don’t consider myself much of a foodie but I think it’s worth noting that the Caesar salad that came with it was good too. I have been to many restaurants that served great main courses but sub-par salads and the Rock Salt was not one of them.

The view from the home we stayed in.

Our hosts for the weekend were relatives of my travel companion: a very hip couple and their two adorable and energetic daughters. Within 20 minutes of arriving at their house, we had listened to three radio plays, watched two hip hop dance routines, and one incredibly literal sock puppet show. I really must take the time now to thank our hosts whose warmth, humour, and hilarious children made my weekend.

My first evening in Salt Spring was spent in good company, dozing in front of a wood stove and listening to Joanna Newsom. There was also some drinking of Glenmorangie. I know nothing about scotch. Apparently this was a very good scotch. I believe I have tried scotch, once before, on Mayne Island (what is it about the Gulf Islands and scotch?), and I had a few sips of the Glenmorangie this time, but unfortunately, not having acquired a taste for scotch, the quality and the glory was a little lost on me. Made me feel quite warm though. Warm and tingly. And oh-so-fancy.

I slept through my nights in Salt Spring in the kind of deep dark you can only have far far away from the city. The wind was howling in the trees and I was snuggled in a comforter. I cannot think of a more cozy arrangement.

As beautiful as Salt Spring Island is, one cannot control the weather. In March, the weather is rainy. This meant a lot of indoor visiting (more dance routines) and naps. My little outing for this particular adventure on Salt Spring was a trip to the village of Ganges to have lunch and poke around in the shops.

One shop that was a particular favourite of mine was Black Sheep Books, a used book store with two floors. This place is literally stuffed floor to ceiling with books: new(ish) books, antique books, travel books, children’s books, all carefully shelved in their own labelled sections. The shop also had several out of the way nooks, perfect for those who have always dreamed of having a romantic tryst in a book store. The upper floor houses a collection of books and original prints by Nick Bantock, an artist and author of the “Griffin & Sabine” trilogy. According to Wikipedia (and our hosts for this adventure), Bantock is based in Salt Spring. Sadly, I did not see Nick Bantock (whose work I know through his book “Averse to Beasts”) but I feel as though I have had a brush with literary fame all the same.

At the marina in Ganges. I love boats.

For lunch, we stopped in at the Oystercatcher Seafood Bar & Grill. I had the Biltmore Chicken Burger which was fabulous (can’t resist any sandwich with pesto) but I think next time I will order the fish and chips. I tried a piece of my travel companion’s and it was perfection, as far as fish and chips go. The texture and the taste were exactly what they should be. It’s probably worth heading back to Salt Spring just for that.

It was a sad day when we had to say good-bye to our amazing hosts and head back to the busy city. This time, we took the ferry that stops on Mayne and Galiano before heading to Tsawwassen. The trip between the islands was beautiful but the crossing over the Strait of Georgia was a little rough for my liking. I spent a lot of that time squeezing my eyes shut and wishing I had taken the float plane.

Seasickness aside, if I had to sum my adventure up in one word I would say it was restorative. I am not from the city. A city is not the home of my soul. No city, no matter how beautiful, can make up for how fully relaxed I felt the moment I reached Salt Spring. I have a feeling my little weekend excursion was the beginning of a long and beautiful friendship with a charming and beautiful island.

Passing through the Gulf Islands on the ferry home

“Making art for free” – I’m opening that can of worms

/ Lauren / 5 Comments

An interesting gentleman I recently met at a party leaned over a kitchen counter at me and slurred something to the effect of, “Every artist is exploited for their passions.” He continued on after this point but as he was drunk and getting a little incoherent I don’t recall the rest. The gist of his argument seemed to be that because everyone knows that artists love to do what we do (be that music, theatre, dance, visual art, photography, etc.), we are expected to do this for little or nothing.

I couldn’t agree with him more. All of the theatre I have been involved in since finishing my BFA has involved little, but more often non-existent, compensation.  I entered into the work fully aware that nobody was being paid. I did it because I respect and enjoy the people I work with, and because if I didn’t take the time to be an artist sometimes, my soul would start to die.

There is a very prevalent though very misguided attitude surrounding the idea of payment in the arts community. People seem to believe that because artists enjoy their craft, they don’t require the same kind of compensation they would if they were doing a job they hated. I would like to make something very clear:

Enjoyment DOES NOT EQUAL easy. Enjoyment DOES NOT EQUAL lack of time or skill. Any good piece of art involves time (during a theatre production, for example, usually 20-50 hours a week on top of a full or part time job) and skill (most of the artists I know have either a university degree and/or extensive studio training, which they supplement with workshops). In a regular working environment, this time, training, and skill would be compensated.

Making art also requires an emotional and often physical investment not found in other jobs. Making art is not an activity in which you can “coast” (i.e. writing that report for your boss while you flick through photos of last weekend on Facebook or watch a funny cat video). Coasting results in shallow, if not plain old shitty, art. An artist is required to be emotionally, mentally, and physically present in their work. I enjoy everything I do involving the theatre but maintaining this focus isn’t easy. Sometimes I’m ill but I have to be on my feet for a two-hour run before I can sit down again. I’m exhausted sometimes but I’m staying at rehearsal late into the night, knowing I am going to be waking up at 6:30 to go to work and THEN I’ll be going to rehearsal all over again. Sometimes the work scares me or makes me so angry that I hate it and hate everyone involved and hate myself but we get through it and we make some art.

And then I am told by the prevalent public opinion that I don’t need to be paid because I’m having so much fun!

What can be done? I’m not sure. The other night I met some (relatively) new theatre friends for drinks in the Backstage Lounge (the lovely bar behind the Arts Club’s Granville Island Stage). The conversation, while passionate and animated, was rather disheartening at times. No, we (and I mean “we” in a broader sense than just those present) shouldn’t all be doing what we’re doing for little or no money. Yes, anyone working this hard should be appropriately compensated.

But I’m going to let you in on the not-so-secret dirty little secret of the art world. There’s. No. Money. Not for me, not for you, not for the many and varied brilliant performers, musicians, visual artists, writers, dancers, stage managers, designers, composers, producers, dramaturgs, and wandering minstrels in this city, this province, or this country. Working in the arts is a Catch-22 of survival:

1. I cannot survive without money. I need to eat, I need a home, I need to be able to clothe myself and have a telephone. Without money I am starving and I am cold.

2. I cannot survive without creating art. I need passion, I need ambition, I need goals to work towards, I need my inner fires to be fueled and my inner children to be nurtured. Without creating art my spirit is starving and my heart is cold.

If I use my time to work at a job that pays I have money, but no art. If I use my time to create art, I have art, but no money. I get by by straddling these two worlds. Monday to Friday, I work a job I like that pays me well. When I’m involved in a project, I spend my evenings and weekends on it. My system is working for me right now and I feel fortunate to be able to do this.

This is not sustainable, however. The older I get the more demands there will be on my time. This is not a system that can work for me if I ever have a family, if I am ever less healthy than I am now, or if a loved one is ever in need of my care. I also might simply burn out.

In fact, most of us are in danger of burning out, simply because there just isn’t enough money out there for all of us to get work in the arts that pays, and there’s only so long many of us can keep going without any hope of eventually being paid to do this.

I am aware that by agreeing to work for free, I add to the problem. As long as there are artists willing to work for free, there will be artists working for free. There will also be people who expect artists to work for free.

I hope that this situation will not last forever. I hope that the time and hard work put in by artists everywhere will eventually receive respect and provide them with the means to earn a living. Achieving this utopia would be complicated and take time. Government, artists, and audiences would need to be involved in supporting arts and culture and those who sacrifice so much for them.

In the meantime, I think it is up to every artist to decide what they can and cannot do. My system works for me. Other artists have theirs. I am engaged in an ongoing struggle with myself and I am always reassessing my relationship with work, money, and art and hoping I will find a way to reconcile them.

Confessions of a Chatterbox

/ Lauren / 6 Comments

Hi. I’m a chatterbox. How are you? I’m great. You know what else is great? Cats. Cats are so great. My little sister has a cat. Her name is Veronica. The cat, I mean. My older sister has a cat too named Penny. I wish I had a cat. Speaking of great things, the other day I saw this really great…..

Accurate depiction of me by Sonja Kresowaty

Sorry.

Hi. I’m a chatterbox. That is to say, I really like to talk. A lot.

This is something I’ve known about myself for a long time. My big mouth definitely got me into trouble when I was a kid (I recall several talks with my parents about things you DO and DON’T say) and although I’m fairly good now at keeping harmful or embarrassing things from being said, the actual volume of idle conversation leaving my lips daily has likely remained fairly constant over my lifetime.

My parents have told me I’m chatty. My sisters have told me. My boyfriends all told me. My friends have told me. And I cheerfully ignored all of these lovely people while I chat chat chatted away. As long as I’m not so loose-lipped that I become a bad daughter, or sister, or partner, or friend, I generally accept that this is part of who I am and so do they.

However, I can definitely take things too far and as part of growing up and becoming an adult I am learning that the kind of mindless prattle I excel at has a time and a place. One of the places where it is best to try to keep my chattiness well in hand is, of course, at work.

This is hard for me. For one thing, I work with lovely people I enjoy talking to. For another, several of the tasks I perform at work don’t require my full attention (like stuffing envelopes) and a nice bit of conversation helps to pass the time. I have come to appreciate, however, that as lovely as my coworkers are they are also hardworking and busy people and they’d probably appreciate a little less distraction from me, especially since sometimes I can even get on my own nerves.

As an exercise, and to keep myself from saying every silly thing that came into my head, I decided to write down everything I was thinking about saying before I actually said it. This way, not only were these thoughts expressed silently, but I could also examine the totally irrelevant statements I was casually throwing into the ether.

Ahem. The List of the almost-said statements I recorded in the month of February:

“I got soap in my eye and my eye is still itchy.”

“This stapler is so ineffective.”

“My hair is getting so long.”

“Boy, I’m sure lucky we don’t have the draft. I would hate to be drafted.”

“Have you ever seen the movie, ‘Across the Universe'”?

“I wonder what it would be like to have a photographic memory?”

“I have cramps.”

“Ever notice how weird eating grapes makes your hands smell?”

“Did you know there’s a bar in Gastown that if you stay till they close they give you a cookie?”

“I’ve been getting flakes of paper all over me.”

“According to the Chinese Horoscope, the Year of the Rabbit is supposed to be a bad year for everyone unless you put your head down and try to be patient.”

“People don’t appreciate good stamps like they used to.”

“I’m not so into romance right now.”

“One of my friends has a rabbit that hops around his apartment. It’s litter trained and everything.”

My heavens. The horror. I would like to make very clear that I wasn’t actually going to say EVERYTHING on the list, but the fact that I was considering saying it is bad enough. I also know that for every stupid thing I didn’t say, I’m sure there’s at least half a stupid thing I did say. Some things are clearly office-related, like staplers or paper flakes, and some I have no idea what I was thinking or what I was referring to. “Not so into romance”? Was I referring to romantic films? Books? Moonlit gondola rides? I actually don’t know. Haven’t a clue. And why would I want to say such a thing at work? Again, haven’t the foggiest.

A lesson I am going to take away from this exercise is that if I don’t know why I’m saying something, it might be best to just write it on The List and not pester those around me. As I mature into the well-brought up young lady I know I am inside I have been stockpiling such helpful reminders for myself. One of the tricks I have used to get by when I have the urge to chat is to ask other people questions. This way I can be attentive to the people I’m with AND if I really need to talk I can ask MORE questions or talk about what they just said. Thrilling. I’m sure Emily Post would approve.

I hope you have all enjoyed The List. To those of you that know me, I’m sure this reads like just another day with Lauren. To those of you that don’t, while I am certainly scatterbrained and far too talkative I am also reasonably clever and am always open to a conversation about Something Smart, should you prefer that to a conversation about smelly grapes or the length of my hair.

To my friends, coworkers, and loved ones: I’m sorry. From the fact that you all still talk to me I can only conclude that you possess infinite patience and must care for me very much. For this I am eternally grateful.

Some might call me an incorrigible chatterbox. Some might call me less delicate things like “obnoxious”. This likely wouldn’t be inaccurate, though I prefer to think I’m simply “generous with my thoughts.” No wonder I decided to blog. Thank you for listening.

Federal Greenhouse: Let’s Make Good Use of Hot Air

/ Lauren / 2 Comments

For the past few weeks, I’ve been trying to take a little break from being angry at Canadian politicians for being uninspiring to the citizenry at best and downright insulting to us at worst. This doesn’t mean I haven’t been stewing in my juices the whole time. It’s been hard to ignore the signs that a blog post on the subject was looming.

First, I read this. “This” refers to an article on the CBC website, outlining plans to build a $42 million dollar glass dome as a temporary home for the House of Commons while it undergoes much needed repairs. Huh.

Then, I read THIS. “THIS” refers to an excellent special feature in the February 28, 2011 issue of Maclean’s by Aaron Wherry. The article details Wherry’s visit to the House of Commons on February 3 to see, well, what was going on in Parliament. Not much. There are 305 Members of Parliament (including the Speaker). On February 3 at 1:05 p.m.,  only 19 MPs were present for debate in the House. At 2:30 p.m., during question period (when the photographers and video cameras are usually present), the numbers swelled to 231 MPs present. By 6:45 p.m., as the House finished opposition questions, only 5 of 305 MPs remained. Huh.

It’s kind of funny, isn’t it? Some people slave away at their jobs for years to scrape together enough income to support their families and maybe, SOMEDAY, upgrade to an office with a window, and we’re going to build a fantastical glass dome for a bunch of people who can’t be bothered to show up and do the thing taxpayers pay them to do? Huh.

And then I read, in a variety of places, that there’s going to be another Federal election. In fact, I just heard my first attack ad on the radio today. (Thank you, Conservative Party of Canada! I was not aware Ignatieff was only in it for himself but you sure taught me a thing or two!). So not only will I get to pay for a bunch of no-shows to hang out in a glass palace (when they can be bothered to be there), but now I get to listen to personal attacks and false promises for the next month and a half? Huh.

It was all getting a bit much and I was thinking about going to bed for a few months until the attack ads were over and the “Will they? Won’t they?” coalition questions had disappeared.

But then, I had a better idea.

Glass-domed Parliament + No-show MPs + Federal election (i.e. a chance to get rid of everybody in one fell swoop) = FEDERAL GREENHOUSE.

What I am proposing, ladies and gentlemen, is that come election time we bid adieu to the MPs who have failed to change our country for the better and replace them with hothouse vegetables, which would be grown in the House of Commons and donated to needy families. As soon as that glass dome gets built the House would be the perfect environment for an indoor garden.

Harper: "Deceit. Abuse. Contempt." Starchy.

Just think of it: the seats belonging to the Liberal Party of Canada would be replaced with rows of juicy red tomatoes. The NDP, carrots (’cause they’re orange, do you see where I’m going with this?). The Bloc, some kind of legume (just to keep things en français), and the Conservatives? Well, I couldn’t think of any blue vegetable so I settled on potatoes. Sometimes, Stephen Harper looks a bit like a potato. Come to think of it, so does Jason Kenney. AND John Baird. Potatoes it is.

Should the Green Party ever win any seats, those will be planted with zucchini. (Because let’s face it, as much as we all enjoy zucchini from time to time, if we don’t have it, it doesn’t really seem to make a difference, does it?)

Ignatieff: "He didn't come back for you." But he sure is delicious.

I believe a Federal Greenhouse is a much more cost-effective way to run a Parliament than paying salaries to 305 eating, breathing, expense-claim-submitting human beings. It would also serve to restore some civility to question period. I highly doubt that any back benching legumes will be on their smartphones instead of paying attention to the issues being discussed. And if a potato managed to make personal attacks in QP aimed at a tomato or carrot across the floor, I’d actually be impressed instead of disgusted. Sure, big issues like health care and the Canada Pension Plan and Canada’s role in overseas conflicts probably wouldn’t be dealt with very effectively by a room full of vegetables, but I would like to posit that they aren’t really being dealt with very effectively now by a room that’s only occasionally full of MPs. At least the vegetables would go to hungry families. And giving nutritious food to children is something I’m sure all Canadians of any party stripe can get behind.

(For all you pedants out there, yes, I am aware that tomatoes aren’t actually vegetables. But they’re very good for you.)

Still not convinced this is a fantastic idea that should be implemented as soon as humanly possible? Fine. I have another solution for you. An election is coming. Go get informed. Find out who the candidates in your riding are. Ask them questions about the issues that matter to you most. Ask your MPs what they are doing for your constituency, both within and outside of the House of Commons. On election day, go vote.

The Elections Canada website provides a very helpful webpage where you can search for your Federal riding by entering your postal code. Once your riding comes up, the page shows you when the next Federal election takes place (May 2, 2011) and also has lists of helpful links along the side, answering FAQ’s such as “Where do I vote?” and “Who are the candidates in my electoral district?”. I just gave you the link to the aforementioned helpful website so you’ve really got no excuse not to check it out.

Young voters, I’ve already berated you in an earlier blog post. Now’s your time to shine. Get out there and give your MPs a kick in the ass. Or, if you dig greenhouses, find your gardening gloves. One way or another, it’s time to get your hands dirty for your country.