Tag Archives: jayce mackenzie

A new whimsy from Stewart Lemoine: I Meant What I Said

Bella King as Dinah, foreground, with Neda Vanderham and Sam Free, in I Meant What I Said. Costume Design Leona Brausen, set Chantal Fortin, lights Rory Turner.

Image Marc J Chalifoux Photography.

Stewart Lemoine, the Resident Playwright of Teatro Live!, is one of the most prolific Canadian playwrights. But all of his works I’ve seen performed have surprised me, because of the wide range of mood and subject matter. Sometimes they have delightfully specific settings (contemporary St. Albert, Grand Rapids Michigan, 1950s New York City high society). Sometimes the plot goes past rom-com coincidence into magical realism (For the Love of Cynthia). Sometimes the comedy is poignant, and comes from flawed characters doing their best (the late Julien Arnold in Happy Toes).

But last night it occurred to me that one consistent description of Stewart Lemoine’s oeuvre is “whimsical”.

Last night Teatro Live! opened the world premiere of the newest Stewart Lemoine play, I Meant What I Said. (Lemoine also directed.) It started with a young woman (Bella King as Dinah) striding to the front of the stage and addressing the audience – or maybe letting us listen to her interior monologue? She demonstrates how her thoughts jump around without follow-through, and this makes it unclear what’s real and what’s just a thought. Dinah’s 30th birthday is approaching, so she’s thinking about changes she might make and projects she might take on, for this momentous change.

There’s her old friend Helen (Jayce McKenzie) – well, not really a friend, more of an acquaintance she runs into every now and then – someone she played ringette with as a teenager – so an old acquaintance? This of course reminds Dinah of Auld Lang Syne, so she adapts a few lines of the song to fit the story she’s telling, and then carries on. I was fascinated by Helen, whom Dinah describes as having “been 35 since we were 23”. McKenzie’s portrayal of a high-status formal adult, complemented by severe-cut hair, fur-trimmed cape, and high boots (costume designer Leona Brausen), contrasted strongly with the uncertain and casual Dinah.

There’s a young man walking by (Sam Free) – he looks familiar – is he an actor? or have they been dating, and he’s in a different line of work? Lighting and sound shifts add to the shimmery uncertainty. I didn’t know how much of this was in Dinah’s mind, but I found her narrative more and more entertaining.

There’s a cafe. And there’s a server (Eli Yaschuk as Juris). Dinah’s conversation with Juris is a little more real-feeling than the previous vignettes. He’s from Riga, Latvia. He struggles a bit with figurative expressions in English, and Dinah agrees to help him. But he draws a clear boundary when she asks why he left Latvia. I was intrigued at the way they made this both a Stewart-Lemoine-mystery to note for the plot, and a realistic cringe-inducing portrayal of well meaning thoughtless locals inadvertently evoking trauma.

The narrative generally becomes more coherent. Shifts in location are handled smoothly, bringing on some simple pieces of furniture and creating backdrops with projections on various set pieces (Chantel Fortin, set design). In one scene, several characters attend an orchestra concert. They’re portrayed sitting in chairs in front of the main theatre curtain, looking towards the audience, and I was reminded of the opera-box scenes in Evelyn Strange.

Neda Vanderham, last seen at Teatro in/as The Noon Witch, plays a variety of small amusing parts, but my favourite was her bit at the end of the orchestra concert, when she appears as an usher, collecting discarded programs and encouraging patrons to clear the house, while attempting not to show impatience. As an occasional theatre usher myself, I felt so seen!

Bella King, Neda Vanderham, Sam Free, Jayce McKenzie, and Eli Yaschuk in I Meant What I Said. Costume Design Leona Brausen, set Chantal Fortin, lights Rory Turner.

Image Marc J Chalifoux Photography.

Like many of Stewart Lemoine’s plays, this one has a gentle satisfying ending in which not all ends are tied up, but many of the hints dropped early end up fitting together. It’s a small affectionate tale, unusual in the use of interior monologue and imaginings and manifestation. And the cast does a great job. I was riveted by Jayce McKenzie’s portrayal of Helen, starting as an intimidating Glenn-Close-in-Damages or Helen-Mirren-in-Paramount-Plus-ad figure and then becoming a bit more vulnerable. I’ve so often seen McKenzie play awkward young girls, tomboys, tough kids, (Robot Girls, Candy and the Beast, Supine Cobbler) that it was fascinating to see her as such a different character. And Bella King is just great as a viewpoint character, not entirely reliable as a narrator but likeable and open.

The performance runs about 80 minutes with no intermission, and works well at that length. Dinah’s first monologue explains the title – what she thinks keeps changing, but what she says out loud is real. I Meant What I Said plays at the Varscona Theatre until March 8th, with tickets here.

Two actors portraying youth in goth clothing, one male one female.

Candy and the Beast

Jake Tkaczyk, as Kenny, and Jayce Mackenzie, as Candy, in Candy and the Beast. Photo Brianne Jang, BB Collective Photography.

One of my Facebook correspondents called Candy and the Beast “this weird little play”. And he’s not wrong.

Trevor Schmidt’s latest original script on stage at Northern Light Theatre is disturbing and kind of delightful, both. I was thinking that it’s not quite like any of his other work that I’ve seen, but it takes advantage of a lot of things the writer/director/designer is good at. He’s good at poignant; he’s good at macabre; he’s clever at creating designs that enhance the mood and message of a production. He’s very good at the humour and dramatic-irony of naive child narrators, as we saw in Shadow Theatre’s recent production of Schmidt’s Robot Girls, about junior high school students in a science club making sense of families and friendship and growing up.

Candy and the Beast demonstrates all these strengths, in a performance a little over an hour long. The audience enters the Arts Barns Studio space in the fog and gloom, to be seated on low risers along one of the long walls and wonder what the menacing lumps on poles are, upstage. One of my neighbours, opening night, said that the lights were gradually coming up as showtime approached – but they weren’t coming up very much.

The play starts with two characters staring out at the world together through Hallowe’en masks and layers of goth-teen armour: Candy Reese (Jayce Mackenzie) is the main narrator, observing her little town and protecting her younger brother Kenny (Jake Tkaczyk). Younger, but not smaller – she prods Kenny to explain that he has a condition known as central precocious puberty, meaning that his body’s grown up while he’s still a little kid. So they call him The Beast. He says he doesn’t mind. She says he does.

And the town has some issues – not just the classism against trailer-park residents like Candy and Kenny and their parents, and general mistreatment of outsiders and weirdos, but a pack of howling animals in the nearby woods, and a serial killer at large – a killer picking off young blonde women, especially ones the town doesn’t care about. The story and mood reminded me a bit of Twin Peaks.

The sibling relationship between Candy and Kenny was one of the most compelling things about this play. The little boy adopts his tough big sister’s fashions, beliefs, and interests – his big sister beats up his bullies, helps him get to sleep, and reassures him that he’s not too old to trick-or-treat. As an oldest sibling, I found her mix of impatience and kindness easy to connect with. Their parents sound benign, but aren’t significant in the story. The play also says some important things about outsiders in a community.

Other characters brought to life in various scenes include self-absorbed real-estate agent Donna Crass shopping at the ice cream stand where Candy works, Sheriff Sherry Lau (“the long arm of the Lau”) updating townspeople about the investigation and search, a grandmotherly librarian helping Kenny research werewolves, and others. Tkaczyk, a member of the Guys in Disguise theatre-drag troupe, embodies some of these characters with distinctive voices and mannerisms.

The production is enhanced by Schmidt’s set and costume choices, dim and harsh lighting from Alison Yanota, and sound design and original music by Dave Clarke. The menacing lumps seen pre-show turn out to be a row of creepy heads on pikes, with the wall behind showing some graffiti left on the wall of Candy and Kenny’s trailer.

The performance includes several songs by Kenny (Tkaczyk), representing his thoughts, fears, and imaginings. They vary from eerie foreshadowing to a melodic ballad with a few songs reminding me of David Bowie’s 1980s repertoire, with effective use of recorded guitar track and echoey microphone.

I won’t reveal the plot events or provide any explanations of the mysteries, but I found some satisfaction at the end in a shift in the relationship between Candy and Kenny, as they become more honest with each other and give each other more comfort. I don’t know what will happen to these characters next, but I think it’s going to be okay. (And if you don’t think so, don’t tell me, because I really like both of them!)

Candy and the Beast is continuing at the Arts Barns Studio Theatre until next Saturday night, April 20th. Run time is about 65 minutes. Tickets are available here and at the door. (Tuesday Apr 16 is 2-for-1).

Trevor Schmidt’s Robot Girls, and other stories

My calendar was full for a while working on Cabaret for ELOPE Musical Theatre (timely and chilling and also entertaining), but now I have a little more time for watching theatre as well as helping to make it.

Two weeks ago I attended the monthly Script Salon organized by Alberta Playwrights Network and Playwrights Guild of Canada, because the new work to be read was Trevor Schmidt’s Robot Girls.  It was wonderful and it made me cry.  Kristin Johnson, Rebecca Sadowski, Jayce Mackenzie, and Karina Cox played students in a girls’ junior-high robot-building club.  Stage directions were read by assistant director Patricia Cerra.

The playwright said in the talkback session afterwards that he had tried to consistently have his characters in this play choose to be kind.  I also had the impression that the playwright was kind to the characters, making them quirky and interesting but not at all parodies or objects of amusement.  And there was still enough challenge and drama in their lives to make it interesting listening/viewing – even in a staged read.  The wide social gaps between Grade Nine soccer-star (Johnston) and naive less-popular-twin Grade Seven (Mackenzie), between the student council president (Sadowski) and the new kid (Cox) were accepted by all the characters.  Watching them awkwardly navigate the group norms and transition to productive teamwork and cautious friendship made me happy.  The premise of the story – a continually-absent teacher-advisor, a school rule against cell phone use – gives us a situation where the four girls have to interact with each other while they work on the project.  And the incidental conversations ring true – about embarrassing parents, about annoying siblings, about various understandings of menstruation, about teachers and classmates and dreams of the future.  I loved that the characters are not preoccupied with boys, romance, or sex – this script passes the Bechdel-Wallace test easily, with the few conversations about boys mostly limited to the problems of having brothers or the ways in which boys in a mixed-gender school would take over the building project.

I thought that it was a play for adults, but that young people of the characters’ ages or five years older would also enjoy it and feel like it was a fair portrayal.  In an epilogue, we hear not only how the team fares at the robot competition/festival, but how each of the characters goes on in science and in life.

It reminded me a little bit of the wonderful 1999 movie October Sky, about boys from a West Virginia coal-mining town in 1957 who pursue rocket-building.  And it also reminded me of the recent movies Eighth Grade and Booksmart, films about present-day bright feminist girls navigating social challenges at school that show their young characters in respectful ways.  In both those films, there are no villains, nobody being gratuitously mean.  The protagonists get embarrassed, and they get into awkward and potentially risky situations, but they get themselves out of them.  They aren’t stories where the writers punish the girls for aiming too high, for acting on the crush, for going to the party with more popular kids.  In both films, things don’t quite work out as hoped for the protagonists, but they aren’t disastrous.  And after I saw Eighth Grade, I realized that there are an awful lot of stories where the plot punishes the outsider girl with humiliation, with slut-shaming, with sexual assault. It’s awful that I’m impressed when that doesn’t happen in a story.  But it doesn’t always happen in life, and it shouldn’t always happen in stories.

Maybe we’re into a new kind of stories about teenage girls, and I like them.   Trevor Schmidt’s Robot Girls is a good one.  I hope to see it on stage soon.