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The year of malefull-frontal >> Theatre scene laid bare by AMY BARRATT Sure, there was a new Michel Tremblay play, which premiered back to back in French and English. There was the rebirth of Theatre 1774 as infinitheatre--a wonderful yet miserably attended festival of new Montreal plays on the Main. There was a comedy festival that proved for the second year in a row that it should keep its paws out of legitimate theatre. Of course, there was that little brouhaha about the role of theatre critics, with certain artistic directors confusing us with publicists... But for me, 1998 will be remembered first and foremost as the year of full-frontal nudity: male variety.
Jump forward to March and there was Normand Chouinard, whizzer to the wind as a frail Don Quichotte at Théâtre du Nouveau Monde. Adapted from the Cervantes novel by boy wonder Wajdi Mouawad and directed by Dominic Champagne, this almost revue-style Don Quixote was one of the best shows of the year. I'm not saying the nudity was what made these shows great, I merely remark upon it as an interesting coincidence. Lord knows there were other shows (which shall remain nameless) that a whole kick-line of Adonises couldn't have saved. The anatomy of angels
Even the grande dame of French companies, Théâtre du Rideau Vert, had male nudity this year, though it wasn't frontal but... full dorsal. Grossière Indécence: Les trois procès d'Oscar Wilde began with a slow striptease and a row of peach-like bums presented to the audience. Frankly, in a play about sodomy trials, the image seemed a little obvious. Highlights, big and small But let's move on to some of the fully clad highlights of the year in theatre. The aforementioned Michel Tremblay play, Encore une fois si vous le permettez, at TRV, is a no-brainer for production of the year. The story of a mother and son, captured in snapshots from his childhood to her early death, left me breathless--especially the performance of the great Rita Lafontaine. Centaur's English version, For the Pleasure of Seeing Her Again, didn't quite measure up as far as I was concerned. However, their Taking Sides is my other top pick. The story of an orchestra conductor in Nazi Germany who is interrogated by a post-war American tribunal determined to find him guilty of Nazi sympathies was riveting. I've only mentioned "big" shows so far, but pretty much everything else I liked was "little" (i.e. performed in a small space on a small budget). Back in January, a production of Stephen Sondheim's Company at McGill Players Theatre restored my faith in the possibilities of musical theatre. Produced by a group calling themselves the Second Company, it was directed by Brent Krysa, whose versions of Assassins and A Little Night Music won praise in previous years. Cavea Luna established Le Théâtre qui monstre énormément as a young company to watch. Waiting for Moscow, Jill Sweetin's adaptation of Chekhov's The Three Sisters, tagged her as the metteuse en scène of choice for English theatre. The Fringe gave us one-person gems Boys, Everyone Wants to Be Mary Magdalene and Stay Black and Die, as well as the feel-good show of the year, Alexandria Haber's The Full Molly (recently remounted at the Infinite Festival) which, despite the title, showed a lot less skin than many of the aforementioned productions. Wishing you an outstanding New Year.
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The pecker-waving began with an indescribable little play called Ogre at Théâtre d'Aujourd'hui last January. Fearless actor Carl Béchard portrayed possibly the most repulsive, fascinating character I have ever seen on stage or screen in this monologue by Larry Tremblay. The action takes place entirely in the title character's bathroom, where he fantasizes about sexual encounters with a neighbour, his teenage daughter, you name it... and about being caught in various compromising positions by a Candid Camera-type TV show. The production, directed by Martine Beaulne, was almost unbearable to sit through, yet it remains one of the most memorable nights I spent at the theatre in '98.
Nudity may be no big whoop on the French theatre scene, but even the Centaur got into the act this year with Angels in America, Part II. As the actor playing Joe stood on stage in the altogether, the woman sitting behind me--and we were far back, row R or something--exclaimed, "He isn't circumcised!" This observation got me thinking: the character is a Mormon--do the Latter Day Saints circumcise their sons or not? A fair chunk of the next day was spent searching the Internet for an answer, which I hereby convey to you: the Mormons have no official policy on circumcision, leaving it to parents to decide. Thus, our long-suffering actor would have been anatomically correct either way. The lengths I go to to bring you people the facts!