story

Belated Fringe reviews for your reading pleasure

/ sarahelund / Leave a comment

Hi, friends.

I know it may look like I went to the Winnipeg Fringe and never returned, but that was not quite  the case. I did see an awful lot of shows (but thankfully, not a lot of awful shows). I shattered my previous Fringing record. Here are my brief reviews of those experiences:

Burning Hearts: a skillfully told and atmospheric one-man show. 4 inspirational ghosts out of 5.

The Telephone: a bit hammy for my taste, but the singalong was cute. At the very least, you should leave with a smile. I give it 2 rotary phones out of 5.

White Pants from Hip.Bang: 4 spilled glasses of wine out of 5. Everything you need from a sketch show. Highlights? Cooool Tips and the “clothes fastener” improv.

Three Men in a Boat: 3 Britishisms out of 5. The actors were incredible, but I’d rather see them in a different play.

Channeling Kevin Spacey: Solid, well-acted and funny (esp. if you’re a Spacey or Pacino fan). 3.8 gold chains out of 5 from JT. Round down for me.

For Body and Light presents Coming and Going: Moody and damp contemporary dance and spoken word poetry. 2.5 rubber boots out of 5 for neato concept and lighting but strange execution. (5 yeses out of 5 for local poet Chimwemwe Undi’s opener.)

Hey ’90’s Kids, You’re Old: 5 Baby Bottle Pops out of 5. Delivers the perfect balance of nostalgic warmth and legit teasing. Highlight is Where’s Waldo and Carmen San Diego online dating, but every sketch is strong. Best for those born in the 80s (obvs).

Die Roten Puntkte: Best Band in the World: With lyrics like “You’re like a verb, always doing things to me” Die Roten Puntkte really is the best. 5 bananas out of 5.

The Orchid and the Crow at Fringe was excellent. Funny, sad, and smart. I give it 4.5 yellow jerseys out of 5.

Saw Snafu Dance’s Snack Music and loved the skittles and the puppetry. It’s too bad the audience didn’t provide much improv help. 3.5 out-of-tune zithers out of 5.

ViVA Dance Company’s Dreamscape kept getting stronger with each piece. I give it 4 barefoot pirouettes out of 5.

Major Matt Mason Collective’s Air was incredible. I left with numb fingers from the anxious fists I made. I give it 5 doubling cubes out of 5 (and a bag of chips). ***My favourite of the whole Fringe, ever***

Spotlight: Short performance which the moody, anxiety-ridden creative types will find familiar. Patchy casting (ironic) with a couple bright spots. 3 last chances out of 5.

How to Talk to Human Beings: witty, dialogue-heavy script with solid acting (Gilmore-esque with more neuroses). 4 polite Canadians at the end of their ropes out of 5.

Writer does not equal storyteller

/ sarahelund / 1 Comment

Like so many people who have a desperate, unquenchable passion for the written word, from a very young age I fancied myself a storyteller. Imagine, then, how disappointing it was to realize that I am just a good writer, a good speaker, and crafting a good story is a wholly different talent.

It was a few years back, and I was watching the splendidly written show, Gilmore Girls. One of my favourite insights from the entire series came when Emily Gilmore (matriarch of the Gilmore clan) decides she wants to set up Chris (Lorelai’s, um… baby daddy) on a date.

Cue scene:

EMILY: What about Brandi Covington? She’s a lovely girl with a wonderful sense of humor.
LORELAI: “A wonderful sense of humor”?
EMILY: Yes.
LORELAI: What joke has Brandi Covington ever told?
EMILY: Well, I don’t know.
LORELAI: She has a wonderful sense of humor. Tell me one of her jokes.
EMILY: I don’t know any.
LORELAI: An amusing anecdote she’s told?
EMILY: I don’t know, Lorelai.
LORELAI: A giggle-inducing pun.
EMILY: Lorelai.
LORELAI: Dirty limericks, song parody.
EMILY: Well, she has a lovely laugh.
LORELAI: Oh, so she does not have a wonderful sense of humor; she can appreciate a wonderful sense of humor.
EMILY: I guess that’s right.

It’s a good little scene from perhaps my least favourite season of the show, and it stuck in my head.

What had I learned? Appreciating funny doesn’t make you funny, just as appreciating amazing storytelling doesn’t give you the capacity to tell an amazing story. Not all great readers can be great writers too. Is that unfair?

Since then, I’ve been trying to focus on story in my writing. I don’t believe I possess the pure, raw storytelling prowess of some of those around me: my father, who is a social chameleon; my friend Emily, who shares intimate details of her life with a disarming ease and self-deprecating humour; my best friend’s husband Jon, who sells every second of a story with enthusiasm and passion; and, that little girl on the bus who – unlike her pint-sized peers – does not fill her silences with “umm” and has comedic timing far more precise than mine. These people are my inspiration and my tutors. They are special. They do naturally what so many people strive to do effectively in blogs and social media statuses; they make their lives worth talking about. It’s a phenomenal talent. Do they realize the power of their gift?

There’s something so potent about storytellers. They are a greater force than writers. They live inside the emotion and the meaning of their tales. Good storytellers can communicate something that is 100% cliché or predictable or banal, and make it worth listening to or reading.

I want that. I want to tell an amazing story and support it with grammar and flow and vocabulary and be extraordinary.

One day.