Genet was a queer French novelist, playwright, juvenile and adult prisoner, sex worker, essayist, and activist. His work deals with queer sexuality, criminalization, and imprisonment. Un Chant d’Amour focuses on two inmates who live in adjacent cells and are in love. They communicate by blowing cigarette smoke through a hole in their shared wall. The prison guard secretly watches them fantasize about one another and becomes increasingly jealous of their lust. The film successfully explores not only themes of forbidden love, desire, homosexuality, and fantasy, but also desperation, captivity, and repression – in under half an hour.

Throughout Un Chant d’Amour nudity is often present, to the point where it seems unnecessary to the film’s narrative and mainly there for shock value; however, in the scope of the whole film, it gives a sense of the extreme desperation and unfulfilled desire coming from each man trapped behind the concrete walls. “It’s really a beautiful film,” explains Patrick DeDauw of the Prisoner Correspondence Project (part of QPIRG). “It is extravagant and poetic, and it talks about desire in dark ways. [It’s] really moving because it shows how hard people are resisting [prison] and trying to make connections.”

When asked about the overwhelming sexual tones of the film, DeDauw noted that, “Yes, shock is part of [the film], but not just as a dismissive term. Sometimes, in [Genet’s] work, it is important to shock people into something that has been hidden.” DeDauw’s remarks allude to the little-discussed fact that the queer population is over-represented in North American prisons. “Gender enforcement is very strong in prison,” explains the Prisoner Correspondence Project website, “and queer, trans, and gender-nonconforming people face disproportionate levels of harassment and violence from other inmates as well as prison guards.” Un Chant d’Amour artistically addresses this problem, but DeDauw noted, “The film is really just a jumping off point [for the event]”. After the short film, there will be a general discussion on queer prisoner solidarity and incarceration in Canada as well as a letter-writing period. “We coordinate mail correspondence between queer and trans* people in and outside of prison […] this can undermine the isolation of prison and we can provide emotional support.”

Because of Genet’s broad background, his portrayal of love under oppressive circumstance displays an in-depth comprehension of what DeDauw describes as “an intimacy – which we take for granted – that is impossible for people on the ‘inside’.” Genet’s film is an artistic vision of the desperation and isolation of prison – being locked up with no escape but imagination and fantasy. Yet, this imagination is also something to be celebrated. “People most directly affected by state violence often have the strongest critique of state structures, analysis on how to dismantle them, and ideas on how to build for a healthier future,” explains the Prisoner Correspondence Project website. “People who have experienced the intersections of various oppressions – such as incarcerated and formerly incarcerated queer people, many of whom are people of colour and poor – are the people that need to be leading movements for justice.” Un Chant d’Amour is a perfect introduction to the powerful effects of isolation and violence that queer prisoners on the other side of the letter correspondence are fighting.

Join the Prisoner Correspondence Project tomorrow night for Incarcerated Queers: Film Screening and Letter-Writing Night at 7 p.m. at 185 van Horne. Check out their Facebook event for more details.

The post Incarcerated queers appeared first on The McGill Daily.

Never have I contemplated the word ‘sonder’ as much as I did after seeing Canadian playwright Judith Thompson’s Lion in the Streets. Thompson’s play, presented by the Dawson College’s Professional Theatre and directed by Barbara Kelly, tells the story of the ghost of a brutally murdered young girl who wanders the streets of Toronto. The first scene of the play sets the stage, where a few rowdy, dirty, mean teenagers taunt Isobel (played by Alessandra Caruso and Amélie Demchuk on alternate nights), the nine-year-old ghost who serves as our protagonist. This prepares the audience for the characters they’re about to be introduced to – civilized adults on the surface, but underneath just as petty and nasty as these young teenagers. Although Isobel is the protagonist, at times it is difficult to even remember her presence, as the play has twenty-something other characters. Most of the time, Isobel is just peering through their windows, secretly observing their lives.

The play is composed of a number of small scenes between many different adult characters. Once one scene is over, a seemingly unimportant character stays to take part in the next scene, and the audience sees a quick snapshot of their life, with all the new characters. The characters seem so important while they are onstage, but once they are gone, they are never seen again. This puts forth the depressing notion that though we all feel very important in our own ‘scenes,’ everyone else in the entire world has a ‘scene’ that feels just as important to them, and seems just as irrelevant to others. Isobel is the only person who is there in every scene, and she is the only one who can see how they are related.

At first, it seems that the end will reveal some connection between the somewhat disjointed scenes presented, possibly showing that all of the characters are secretly associated with Isobel’s murder, making everything come together nicely for the audience. But as the play unfolds, it becomes clear that the only thing that is similar in all of the short scenes are the themes of death and evil. It is the story of acquaintances who are so wrapped up in their own sorrows that they fail to see that they are the core of their own sorrows, whether through infidelity, bullying, arrogance, et cetera. As the play progresses, Isobel continues to look for the ‘lion’ that she believes has killed her. She senses it constantly and tries to protect people from it. Unfortunately, the evil is deeply rooted within all of them.

Kelly’s use of music and dance enhanced the play’s rhythm, adding a more theatrical quality to the proceedings. A particularly interesting choice, “Losing My Religion” by R.E.M., was played during the intermission, and a slow, creepy version of Eurhythmics’ “Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This),” was played (and occasionally danced to) many different times, portraying every person’s futile search for a ‘sweet dream.’ This theatricality made Lion in the Streets a slightly less brutal experience for the viewer. The play is so vivid and graphic in both its language and action. A priest almost drowns a boy, a rape victim’s boyfriend makes her believe it was her fault, a mother of two has cancer; the threat of death and evil is constantly lurking. The theatricality helps bring the audience back to reality, helps the viewer breathe and remember, “Oh, this is just a play, there is no way all people are so completely rooted in evil and are so obsessed with death.” Unfortunately, it was not that easy to feel so far-removed from the production. This play vividly displays the materials to reflect on the ‘lion’ of your own life and make you wonder how you never noticed it before.

Lion in the Streets is playing from February 6 to 8 at 8 p.m. with a matinee on February 6 at 12:30 p.m. at Dawson Theatre (2000 Atwater). Tickets are $8 for students.

The post Lion on stage, <em>Lion in the Streets</em> appeared first on The McGill Daily.

All My Sons allows the audience to peer over the perfect white picket fence into the seemingly normal, peaceful lives of the Keller family. Joe Keller, the patriarch, is a self-made businessman who has provided his family with a comfortable living and a respectable name. Despite this front, the family is actually quite dysfunctional. Not only has one of Keller’s sons gone missing in World War II, but past complexities hidden in the depths of the family’s shame find their way out of the darkness with plenty of twists and turns along the way.

The intricate yet strangely inviting set instantly set the tone for the play, featuring a nice white house, with a swing, a pretty garden and a rocking chair on the porch: a representation of “undisturbed normality” according to Labaudinière. The first act was mostly uneventful, portraying the life of a mildly-shaky-but-moderately-comical family in the 1940s in an almost nostalgic way. The supposedly ‘perfect’ family, in their ‘perfect’ neighbourhood, wearing charming outfits and smoking pipes, are straight out of a retro sitcom. But something seems rather shallow and disconcerting. Labaudinière later explained, “I wanted to put the audience on edge, I was just setting the scene for what was to come.” The point of the first act is to show the ‘poster family’ unravelling at the seams. Throughout this first act, the actors subtly showed the dark underbelly beneath the superficiality of their ‘lovely’ family, making the audience mildly uneasy, but then would instantly return to their polite and ‘happy’ ways. Labaudinière noted that he tried to show that these characters are “real people, with real contradictions [in their character].”

The second act opens with an entire new outlook on the family, and ‘normal life’ in general. Changes in the characters’ relationships, outlooks, actions, and decisions become evident. Every ten minutes or so, my heart would start to beat with anxiety; not because of the characters’ actions per se but because it wasn’t obvious what was driving them to act this way. Labaudinière describes it as “the fine line between what is understandable and what is acceptable.” Or in other words, what we as an audience can be empathetic to is not always acceptable social behaviour. Sometimes it is impossible to see where that line is drawn.

Miller’s plays, of which Death of a Salesman is probably the most famous, focus on the tragedy of everyday people. Rather than showcasing the fall of a powerful ruler, Miller chooses instead to find the tragic in the everyday. All My Sons is so unsettling because the family’s happiness acts as a front. All My Sons leads the audience to exploration but does not provide the answer. But the point is that there is no answer: there is no perfect white picket fence nuclear family, there is no tidy way to find where guilt lies or where to place our trust. The cast’s grasp on their characters’ ambiguity feeds into Labaudinière’s convincing portrayal of the disintegrating ‘American dream,’ and All My Sons leaves audiences with lingering doubts on the ideal of perfect conformity we still strive for today.

All My Sons will be running from January 29 to February 1 at 8 p.m. at Players’ Theatre (3480 McTavish, 3rd floor). Tickets are $6 for students.

The post Shattering the American dream appeared first on The McGill Daily.

But this band’s music makes it obvious they are able to make this blend work perfectly. They were lively, catchy, musically-interesting – something you could dance to or do your homework to, or perhaps play at an upbeat dinner party. The music is easy to listen to but also has a layered and kaleidoscopic quality to it.

The masters of this African-European-Jewish somewhat jazzy sound are called Trio Populaire, a new group formed in 2010. Self- managed, recording independently, they are already getting a lot of attention in Montreal, despite not yet having released an album. The three members of the band are Tacfarinas Kichou on percussion, Joey Mallat on guitar, and Pierre Emmanuel Poizat on clarinet.

The biggest question I had for this band, however, was how they managed to bring all of these sounds together. In an interview with The Daily, the charming Poizat offered me some tea, and explained that the percussionist is from Algeria, which explains the North African influence. Their guitarist is from Lebanon – yet “we don’t have a specific influence from [Lebanon] but [Mallat] is where the Middle Eastern influence comes from.” He continued to explain, “I was interested in Jewish music from Eastern Europe because it has a lot of clarinet. There is also a lot of clarinet in [Romani] music, so that’s where that comes from.”

When I asked how the three band mates knew these types of music would all sound good together, he said, “We didn’t!” and quickly added, “We just jammed until it sounded good.”

Poizat explains how the title of their song “Un Chameau à New York” (“A Camel in New York,” one of their most interesting tracks) is a perfect representation of how they mix sounds. “It’s kind of a joke to show the mix between the North African desert, and American music, jazz.”

Like their music, Trio Populaire’s audience is a diverse crowd. Poizat recalled how “Some people […] recognize the Jewish sound so they come and say ‘oh man it’s Yiddish music!’, some people come from Africa so they hear the drums, some people like the guitar, some, the jazz.”

Poizat made it clear that Trio Populaire is not in any way traditional. “The way we play [music] is totally different, it is influenced by a sound but we take the melody and mix it with a different kind of rhythm.” Trio Populaire has been defined as “world jazz” but Poizat noted with a laugh, “World jazz can really mean anything you want.” The group’s defiance of simple categorization might have had a thing or two to do with the Diversity Prize they recently won from the Conseil des arts de Montréal. Trio Populaire’s enthusiasm for a variety of sounds, and their talent for blending them all together, seems to be key to the band’s appeal.

Trio Populaire will be playing at MAI (Montréal, arts interculturels) (3680 Jeanne-Mance) on January 24 and 25 at 8 p.m.. Tickets are $18.50 for students.

The post A trio grows in Montreal appeared first on The McGill Daily.