Drawing inspiration from dead cinematic styles – mostly in the form of silent films from the German Expressionist, Soviet propagandist, and early Hollywood eras – Maddin’s films affectionately recreate, transform, and repurpose the history of cinema. Instead of producing nostalgia for the industry’s bygone era, like in Michel Hazanavicius’ The Artist, Maddin’s films offer a hallucinatory, degraded, and perverted vision of the past that unabashedly recalls personal childhood experiences.

As Maddin’s work has always defied the restrictions of genre. His latest effort, Keyhole, can best described as a surrealist, sadomasochistic gangster and ghost family melodrama. The film started making the festival rounds last year, but a wide release date has yet to be confirmed. In the meantime, you can get your fill of silent era vixens and degraded images at the Goethe-Institut’s “Carte Blanche to Guy Maddin.”
The Goethe-Institut, conveniently located a mere 15 minutes from McGill’s downtown campus, promotes German art and culture, while also encouraging artistic and intellectual exchange between Germany and Canada. Their “Carte Blanche to Guy Maddin” is part of a series of events in celebration of the institution’s 50th anniversary. For the event, the Goethe-Institut will be screening eight lesser-known classic films from the German canon curated by Maddin. The Goethe-Institut has described the selection as “an exciting, eclectic and savant list of obscure, silent German films and forgotten melodramas by the likes of Max Ophüls and Fritz Lang.”

Maddin, a Winnipeg native with Icelandic and Scottish ancestry, may seem an unlikely choice to curate a German film event. Yet Maddin’s oeuvres display a deep passion for, and familiarity with, German writing and film – some of his work could even be mistaken for. “When I watch the great German films, I get the absurd feeling I could have made them, if only I had lived in another time and been blessed with the blunt trauma genius of the masters featured in this program,” Maddin wrote of his selection process for the Carte Blanche.

Aside from the already-mentioned works by Ophüls and Lang, the Carte Blanche will feature other, lesser-known films by popular German directors. One of the highlights is Nerves by Robert Reinert, a silent film from 1919 that was reconstructed from film fragments by the Munich Film Museum. Created right at the birth of the Expressionist movement, Nerves documents post-war Germany in its “nervous epidemic” of social madness. Similarly, G. W. Pabst’s Les Mystères d’Une Ame is a study of the psyche – following a man’s spiral into insanity through feverish nightmares – based specifically on Freud’s influential theories and made with the help of some of his collaborators.

The event will end its two-month run with screenings of Maddin’s Archangel and Careful, both made earlier in his career, and emblematic of his distinct style. The films are set in, and pay homage to, Civil-War-torn Russia and a mid-century German mountain village, respectively. Both explore questions of memory, history, the nation and, true to Maddin’s form, repressed sexuality and incestuous relationships.
The “Carte Blanche to Guy Maddin” is dark stuff indeed, but it is stuff common to the human experience. In the words of Maddin, “no matter where the German went with his camera, no matter who starred in his stuff, the blood always ran dark. . . There’s a literature in these films, without any of them being remotely bookish. It’s the blood of the Walsungs. I could drink it all!”

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And yet, there comes a time every year when this distinction matters the most, when the country as a whole rushes to the newsstand to see if Canada might finally “score the big one.” The time I am referring to is, of course, the Tuesday that just passed, in which the list of Academy Awards nominees was released. Whether you like their selections or not, there is no doubt that the Oscars can be as grandiose as the Olympics to cinephiles, especially when a film from one’s country enters the “Best Foreign Language” category. Such is the case for Canada for the second consecutive year as Montreal filmmaker Philippe Falardeau’s Monsieur Lazhar enters the race.

Having already gained domestic recognition – in the form of a Genie Award – for his 2006 film Congorama, Falardeau is now drawing the gaze of movie buffs around the world. Monsieur Lazhar revisits many of the same themes and concerns as his penultimate C’est pas moi, je le jure!. Namely, the film deals with childhood trauma and coming to terms with the reality of death, but with a decidedly more mature approach. Whereas the opening scene of C’est pas moi, je le jure! semi-comically depicts a ten year old boy attempting to hang himself for no apparent reason while Patrick Watson’s twangy guitar coos in the background, Monsieur Lazhar opens with a schoolboy’s discovery of his teacher’s suspended body in his classroom. The film follows the school’s replacement teacher Bachir Lazhar, an Algerian refugee who attempts to guide the children through this traumatic period. As you can already imagine, the film falls into the trap of one of those “the teacher learned as much from his students as they learned from him” narratives, but shies away from oversentimentality just enough to be taken seriously. The question on everyone’s lips: could this be what it takes for Falardeau to score Hollywood’s prestigious prize?

In this writer’s humble opinion, not a chance. By all means, Monsieur Lazhar is a well-made film that grapples with difficult subject matters while shedding some light on current social issues both in Quebec and abroad, and is thus perfect fodder for the Academy. But the film fails to reach a level that that will earn it anything more than a nod, something that last year’s Canadian nominee, Denis Villeneuve’s Incendies, had, despite its losing. The last and only time a Canadian took this award was in 2003 with The Barbarian Invasions by Denys Arcand, a veteran director at the top of his game who had received two previous nominations. Falardeau is proving to be a filmmaker to keep an eye on, but his latest effort lacks the “masterpiece” quality of a work like Arcand’s.

While Monsieur Lazhar is, like so many movies at the Oscars, a filler within an essentially pre-decided category – all signs point to Iran’s A Separation, an internationally-recognized critical success, taking the honour – its nomination nonetheless indicates that Hollywood recognizes Canada’s film industry as a force to be reckoned with, whether this industry is truly distinct from its own or not.

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Cinema is often believed to be mere entertainment – a simple distraction from the hard realities of everyday life. In its early history, however, film was often not developed for entertainment purposes, but rather as a revolutionary tool. Many would identify German filmmaker Leni Riefenstahl and her collaboration with the Nazi Party as a prime example of propaganda filmmaking, but her style is rooted in earlier work from the Soviet Union. Following the new state’s formation in 1922, leaders saw a potential in film to gestate a revolutionary consciousness among its geographically-detached population. Lenin is said to have declared it the best means by which to educate and mobilize the masses in the ways of Communism. The government produced a number of short propaganda films known as agitki – films intended to agitate – and brought them to the USSR’s numerous towns and villages, creating a veritable Communism Travelling Fair (bring the kids). The soviet grandfathers of cinema, at this time, made massive gains in filmmaking techniques, and many of the films of the era continue to be considered some of history’s greatest, such as Sergei Eisenstein’s Battleship Potemkin and Dziga Vertov’s Man with a Movie Camera.

A number of filmmakers have since adopted some of these foundational techniques in order to make their films explicitly political and provocative. French filmmaker Jean-Luc Godard is often cited as being revolutionary in his approach and content, imbuing much of his work with Marxist and Maoist ideologies. The 1950s and 1960s also saw the increasing prominence of documentaries, which, in many ways similar to propaganda films, were aimed at raising awareness for certain social conditions and concerns. Night and Fog, a short documentary that revisits the abandoned concentration camps of Auschwitz and Majdanek, stands out as a particularly chilling example of the power and resonance of the documentary form.

Today, examples abound of films that deal with movements and revolution – some revisiting historical moments (such as Che), and others looking at contemporary problems and challenges (for example documentaries made by Michael Moore). Many of these films provoke thought and emotions in their audiences, but these are too often left behind among the theatre’s sticky aisles. Our consumption of art should not be easily dismissed as passive and unengaged. The fear, anger, passion, and inspiration that many films lead us to should be viewed as useful resources that ought to be applied more often to our real-life activities and concerns. Viewers today are arguably more cynical towards, and immune to, propagandist content than ever, but that doesn’t mean that the revolutionary sentiment found in propaganda is invalid. So, in light of the myriad of issues facing us recently, comrades, let us unite…and share some popcorn.

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Image+Nation started on October 26th and will end on November 6th. See image-nation.org/2011/ for more details.

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These special screenings, often accompanied by a shadow cast who mimic the film’s actors, are entirely immersive and interactive, inviting the audience to throw rice and confetti into the air, holler at annoying characters (like the narrator), and dance along to every move of “The Time Warp.” These events have become a mainstay of the Halloween season, and have permeated our culture to such an extent that even the TV leaders of all things hip (Glee) have paid tribute to it, much to the dismay of “true” fans.

Although it has reached eternal cult status, the film is not the original source material of the Rocky Horror phenomenon. Richard O’Brien wrote The Rocky Horror Show as a stage musical, which first premiered in 1973. After successful runs in London and on Broadway, the musical was adapted for the big-screen. Although the film failed to garner mainstream success and flopped at the box office, some theatres began showing The Rocky Horror Picture Show at special midnight screenings, catering to the audience who loved the film. Those involved in such events began inventing new ways of engaging with the film in order to evade the boredom that could come with repeated viewings. These midnight screenings became a sensation in large cities like New York and L.A., and by the end of the 1970s gained such popularity that screenings began across North America. Thus, the Rocky Horror phenomenon as we know it today was born.

Like most cities, Montreal is host to numerous Rocky Horror events this coming Halloween weekend. For those seeking the most traditional experience, The Imperial Cinema boasts that it is “the ONLY annual event in town presenting the original cult film on a big screen with a live cast on stage and massive audience participation!” This is the first time the event, which typically takes place at the Rialto, has been held at The Imperial Cinema. There will be two screenings each night of the 29, 30 and 31, with a special discount for students on the 31. What’s more, there’s a costume contest hosted by local DJ/ self-identified drag queen Plastik Patrik.

For those looking for a more unique experience, The Rialto Theatre will be putting on The Rocky Horror Show exclusively with a live cast for the first time ever. Fans of the film be advised: this is not a screening of the classic picture show, but rather a production of the original 1973 stage musical. So, if you’re a diehard fan of the movie, and too used to Tim Curry as Frank-n-Furter or prefer Susan Sarandon in her underwear, then you may want to avoid The Rialto. However, the stage performance promises an exciting experience for old and new fans alike, and will offer fans all the elements that they love about the film and more.

Barry O’Connell, who will play Frank-n-Furter in the Rialto Theatre’s production, sat down with The Daily to discuss the differences between the film and the live show, things to expect at the Rialto this Halloween weekend, and what draws people to this cult phenomenon year after year.

Aside from an additional song not featured in the film, one of the main differences is that the live show involves much more dancing, making full use its 24-person cast and live orchestra. O’Connell also explained how there are many more opportunities for audience involvement. “The same interactions that fans of the movie know and are used to are also incorporated into our show, but there is an added layer of cast response,” O’Connell elaborated. “For example, fans will often yell things at the characters on the screen – well, now the characters will have a chance to yell back. This definitely keeps our actors on their toes.” Director Philippe Gobeille explained that one of the biggest challenges was remaining faithful to the film experience, while, at the same time, interacting with the audience and environment in new ways. Gobeille noted that “we have to keep the magic of how a cast interacts with an audience when it’s not a movie.”

Ezio Carosielli, owner of the Rialto, envisioned an event that could become an annual tradition for the theatre. “He [Carosielli] has a lot of support for creative artists and wants the theatre to reflect a diverse range of programming,” O’Connell said. Aside from entrance to the show, the ticket price admits you to a post-show costume party with, according to the promotional poster, “lot$$$ of prizes to be won and wicked, crazy, sexy, haunting entertainment all night long!” You’ll get the chance to meet most of the cast and crew, and maybe after enough drinks they’ll do “Time warp” again. Also in attendance for the first two nights will be CTV News’ Tarah Schwartz as the performance’s narrator. It’s a Rocky Horror tradition that a local celebrity plays the role of the narrator, John Waters and Molly Meldrum being two past examples.

The Rocky Horror Picture Show isn’t the first film to gain immense popularity as a midnight movie – 1932’s Freaks and 1968’s Night of the Living Dead are only a couple of the numerous films whose cult followings are rooted in this late-night tradition. Unlike other midnight flicks, Rocky Horror continues to draw in large crowds year after year. When I asked O’Connell, a long-time fan of Rocky Horror, why he thinks this cult classic is particularly successful, he boiled it all down to the show’s motto: “Don’t dream it – be it.” Sentimental as this may be, O’Connell finds the show to have an emotional resonance that has persisted – along with its characteristically bizarre, yet immersive quality – over its relatively short but exhilarating lifespan.

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The McGill Daily: Your research began in 2006 with Media@McGill, is that correct?
Tim Hecker: Yeah, I’m a student in the department of Art History and Communication Studies. Media@McGill is kind of a research cluster but really I’m actually just a student in the department in general.
MD: Your research project is on “urban noise.” Can you describe it?
TH: It’s changed a lot since you might have found it online. I’m writing a history of loud sound at the turn of the 20th century. I’m looking at ways that volume or sound intensity was seen as a productive or generative force in society. That’s to look at sound in a way that’s different than most common historical works have been done, which is to look at sound as a form of irritation and annoyance – noise – against classical and conventional sounds. Most of those historians have focused on ways in which noise has been abated or controlled, or the attempts to control it. So I’m looking at ways in which noise was seen, or loudness in a more general sense, as positive or productive in a different way. So I’m looking at things like fog horns, that were invented by people who also invented musical devices. I’m looking at the linkage with monster pipe organs, and things like that.
MD: Is your music career completely separate from your research, or does your research sometimes influence your work?
TH: I would say there’s mild cross-pollination, but they’re really quite distinct things. I have no association whatsoever with the music department, for whatever reason. I work here [in the Art History and Communications Department]. But I do them in discrete avenues. I don’t use music in my thesis – it has nothing to do with that. I’m interested in broader historical questions. But you could ask “are they related?” and I think it’s a fair question. I’m interested in sound in music generally, so there are some sympathies there but they’re really quite distinct. Not hermetically separated, but quite different.
MD: How has your new album Ravedeath, 1972 signalled a shift in your sound? As I’m sure you know, it’s received a lot of critical acclaim. Pitchfork recently placed it under their “best new music heading,” which can definitely do a lot for an artist’s career.
TH: Yeah, that’s the second or third one of those that I’ve gotten in my time. Whatever value you put on that is nice, for sure.  I think that reviews like that help, but they’re not the panacea to being a successful musician. It’s a brutal, long, hard challenge that very few bear.
MD: Has the critical success of this album distracted you from your research here at McGill? Has it brought you more concert spaces, tour dates, et cetera?
TH: I have no shortage of opportunities to perform, for sure. That definitely helps. There’s a demand for playing concerts, and I don’t have difficulty booking a tour, for example. Those things help, and I’m really thankful that it’s being well received, but it’s not something I intentionally seek out to do. I try to do music that satisfies me spiritually and artistically.
MD: Do you have immediate plans for the future? Are you  going to work on a new album, or maybe concentrate more on your research right now?
TH: Things will slow down on all fronts. It’s the spring, so I’m going on tour in late April, once I wrap up teaching my class. I’ll probably release more material in the fall; I’ll tour pretty extensively in the fall, and probably try to finish my thesis. That’s my main focus for now.

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For more information on Tim Hecker and his tour dates, visit sunblind.net

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Without breaking their streak of providing quality musical theatre, AUTS has stepped out of their comfort zone with their production of Kiss of the Spider Woman — a musical about prison life, seasoned with burlesque dance and lavish Hollywood reenactments.

Set in conflict-torn Argentina, Kiss is the story of cellmates Molina (Dane Stewart) – a gay window dresser who was imprisoned for displaying homosexual desires toward a minor – and Valentin (Ryan Peters), a Marxist revolutionary. The show focuses on the relationship between the flamboyant and optimistic Molina and the emotionally hardened Valentin as they find ways to escape from their small prison cell through fiction and fantasy. Despite the tortures of prison life, Molina and Valentin are able to find refuge through Aurora (Zara Jestadt), a beautiful movie star whose doppelganger is the terrifying Spider Woman, who brings death to those she kisses.

Put quite simply, Kiss doesn’t share the escapist qualities that are generally expected from musical theatre. As director Renée Hodgins puts it, “This is no Guys and Dolls”. Rather, Kiss is a grisly yet tender celebration of the arts’ ability to effectively move people through even the most difficult situations. To quote Hodgins in her director’s notes: “Kiss of the Spider Woman is a story about humanity that does not get told often enough. It is humankind at its best, at its worst, and all the complicated places in between.”

Production-wise, Kiss is practically flawless. Hodgins does a wonderful job of creating a world that is both sinister and fantastical, alternating between the play’s grim prison cell setting and the grand, embellished spectacle of Aurora’s film sequences. Stewart acts as the audience’s guide through both his characters’ lived and imagined realities, and plays off the other cast members effortlessly. Peters provides a strong counterpoint to Stewart’s more subtle and delicate performance.

Peters is also an exceptionally strong singer who seems a natural fit for musical theatre; his performance of the song “The Day After That” actually gave me goosebumps. Jestadt, graceful in her portrayal of Aurora, serves as a much-needed counterpoint to the show’s darker content. The only thing that I couldn’t fully wrap my head around was the decision to project bits of live action onto a screen at the back of the stage. Rather than enhancing the action, this added bit of technological glamour served mainly as an unwanted distraction.

Hodgins attributed her interest in Kiss, despite the risks involved in staging a lesser known musical, to its substantive themes and potential relevance to the McGill community. Indeed, Kiss’s themes are provocative and pertinent – from issues surrounding political incarceration to sexuality – but it also addresses the perennial question of whether theatre should be a venue for escapism or a platform for social and political discussion. Kiss demonstrates however that the two needn’t be mutually exclusive. Ultimately, the production impresses not only through its accomplished direction and stunning performances, but through its ability to deal with difficult questions and challenge our expectations for musical theatre.

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Adam Stotland brought the idea of opening a cafe to spiritual leaders Dena and Leibish Hundert, who were initially apprehensive about turning a spiritual, community space into a commercial enterprise. Rather than seeking to corporatize the Ghetto Shul, Stotland instead sought to extend the space’s hours, which was previously open for only a few days a week. With the cafe, Ghetto Shul is now open throughout the week, offering a space for students and members of the community to socialize, relax, or study – the cafe comes fully equipped with free wi-fi. As Stotland describes, “We want our cafe to be a cheap and relaxed alternative to other cafes in the neighbourhood. Above all, it is a space to hang out, recalling the beatnik coffeehouses of the past.”

The atmosphere is certainly warm for a space used previously for concerts. As a large, open room, the Ghetto Shul Cafe feels and looks different from most cafes. Littered with tables, couches, and even a piano, the space feels more like a university residence’s common room than a “traditional,” formal cafe. Recreation and leisure seem to be key features of the space, which holds occasional concerts and jam sessions. You can even find a number of board games to play.

Stotland pointed out that the cafe is also environmentally conscious – very little is thrown to waste, and they make avid use of recycling and composting. At such a short walk from campus, Ghetto Shul Cafe is sure to satisfy the hungry and overworked student with only a few dollars to their name.

Along with the usual cafe fare of coffee, tea, and baked goods, Ghetto Shul Cafe offers a fair number of food items that are simple, fresh, and homemade. It should be stated from the start that Ghetto Shul offers only vegetarian and vegan options – you won’t even find milk for your coffee. Nonetheless, the food is damn tasty. Using fresh ingredients, the cafe’s menu changes every day, offering a different soup, salad, or dish each time you visit. And then there are their staples, such as vegan pizza, all day breakfast, and sandwiches. I ordered the dish of the day, which included lentil soup, homemade veggie burger patties, stewed chickpeas, sweet potatoes, and a small salad for only $6. My friend ordered the hummus salad, which came fully loaded with peppers and pickles on a homemade bun, also with soup and salad, also for a mere $6.

The meals were both tasty and satisfying and needless to say I was full well before I could rise to the Beggar’s Banquet $10 spending limit. Next time I should just load up on cookies to go.

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Ghetto Shul cafe is located at 3458 Parc.  Open from 12 p.m. top 7  p.m. Monday to Thursday.

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An earlier version of this article erroneously credited McGill staffer Adam Winer with the quotes.  Article amended January 20.

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Romeo Dallaire led the UN peacekeeping force in Rwanda during the 1994 genocide. With virtually no support from the UN or any armies of the world’s developed nations, Dallaire was reduced to a bystander while more than 800,000 Hutus and Tutsis were killed. Since his return to Canada, he has suffered from depression and alcoholism as a result of post-traumatic stress disorder. In order to partially come to terms with the horrifying events that have shaped his life, Dallaire published the award-winning memoir Shake Hands with the Devil in 2003, adapted into a 2004 documentary as well as a 2007 dramatic feature of the same name.

Now, Dallaire is back and brings us a haunting truth: that child soldiers were not only prominent throughout the genocide in Rwanda, but continue to operate in great numbers in conflict-torn countries today. In his latest book, They Fight Like Soldiers, They Die Like Children, Dallaire addresses the shocking reality of the issue by drawing on personal experience as well as years of research on the issue of child soldiers. Having confronted the devil both in the form of hate-driven individuals as well as in the form of his personal psychoses, Dallaire’s mission is to spare the youth of the world from experiences like his own. Dallaire’s goals are clear: “The ultimate focus of the rest of my life is to eradicate the use of child soldiers and to eliminate even the thought of the use of children as instruments of war.”

They Fight Like Soldiers serves as both a disturbing account of how child soldiers are made, trained and used, and an action plan for not only disarming, demobilizing, and reintegrating child “veterans” back into their communities, but also for preventing the further use of children as soldiers. Dallaire splits the book into two narrative forms: an objective, non-fictional documentation of his experiences and his research findings, and a fictional first-person account of a child who is kidnapped, trained as a soldier, and eventually killed in combat. Although the fictional narrative is a strong attempt to relive the experiences of a young child forced into the brutality of warfare, the most striking stories come from Dallaire’s personal experiences.

One of the most interesting elements of the book is found in an early chapter in which Dallaire recounts his childhood growing up in Montreal and his summers spent in Quebec’s Laurentian mountains. Here, Dallaire draws on his adventures in the woods, inhabiting a world of freedom and innocence that he argues exists in every child. He recounts his experiences growing up in a culturally and linguistically-divided Montreal in a similar way, tracing the root from which hateful speech emerges: “[his neighbourhood] became confrontational terrain upon which hatred, anger, fear and even at times blood was spilt in the name of something we absolutely could not understand: they were the Anglos (les tetes carrées) and we were the French (frogs) and we had to be antagonists without question.”

The content of They Fight Like Soldiers is neither subtle nor restrained. Dallaire is clear throughout about his understanding of child soldiers: a weapon system that is easy to attain, easy to train, and ultimately expendable. In conflict zones and countries where civil war and violence are common, Dallaire describes in detail the process by which both boys and girls are kidnapped and forced to live in camps where they are often abused or raped, and trained to kill mercilessly. This “weapon system” is effective for many reasons, not least of which is the hesitation most soldiers experience when confronted with a child in battle.

They Fight Like Soldiers adopts a drier tone in its second half, focusing mainly on the national and international courses of action that should be followed in order to rid the world of the use of child soldiers. Though these chapters are important, they give the book a somewhat fragmented feel when contrasted with the earlier, more narrative chapters that may be friendlier to the general reader. Nonetheless, the policy-centred closing sections provide concrete steps toward helping the 250,000 children being used as soldiers in the world today, and preventing more from being used in the future. With the military trial of Omar Khadr having recently concluded, the question of how to deal with and solve the issue of child soldiering is one that Canada as a nation – but also the international community – must face up to. After all, as Dallaire says so clearly, we cannot “use humanity’s future in order to destroy humanity’s present.”

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[title of show] is a musical comedy, as directors Julian Silverman and Dane Stewart described, “about two guys writing a musical about two guys writing a musical.” Although you may be thinking that you’ve done a lifetime’s worth of thinking about layers within layers within layers after Inception, [title of show] manages a level of metatheatricality that rivals Shakespeare, while at the same time smoothly chronicling the day-to-day pleasures and challenges of writing an off-Broadway musical.

The show follows two gay pop culture and musical theatre-crazy friends in New York (Ben Harris and Michael Grundland) who are bored with their day jobs and are looking to pull out the sonatas and reach fame by writing an original show for a festival. Singing their way through the writing process, they recruit two cast members (Caitlyn Milot and Bryna Weiss), resulting in an awkward but tight-knit family who set out to escape the triviality of everyday life through musical theatre. The songs themselves aren’t thrilling, but they serve their purpose in a musical that is really about more than music. In a way, [title of show] is like watching a behind-the-scenes, “making-of” a musical that takes the constant frustrations and personal anxieties of the writer’s creative process and places them in the magical world of song and dance.

Director Julian Silverman takes the metatheatrical theme a step further by allowing the actors to use their own names onstage (although the producers insist that they are still playing the original script’s roles of Hunter, Heidi, Jeff, and Susan), bridging the gap between the audience and the characters. This decision, according to Silverman, “really made the show feel like our own,” but it also forces the audience to recall the countless times that they themselves have been immersed in a similar process of creation. By leaving visible the show’s levels of production, the audience is able to submerge itself critically but also quite self-reflexively – unlike most musicals, [title of show] is not only a spectacle, but also the realization that musical theatre is a spectacle. Now that’s metatheatre, for you.

Silverman must have been somewhat limited in his choices for stage design by the script’s constant self-references (e.g. “We only have four chairs”). But this simple staging of four chairs and a keyboard both gives [title of show] its distinctive off-off-Broadway vibe and allows the cast to embody the various effects and emotions that in larger productions are conveyed through elaborate stage designs and devices.

With such a small cast and simple set, each actor is given ample time on stage to show off their comic, dramatic and vocal talents, but the strength of the cast lies in their group dynamic and their ability to perform as a cohesive whole. In a hilarious early number and one of the show’s most memorable of an otherwise fairly forgettable list of songs, Ben plays a sassy-ass piece of blank paper in “An Original Musical.” In “Monkeys and Playbills,” Caitlyn and Bryna appear and disappear throughout the theatre as spectres for ideas and inspiration, until they get called out for it and return to normal. Even Michael, the most idealistic and realist of characters, can’t help but be absorbed by the power of theatre as he proclaims with Ben and Bryna, “We’ll sing backup!” for “Die, Vampire, Die!”

In the end, what really comes across is the degree to which the cast and crew seem to have really had fun putting this together. At its bones, that’s what a musical is all about. The fact that [title of show] is able to do this while explicitly bringing up the struggles and pressures of the theatre industry is a sign of hard work, but most importantly the love of musical theatre.

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Ultimate frisbee was invented at Columbia High School in Maplewood, New Jersey in 1968, and went on to become popular amongst college and university students in the United States and Canada. By 1980, the Ultimate Players Association was formed, and the sport quickly built a reputation for being a free-spirited alternative to traditional organized sports. The object of the game is to score points by passing the disc to a player in the opposing end zone, similar to an end zone in American football or rugby. In line with its lax attitude and free-spiritedness, the game has no referee and is self-officiated. Today, a number of variations to the sport exist, including indoor ultimate, beach ultimate, street ultimate, and the appropriately named intense ultimate, which is played on a smaller field.

McGill’s Men’s A-Squad Ultimate Team, with its 22 members, travels to various colleges and universities within eastern Canada to compete against other teams in tournaments during the first six weeks of the semester. However, this was made difficult recently when the team lost its position as a McGill Varsity Club.

Ex-president Danji Buck-Moore sat down with The Daily to discuss how losing this status has affected the team. Along with restricting the team’s access to funding, denying them access to the varsity gym, and removing the team members’ eligibility for being on the student athlete honour roll, the loss of varsity status has had a great impact on the team’s travel policy. “The only thing you’re allowed to do for travel is to charter a bus,” noted Buck-Moore. “You have to have a driver who is not on the team, and you aren’t allowed to travel past a certain time of night. When it comes down to feasibility for a team like us who doesn’t receive funding from the school, it’s really difficult.”

The loss of varsity status has been a major issue for many of McGill’s teams this year as part of the ongoing budget cuts and regulations by the administration over student life on campus. In order to be affiliated with McGill athletics, which basically affords the team field time to practice (although for the ultimate team, this is usually at 6 a.m.), the team must raise $100 to pay McGill Athletics. The team collects $500 from each player to cover fees such as the uniform and travel expenses. “Another pro is that we get to call ourselves ‘McGill.’ That’s the big thing, really,” added Buck-Moore. “We have to adhere to very strict uniform policies, like we can’t do anything with our jerseys. They have to say ‘McGill’ in the McGill font and ‘Redman Ultimate’ is the only thing that we can have on it.”

Despite these many challenges, the McGill ultimate frisbee team continues to play, and enthusiastically promote their game with feverous devotion, but without taking themselves too seriously (the Facebook event for a recent game against Concordia claimed, “fact: the drunker you get, the more intense the game becomes”). With growing popularity and a sportsmanship that emphasizes the “spirit of the game,” McGill’s ultimate frisbee team maintains itself as an important and refreshingly casual part of our campus’s sport culture.

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Deux Frogs dans l’Ouest is a Québécois film set outside of Quebec. Marie Deschamps, a 20-year-old girl from rural Quebec, decides to drop out of CEGEP in order to travel to the mysterious, exotic land of Whistler, British Columbia, in a classic coming-of-age story. Evoking the historical colonization of our country, Marie sets off to find herself and see a side of her country that is as geographically and culturally different from her life experience as Switzerland. On the way, Marie struggles with many difficulties – such as being penniless and independent – but the greatest of these is her exhaustive effort to learn English. In Whistler, Marie meets a number of young people from various walks of life who, just like her, want to be free and adventurous, and learn something about themselves.

Deux Frogs is, to Papineau, an important and quintessential story for Quebec youth identity, as “every fall, hundreds of young Québécois migrate toward the West and end up in Whistler without a cent, with the goal of experiencing a few snowboard runs on one of the most well-known mountains in the world.” However, influenced by his own experiences, Papineau’s achievement sometimes portrays anglophone Canadians as having a tired, unsympathetic relationship with their French-speaking counterparts.

Though Marie’s travels to the West are posited as an entirely estranging and “foreign” experience, Papineau has to continually bring his audience back to a comfort zone wherein the character’s Québécois identity and means of expression are not lost. Notably, the only person who Marie has a meaningful relationship with is fellow Quebecker Jean-Francois – half bad-ass snowboarder, half gentleman who can sleep next to her without touching (unlike an advantage-taking anglo encountered earlier in the film). Even the film’s primary antagonist Gaby, a spoiled and moody roommate, is able to converse in French. Gaby straddles the French and anglo worlds, as well as many others (she is immediately identified by Jean-Francois as “bilingual, bisexual, and bipolar”) yet can’t truly connect with either of the ever-modest Quebecois who she lusts for in the end. Being “bi” – through language or sexuality – only leaves Gaby sad and alone in the end.

This heteronormative narrative is at play throughout Deux Frogs dans l’Ouest. With such naivety that would astonish my eight-year-old cousin, Marie mistakes her new gay roommate Brad’s rainbow pride flag, asking “Which country are you from?” Later, Marie feels inspired to explore her sexuality, immersing herself in a sexual relationship with Gaby (complete with a ratings-boosting topless lesbian sex scene), but eventually refuses her in favour of Jean-Francois, who isn’t always trying to have sex with her. With Brad’s open gayness carefully sanctioned off and Gaby’s incessant sexual moves on the mostly-straight Marie, the film’s attempt at inclusivity borders on homophobic.

With a premise that has the potential for a great film that explores a number of important issues in contemporary Canada, in the end, Deux Frogs is about as entertaining as a made-for-TV teen flick without really exploring the linguistic and cultural dynamics between anglophone and francophone Canadians.

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Boy, was I ever wrong. Players’ Theatre’s production of King Henry VI: The Rise of York is so much more than a simple chronicle of English history. Henry VI draws the audience in right from its emotional opening scene, and keeps hold of them through to its chilling conclusion. There is so much going on at the levels of characters, setting, politics, and speech that it is easy to become lost in the world of the play, and absorbed into the enthralling chaos that was medieval England. To use the words of director Stuart Wright, “This here is a Shakespearean variety show: power-hungry dukes, mincing courtiers, man-eating queens, patriotic pirates, envy, misery, seduction, brotherhood, fun, and blood.” In short, Henry VI can be described in a single word: epic.

Having said that, the production and conception of such a play surely rivalled the achievement of the narrative scope. Henry VI was written in three parts, resulting in three lengthy plays that are most enjoyable together. Stuart Wright and co-director Fraser Dickson took on the arduous task of adapting these three plays into a single concise, comprehensible whole. Think The Lord of the Rings trilogy condensed into a single, three-hour event. (This did in fact happen to disastrous effect: R.I.P. Toronto’s least happy musical.) Wright notes, “It took months, as I was faced with the challenge of paring ten hours of Shakespeare down to three and crafting a stageable piece of theatre.” Wright and Dickson were so attentive in preserving the story’s main arcs and themes in their adaptation, that the scene transitions and sequences of events could almost pass as Shakespeare’s original work.

While Wright’s adaptation is itself an accomplishment, the direction of such an ambitious play is surely no easy task. The story is brought to life in its historical 15th century setting, with complex use of props, lighting and stage space. Due to its scale and large cast, it sometimes feels as though Henry VI is bursting out of the confines of the modestly sized Player’s Theatre. This sometimes results in poor viewing, but for the most part Wright makes good use of the space and achieves quite masterful visual effects. In between managing the direction, cast, and staging, he even manages to make a brief but deliciously impressive cameo as France’s King Louis VI.

Which brings me to the acting. Oh, the acting. In all sincerity, Henry VI is the best cast and best acted show that I have seen at McGill, and one of the best acted adaptations of Shakespeare that I have ever seen (which is saying a lot, since McGill has some extraordinary theatrical talent, and since I grew up on a yearly dose of Stratford’s offerings). It is evident that each member of the cast put an exorbitant number of hours into their roles, delivering every line with emotion and sincerity. It seems almost unfair to mention one actor and not another, since every cast member is remarkable in the mere feat of taking on a Shakespearean role, but certain performances were particularly notable.

Rowan Spencer is perfect in the play’s title role. He portrayed the feeble, reluctant king not with grandeur and exuberance, but rather teeming uncertainty – playing up the character’s subtleties but fearlessly bursting with emotion at the right dramatic moments. Annie MacKay dominates the stage as Queen Margaret, showcasing a diverse range of personalities from sexy temptress to diabolical villain to tragic mother. Fraser Dickson’s portrayal of the Duke of Gloucester, the future king Richard III, evolves from a machismo-fuelled executioner to a cunningly wicked schemer in the play’s second half, penetrating the audience with a sense of pure evil and malice. The cast functions as a coherent whole, delivering their roles with so much passion and care that many of them could legitimately be imagined on stage in Stratford a few years down the road.

In the end, King Henry VI: The Rise of York is a brilliant example of the talent residing in McGill’s theatre community. Wright’s adaptation makes for a marvellous show that is consistent and understandable, with no narrative gaps or sense that something was missing. Henry VI will prove to you that, in the hand of Shakespeare, history is as sexy, funny, bloody and disturbing as anything else he wrote.

King Henry VI: The Rise of York plays through February 20 at Players’ Theatre. For showtimes, visit ssmu.mcgill.ca/players/

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In Extremis, the McGill drama and theatre program’s latest production, tells the story of “star-crossed lovers” Abelard and Heloise. These two intellectuals’ romantic entanglement has become a famous part of French folklore, earning frequent comparisons to Romeo and Juliet. But for those true romantics out there, let me be blunt: this is hardly a love story that will leave you in tears. Rather than writing each other poetry, or finding new boundaries for their love to break, the couple frolics lustfully through their patriarchal, religious community. Indeed, Abelard and Heloise’s story can be better read as the account of two individuals – Abelard’s striving for philosophical and intellectual understanding, and Heloise’s desire for a feminist right to education and matrimonial freedom – than as a tale of two lovers.

Thick as In Extremis is with historical, philosophical, and theological discussions, however, the play adheres to high production values. The rather dense story is tempered by the life and energy that the gifted cast brings to the work. Director Sean Carney, associate professor of drama and theatre at McGill, rightfully puts the spotlight on McGill’s young talent, highlighting the importance of a youthful cast to a play such as this one. Regrettably, there is not a great deal of chemistry between the characters – especially Bryn Dewar and Bea Hutcheson, who play the two lovers. But every member of the cast left me with some sort of lasting impression, a directorial feat for which both Carney and actors should be applauded. Praise should also be directed toward wardrobe manager Catherine Bradley, whose use of costumes manages to create a truly believable period piece, where monks, kings, and peasants wander on and off stage as though it really were 12th century Paris.

In short, In Extremis succeeds, but its relatively heady subject matter isn’t likely to draw in a large audience. Though not altogether entertaining, the play has unquestionable merit in its ability to provoke thought in its audience, and raises enough questions about the relationship between logic and faith to cause a worthwhile bar fight between a few passionate philosophy students any day.

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From what I’ve described so far, Martin Sherman’s play Bent could just as easily be the premise for an episode of Friends. The characters are relatively simple, concerned with day-to-day troubles like work and money, while enjoying love, drinks, and sex. What sets this play’s story apart, however, is that it’s set during the Holocaust. Today, as a gay man in Montreal, Max (played by Christopher Moore) would be dealing with the everyday social problems and discriminations that queer people face. In Nazi Germany, though, Max faces persecution, violence, imprisonment, and death.

The story of Bent is not for the faint of heart. It’s about the Holocaust, but it focuses on the lives and trials of gay men specifically, who were branded with pink triangles (labelling them as sexual offenders) and sent to concentration camps. We follow Max as he loses his home, his friends, and his innocence to the Nazi regime, but manages to find love even within the despair of the concentration camp.

Montreal-based theatre company Altera Vitae’s production of Bent captures the timelessness and importance of such a story, keeping it relevant 70 years after the events it describes occurred, and 30 years after the play first premiered. Although relatively simple, the staging is effective in highlighting the wonderful dialogue and breadth of the play’s main characters. Playing Horst, Max’s love interest inside the camp, Concordia graduate Vance De Waele gives the play’s most memorable performance. Waele’s Horst is in turn serious and comical, and both he and Moore manage to draw the audience into their respective characters’ horrifying reality. Director Carolyn Fe’s vision is rather uninspired, but is sufficient in bringing to life a daunting and heavy subject matter.

Since Bent’s premiere in 1979, the mainstreaming of queer issues in the media has advanced significantly. There is something about the weight of the subject matter, though, as well as the play’s universal message, that is both shocking and humanely truthful. This quality allows the work to speak to today’s audience just as strongly as it would have to an audience in the seventies. As Fe explains, “The play is a powerful statement. [It portrays] an acceptance of self no matter what one is up against. It is the desperate hope of another life and successfully creating it, if only for a moment, in the midst of chaos.”

To some, Bent may seem overly male-dominated and homocentric. You wouldn’t be wrong to draw this conclusion. What Bent sets out to reveal is the hateful acts committed against a particular subgroup, a black stain on queer history that is often reduced to a footnote in comparison to the bigger picture of the Holocaust. Bent reminds us that hate toward a group, no matter how small, is worth remembering, and that expressing one’s true self and finding love is possible even in the unlikeliest of places.

Bent is playing until November 15 at Espace 4001 (4001 Berri). Visit alteravitae.com/bent for more details.

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