The passion of the forces leading the Arab Spring movement inspired the McGill School of Architecture to create the exhibit “Creative Dissent: Arts of the Arab World Uprisings,” running until February 26 in the Macdonald-Harrington building on campus. This travelling display is a collaboration with the University of Michigan, Ann Arbor, and the Arab American National Museum, with curators Christiane Gruber and Nama Khalil at the helm. “Creative Dissent” showcases a variety of political voices and opinions through diverse forms of creative expression, such as photography, performance, satire, cartoons, street art, and music, all inspired by the Arab Spring discourse. These creative expressions were all essential catalysts for revolutionary sentiment and a solidarity movement toward democracy.

Centred on the organizational themes “Photographic truth claims,” “Humor and Subversion,” “Revolution Reloaded,” “Sounding Walls,” and “Performing Dissent,” the exhibit seeks to illustrate different sides of the uprising. The multimedia pieces range from the political chant “The People want the downfall of the regime” to the famous photo of the Tunisian president visiting Bouazizi in the hospital.

The showcase of photographs is a powerful tool of influence in the exhibit. Often, a photograph can spark inspiration and outrage, but the power of an image can be its abilities to make the viewer discover a truth that they may have ignored or overlooked. One photograph from the exhibit of a young veiled woman comes to mind, who is being stripped to her blue bra and beaten by Egyptian security forces in Tahrir Square, Cairo on December 17, 2011. This appalling act sparked an emotional response across Egypt, especially among artists, who began a response of blue bra paintings and using the slogan “No to the stripping of women.”

The most effective form of creative dissidence in the exhibition is that of satire. One cannot deny the hilarity behind the work of Tunisian cartoonist Nadia Khiari. Her cat cartoon depictions of the political players in the Tunisian government succeed not only in being endlessly humourous, but also in disempowering the political elite.

Khiari’s Willis from Tunis piece epitomizes this idea. The cartoon series depicts the growing power of Salafism in post-revolutionary Tunisia. In the illustration, a rebellious cat of deep secularist beliefs is holding a placard that says “Live free or die” while a bearded Salafi cat beats him to death with a club. The cartoon’s violent theme is reminiscent of the whimsical Road Runner, but is nothing to laugh about in reality, as it depicts increasing assassinations of left-wing Tunisian coalition members. The satire is effective in triggering critical responses from the public and ridiculing those who are fostering instability and fear in the Tunisian political arena.

The same can be said of the work of Syrian group Masasit Mati. A running video loop of their satire program Top Goon: Diaries of a Little Dictator pictures Syrian president Bashar al-Assad as a puppet. Masasit Mati’s characterization of al-Assad as a childish character disempowers the dictator and wipes out the fears associated with his governance. The puppet show comically portrays a dialogue between the al-Assad puppet and several of his doll-like government officials, their high-pitched voices resonating throughout the exhibition. The al-Assad puppet screams about losing the city of Hama to the revolutionaries right before his birthday and cries over the unfortunate timing.

Satire like this is so effective in its goals is because it is a language that many dictators cannot cope with. It is also very powerful in subverting dominant political forces. An autocratic government can implement censorship, but the collective laughter of the masses at the political elite is bulletproof. A banner hanging in the corner of the exhibition reads “Art equals freedom, freedom equals responsibility, to ban artists equals to ban responsibility.” These inspirational artists take their responsibility very seriously, continuing their creative political outrage, regardless of consequences.

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Art is often assumed to be a reflection of our times, manifesting the problems that pervade beneath the surface of our society and motivating art admirers to dig deeper. This is exactly what Imago Theatre’s production of Pig Girl did to its audience at Centaur Theatre for a full hour and a half on February 4, having first appeared on Montreal’s stage in late January. Pig Girl is an enthralling and distressing story that captivates the audience, exposing them to the issue of violence against Indigenous women in Canada – a topic which still remains largely ignored.

The play is loosely based on a series of crimes committed by Robert Pickton in the 1990s in British Columbia. Pickton, a pig farmer, murdered several sex workers, many of whom were Indigenous women. Colleen Murphy, the playwright, uses the reference as a starting point, addressing violence against marginalized women by alluding to this horrific instance in Canada’s past.

The production’s initial reception in Edmonton in 2013 was controversial. Some members of Indigenous communities felt it was too soon for the family members of victims to see past traumatic events enacted on stage and questioned Murphy’s right to tell the story as a non-Indigenous person. However, Murphy has since made it clear that her intention is to educate audiences about the dangerous position Indigenous women occupy in Canadian society.

Pig Girl pits misconceptions about gendered violence toward Indigenous women with the reality and pervasiveness of these crimes through the characters’ stories. The play consists of only four characters: the Dying Woman, the Killer, the Sister, and the Police Officer. Two narratives are shown simultaneously throughout the play – on the one hand the Dying Woman fights the Killer, and on the other, the Sister confronts the Police Officer. The audience follows the intertwined events of the Dying Woman fighting her killer and the Sister confronting the Police Officer, who fails to find her family member over the span of several years.

Murphy’s storytelling leads the audience to a developed understanding of these characters through their reflective monologues. For instance, the conversations between the two sisters and the descriptions of their shared experiences showcase their fundamental connection to each other.

Pig Girl’s cast masterfully conveys the characters’ complex lines, each of them at times displaying strength and vulnerability that elicits empathy from the audience. The Dying Woman’s stream of childhood stories and the Police Officer’s confession about his reasons for joining the force are essential to understanding this multidimensional and complex issue. Embedding personal narratives in the play makes the viewers ponder how these characters have found themselves in their circumstances. Personal accounts also carry an underlying theme of pleading to be heard, acknowledged, and helped.

The set design consists of four separate dirt graves located within a triangular wood in planked structure. It is angled toward the audience, with each character standing on a separate grave. The scenery is effective in demonstrating the isolation and harshness of the characters’ experiences.

Pig Girl forces the audience to question and reframe their preconceived notions about Indigenous women in Canada. This is achieved through director Micheline Chevrier’s decision to have all the actors face the audience throughout the performance, even during dialogue.

Art is often assumed to be a reflection of our times. It also is supposed to force audience members to have conversations that they are afraid to have. This is what Pig Girl attempts to do through artistic expression. The play’s powerful voice encourages us as a society to take steps to address the national issue of missing and murdered Indigenous women by advancing national inquiry of the matter and, most importantly, recognizing Indigenous women’s lives just as much as any other.

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Set in the East Village of New York City, the story follows Mark Cohen, an impoverished filmmaker and the narrator of the show, who acts both as an observer and a fully participating character. Cohen attempts to capture the events of the eighties in New York, including the struggles seven of his friends are facing due to the HIV/AIDS outbreak. These events include an unorthodox protest, a drag queen murdering a dog, and Cohen’s roommate Roger continuously attempting to write his song to no avail. This is only a taste of what lies in store in Rent, and for all of its comedy, there is just as much heartbreak. This dichotomy is perhaps what makes this musical so enduring and universal.

The musical’s director, Daniel Austin-Boyd, explains this universality by applying it to the McGill community. “I think it’s just really relevant to a student population. […] A number of issues dealt with in Rent […] you see […] every day: issues of sexuality, of poverty, issues of disease, isolation, and community. All these things are things students deal with,” the director shared in an interview with the Daily.

Austin-Boyd further added, “These people [in the cast] are the age roughly that their [characters are] at. So [the cast] can really connect to the characters and produce a better performance.”

There were some impressive technical and aesthetic aspects to AUTS’s show. East Village New York during the 1980s can be difficult to depict in just one setting, but with the graffiti walls and second-level balconies accessed by ladders and backlit windows, set designer Sarah Denis grasps the nuances of the neighbourhood and maximize the space for the performers. The decision to situate the musical band beside the set is also essential to the overall relaxed, free spirited vibe.

As for the stand-out performers, they include Sophie Doyle’s portrayal of Maureen Johnston, a bisexual woman who loves to rave against “the establishment” in whatever forms it may come. Doyle exudes such ease, vocal strength, and timing that it’s hard to peel eyes away from this charismatic character. Another impressive performance comes from Zachary Sykes as Tom Collins, a queer professor at New York University whose revolutionist and anarchist political affiliations are clashed against his romanticized sensibilities. Sykes’s performance balances the emotional depth and strength that accompanies the character, while demonstrating impressive vocal capabilities.

It is, however, the overall ensemble cast that is at the apex of what makes the performance so enjoyable, with the musical ‘s theme of community lying at the core of it. The acting is full of passion and energy, and in every musical number the cast falls into the show’s impressive choreography with grace and emotional depth.
The only sore point of the show is the choreography for the musical number “Seasons of Love,” where too many complex lifts and twists are put into the number to portray the emotional intensity of the music. A more subdued form of choreography would have captured the rawness much better for such an iconic song.

It seems that the essence of Rent is to recognize that in any context, regardless of means or circumstance, one can empathize and identify with these characters and the conflicts they face in a meaningful way. Their trials and tribulations, intensified by the magnitude of the HIV/AIDS crisis, are overcome by fighting isolation and seeking strength in a friendly circle. In some ways, this method is never truer than in being a student at McGill. AUTS’s cast of Rent does an excellent job of bringing the idea to the forefront and letting students know they are not alone.

AUTS’s Rent runs this week from January 28 to January 30 in Moyse Hall. Tickets are $15 for students and seniors, and $20 for general admissions.

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The play begins with Sheila Wendice (Eleonore Lamothe) and Max Halliday (Jordan Pollock) sitting in Wendice’s living room, making idle conversation over drinks. It soon becomes clear that they have had an affair, even though she is married to the ex-tennis pro Tony Wendice (Oskar Flemer). Tony, a man of great charm, has discovered his wife’s affair and plans to kill her. With the help of the play’s director, Ali Aasim, events turn darkly humourous as characters struggle to hide or uncover the truth about a murder plot gone awry.

Aasim makes his directing known in many elements throughout the play, such as the use of music and lighting to emphasize dramatic and important moments that reinforce key characters’ revelations. The performances are well- timed, especially in scenes where tensions between characters run high. Stand-out performances include Lamothe’s Sheila Wendice and Flemer’s Tony Wendice: the former for portraying Sheila with grace and true emotional depth throughout tumultuous character developments, and the latter for demonstrating subtle predatory behaviour with just the right amount of passive-aggression that characterizes his charm. These performances synthesize well with some of the key design elements of the show to make for a truly satisfying result.

Critics have rightly pointed out the lack of female representation, and the written implications of Sheila being physically and emotionally weak. Lamothe fights against this interpretation by making her version of Sheila distinctly assertive, constantly countering her husband’s manipulation.

The character of Sheila is particularly well-performed in light of the widely-known misogyny inherent to the play. Critics have rightly pointed out the lack of female representation, and the written implications of Sheila being physically and emotionally weak. Lamothe fights against this interpretation by making her version of Sheila distinctly assertive, constantly countering her husband’s manipulation.

Notably, Cain Humeniuk’s portrayal of Inspector Hubbard is a steadfast anchor in many scenes. The true talent of his performance comes from Hubbard’s antagonistic dialogue with Tony Wendice, whereby the audience begins to see cracks in Tony’s rather confident persona. Alastair Pitts’ portrayal of Captain Lasgate is also a decent performance of a rather complex character, and Pitts plays the part without being overly dramatic.

The scenery, created by set designer Chip Limeburner, takes a minimalist but effective approach in constructing the Wendice home, and the set’s strengths are determined by its attention to detail thanks to artistic director Zoë Vnak. From the Jameson Irish Whiskey bottle and polished tennis trophies to the fake lit cigarettes used by the performers, attention to smaller elements of the show contribute to the overall authenticity of the 1950s veneer. This also comes through in the production’s costume choices, with tailored suits donned by the male characters and the fedora worn by Inspector Hubbard. Sheila’s costumes are probably the most aesthetically appealing: beautiful dresses with cinched waists and long elegant white gloves that emphasize not only the cultural period but also the character’s grace.

The use of macabre music in scene transitions and climactic scenes is also an important element for the show’s overall morbid content. The same can be said for Sharanya Venkatesh’s lighting design: in a particularly climactic scene, dark red light cloaks the whole set to reflect a deliberate horror. All of these important design choices along with Aasim’s nuanced direction give way to a very satisfying performance.

The show’s strength comes from the collaborative effort of the cast members who play off of one another and who demonstrate exceptional dialogue tempo. The result is a show that simultaneously contains both drama and humour in an enticing display.

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