The McGill Daily had a chance to speak with Chloé Giddings, a member of the Jeune Troupe du Quat’sous about their show, her career, and where she sees theatre going from here. 

The McGill Daily (MD): I was wondering if you could tell me a bit about yourself, and about your background and career with Quat’sous. 

Chloé Giddings (CG): I studied acting at two different theatre schools. I went to CEGEP at John Abbott College, took a year off, and decided to go back to school at the National Theatre School [of Canada]. I actually ended up getting in touch with Quat’sous because of that. I studied in English, but asked if I could join in on the French general auditions, [after which] I was offered a spot in the Jeune Groupe du Quat’sous. It’s partly a mentoring opportunity – we’re in the process of creating a show, but obviously that was interrupted. We got to meet with our director Mani Soleymanlou and his team, and we went to see different shows as a group. We talked about them, and understood where we wanted to go with our piece. 

MD: Can you tell us about “Prologue” and the original concept behind the play?

CG: We were going to do something that was inspired by the Shahnameh, which is an Iranian poem – basically a book of myths. Mani was interested in exploring the way that legends touch us now and what our current mythology is. We had a lot of conversations about the place of ancient myths and whether or not we are still touched by them, but also about what could have replaced them. Originally, we had a piece that we created through forty hours of discussion and rehearsal. Everybody spoke about their experience, background, their lives, their religious affiliations—every sort of conversation. It was going to be a creative piece about [how] we each intersect with mythology, and the place mythology [has] in our current lives. 

MD: How did you adapt your performance in light of social distancing measures? 

CG: The festival originally reached out to our director, and asked him if he wanted to try to digitize our show, and he didn’t want to because theatre is technically supposed to be something that happens live and in person. But I think the way we went about digitizing it involves that live and in-person element as well. Each of us picked a short, three-ish minute piece of text that inspired us, and that was loosely based on the conversations that we had been having as a group before [COVID-19] happened. That way, it could still be something that we chose, and that we each individually created, because that was part of our original process. Then, we would deliver it to somebody’s door, or to somebody in a park, or to somebody in a back alley behind their building from at least two metres away. We would also have someone filming from two metres away. But instead of filming the actor, it’s much more centred around the audience, and the experience that they’re having while listening to the piece, and connecting with the actor. 

MD: Do you think Prologue’s central themes, mythology and the tales that shape us, have remained the same, despite those changes?

CG: I think something interesting happened. We went from talking about mythology as some far away thing that happened in another time, and that we don’t really get to experience anymore, to all of the sudden living in times that feel mythological. They feel exaggerated and tragic, in ways that we only see in the old myths. So the theme that now runs through all of the new pieces is just isolation and social distancing. 

MD: How does it feel to perform in a space that’s so different from a theatre or traditional stage? Did the lack of these elements affect your performance?

CG: It totally changed my performance a lot, although I can only speak for myself. It was really nice to connect with someone face-to-face, even if it was from a distance. But it also felt a tiny bit painful for me, kind of melancholic. It felt like the act of theatre was happening, that moment of connection and storytelling was happening, but we were missing the element of gathering and community. We were missing the fact that when you get a large group of people together, and everyone has the same experience, you leave that experience feeling united. It was a bit bittersweet for me. 

MD: What new ways of performing do you think are being created right now?

CG: Definitely a lot of digital, interactive pieces, things happening on Zoom. I also really like the way big professional theatres are putting their filmed versions online. [Doing] that makes pieces more accessible. I would love for that to be a tradition that we keep going. I’m really curious to see if things like theatre in parks and in outdoor arenas will soon be a possibility again. 

MD: The description of your play asks the question: Can this art survive in the absence of a face-to-face happening? What do you think? 

CG: I think it can survive. I don’t know if it can thrive. I think it can last through this period, and come out again on the other side, provided that some adjustments are made, and precautionary measures are taken, and we start to have a plan for how that’s going to happen. The thriving would be an ability to have a modified version of a live show happen again, where we’re all in the same space. 

MD: How do you see performing arts as a whole changing because of COVID-19? We just talked about the importance of community – how do you see things going from here?

CG: I was doing an interview with my director a couple of weeks ago, and he mentioned that theatre has been readapting for as long as it has been in existence. That, to me, feels pretty accurate and true. It’s hard for me to imagine which restrictions will lift, and which will stay, but I think it’s going to feel more sacred than ever to be in a space with a group of people, laughing together, crying together, sharing an experience. It’s going to feel more sacred than it ever has before, and I have to tell you – I’m really looking forward to it. 

This conversation has been edited for length and clarity. 

For more information about Prologue and OFFTA, visit offta.com.

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Walking around the gallery space, I am deeply aware of the Earth. It is found in almost all of the artist’s works, in the unlikeliest of places: sitting in a circle, on someone’s belly, in someone’s eyes. The globes both represent the world and participate in it. In Shuvinai Ashoona’s universe, the Earth is everywhere.
Many of Ashoona’s works feature her home of Kinngait, Nunavut. However, it is a magical, absurd, and mythological vision of the world. There are humans with tentacles, monsters being hunted, and creatures invading the Arctic. Ashoona depicts worlds that are both dystopian and utopian in her art, and forces us to confront the realities of our world through her surrealist depictions of it.

Family Portrait (2014) uses ink and coloured pencil to depict what looks like a typical family photo. There is another portrait in the background – a family portrait. The shirts of the members say say things like “my last name is,” and “my name is Alee Canbell and forgive me my sun forever and forever Amen.” There is also text in Inuktitut, which creates a divide between the piece and non-Inuit people who cannot read the language. These small sentences give us a glimpse into the lives of the people Ashoona is depicting. There is something deeply intimate about this piece, with the family members embracing one another, each of them connected to another by their arms.

The exhibition also explores multiple birthing narratives. Composition (2008) illustrates the Inuit notion of Qaujimajatuqanjit: the interconnectedness of life. Different beings are holding hands in a circle, all of them participating in creation. The figure giving birth is half white, half Native, which is highlighted by her different coloured hair. The Earth is also a participant in this occasion, joining in with all of its different inhabitants for this moment.

One of the most powerful birth pieces on display is Untitled (Woman Giving Birth to the World), 2010. The woman’s stomach is a globe, and her arms are wrapped around a larger one. There are eyes with globes as irises throughout the piece, and multiple earths. The Earth depicted is not a realistic one, as this is not something Ashoona is interested in. She depicts the world as she sees it. Birthing Scene (2013) reflects another kind of birth. It shows a figure giving birth to multiple globes with a white hand at the crotch, forcing its way out. In the corner, we see a brown baby with a white baby coming out of it. The figure has webbed feet, and a bird is grabbing her hair. This scene is much more frightening than the previous one, confronting the viewer with the gruesome and violent realities of colonization and maternity.

Many of Ashoona’s pieces are simply absurd. Satan the Polar Bear shows a polar bear wearing a jacket that reads: “not brown just white WHITE white” with a human figure and two birds by its side. The heart of the bird is turning into a snake. It’s hard not to read this as a message about white colonizers and their history with the Inuit population of Nunavut and Canada as a whole.

Tentacular arms are also a heavy presence in Ashoona’s work, crawling between figures, worlds, and space. This is seen in Earth Transformations (2012), one of the only pieces drawn on black paper. The tentacles form an octopus-like creature, and the globe has feet. There is a child holding up a frame of someone who is hunting seal, presumably holding the same Kinngait landscape pictured in the first inset. The Earth has dollar bills on it, which can be read as a commentary on our current globalized capitalist systems. However, there are also many different versions of the Earth in the piece, offering us alternatives to our current world. Ashoona is allowing us to hold pluralities in our visions for our world.

Ashoona creates a powerful, surrealist image of the Arctic and invites us into her creative worlds. It is an honour to be let in.

Mapping Worlds is on view at the Leonard and Bina Ellen Gallery until January 18, 2020. Visit http://ellengallery.concordia.ca/?lang=en.

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The Avataq Institute was created 40 years ago by elders in Nunavik with the mission of protecting and promoting the Inuit culture of Nunavik. It is staffed entirely by Inuit people. It boasts impressive archives of Inuit oral tradition through hours of recordings, thousands of historical photos, and the genealogy of every Inuk from Nunavik. The Avataq Institute also hosts various initiatives such as an archaeology program, a publication service, art exhibitions, and a program that gives Inuit students a year’s worth of college credits for studying Inuit history, culture, and language.

Currently, the Avataq Institute is located in a corporate building in Westmount, but part of the collaboration with the MMFA includes a move to museum-owned buildings downtown. Fréchette shared his enthusiasm about the new location, saying that it will give students better access to McGill and Concordia. Additionally, this move will bring the Institute closer to the million annual visitors of the museum, and providing a more accessible location for the local Inuit community will play a big part in the promotion of Inuit art and culture.

Inuit artists are now not only being featured in mainstream artistic spaces, but they are the ones curating them. Curatorial control gives Inuit people the power to represent themselves, their culture, and their history however they choose.

When asked about the current state of representation of Inuit art and culture, Fréchette explained, “I see a trend forming. There’s more room for Inuit artists. To what extent this is just fashion, the popularity of words like reconciliation and decolonization, I don’t know. I hope not.”

And there is a trend. Through the work of Indigenous activists across Canada, a space has been carved out in mainstream art. Inuit art is finally being given its own space in art galleries across Canada. The Art Gallery of Ontario (AGO) recently ran an exhibit called Tunirrusiangit, which showcased the art of Kenojuak Ashevak, her nephew Tim Pitsiulak, and the work of three Inuit curators. This exhibit is the first of its kind for the AGO, as Inuit art had never been featured in the gallery’s largest space, nor had it ever employed a primarily Inuit curatorial team. Ashevak’s artwork features surreal depictions of birds and Northern wildlife, such as Bountiful Bird (1986), a drawing of a bird with feathers made of seagull heads. She is considered the “grandmother of Inuit art,” so to finally recognize her work in a mainstream institution is a long overdue step in the right direction.

Pitsiulak’s work mainly uses bold, bright colours to depict modern life in Nunavut and traditional Inuit culture, and his work informs audiences on what life and culture in the Arctic are like today. Featuring these artists on such a grand scale provides a fair, representative image of Inuit culture to the greater public, working against a history of misinformation and misrepresentation.

In the same vein, the Canadian Museum of History has launched a travelling exhibition entitled Picturing Arctic Modernity – North Baffin Drawings from 1964, which features 50 drawings created in 1964 by Inuit people of the Nunavut region. The exhibition was produced alongside local Indigenous people, and, as the Canadian Museum of History describes it, depicts “thoughts, concerns, memories and observations of the people of Nunavut during a time of social upheaval.”

The partnership between the Avataq Institute and the MMFA is a possible stepping-stone towards undoing the erasure of Inuit people from the grand scheme of Canadian art and culture.

Inuit artists are now not only being featured in these spaces, but they are the ones curating them. Curatorial control gives Inuit people the power to represent themselves, their culture, and their history however they choose. By shifting power to Indigenous hands, we are moving closer towards the decolonization of artistic spaces.

Whereas the Inuit art collection at the MMFA was started in 1964 by F. Cleveland Morgan, a white man, the new collaboration will make efforts to include Inuit people in the curatorial process and to ensure their involvement with the collection. While the partnership is still in negotiations, this is a possible stepping-stone towards undoing the erasure of Inuit people from the grand scheme of Canadian art and culture.

When it comes to the recognition of Indigenous people in the public sphere in Quebec and Canada, we still have a long way to go. With impending elections in Quebec, we have yet to hear any politicians address Indigenous issues. “The government must do much more. I don’t think Native people go voting a lot, so they’re ignored. That’s something we need to stop doing. It’s Quebec history, and it has to change,” Fréchette says about the current way our government addresses Indigenous people. He hopes that by showing an authentic, non-folkorized depiction of Inuit life and culture, Avataq is doing its best to change this Quebec history.

So, what can non-Indigenous do to improve the way Indigenous culture is represented? “Make room for Native people to express themselves,” says Fréchette. “That’s something we’ve been missing.” It’s a step in the right direction — towards a more inclusive future in not only Canadian art, but also in the national political landscape.

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Following decades of denial, Louis C.K. finally admitted to masturbating in front of women in November of 2017. In a carefully-crafted statement, he said, “I have spent my long and lucky career talking and saying anything I want, I will now step back and take a long time to listen.” And now, he’s decided that he’s heard everything he needed to hear. He took a break, living comfortably as a millionaire in the shadows for a “long time”, and now he’s come back. Is nine months outside the public eye comparable to years of masturbating in front of women and the destruction of their careers? Apparently so.

Is nine months outside the public eye comparable to years of masturbating in front of women and the destruction of their careers? Apparently so.

Other celebrities accused of sexual misconduct during the height of the #MeToo movement are also plotting their comebacks. After being accused of sexual harassment and groping multiple coworkers, television journalist Charlie Rose was profiled in a piece published by the Hollywood Reporter. Part of the headline read “Broken, Brilliant, and Lonely.” The article focused on Rose’s life following sexual harassment claims, as opposed to, say, his victims’ lives after sexual harassment. It raised the question of how Rose will “earn back his good name” – as though he was undeserving of its tarnishing in the first place. It also reported he is interested in hosting an “atonement” TV series in which he would interview other men accused of sexual misconduct. The New York Times reported that celebrity chef Mario Batali is looking into ways he can “step back into his career” after he was accused of sexual misconduct by several women. Aziz Ansari is quietly making his way back onto the stand-up circuit. The list goes on. With predators slowly creeping their way back into the limelight, the question of whether they deserve to be there has been risen and most people wonder: have they put their career on hold for long enough? That’s asking the wrong question.

“How long is enough?” is a question that places the abusers at its centre, one that privileges their narratives over the trauma of their victims. It is asking us to empathize with them for potentially losing their careers (which has yet to happen), instead of focusing on the people whose lives were damaged by those who abused them. It removes what survivors need to heal from the conversation. Instead of running profile pieces on “disgraced” celebrities, we should be raising the voices of the people who have been hurt by them. They are the ones who deserve a platform. The conversation in the wake of #MeToo should not be on how to shield abusers from facing consequences, but on how to protect victims and prevent further abuse. We should not be talking of “comebacks” as though perpetrators of sexual violence were underdogs unfairly being victimized. No one is owed celebrity status, especially when it is that very position of power that enabled them to commit abuse.

The conversation in the wake of #MeToo should not be on how to shield abusers from facing consequences, but on how to protect victims and prevent further abuse.

What we should be asking instead of, “have they been away long enough?” is, “have they done enough?” Enough to fight the culture that their actions perpetuated, enough to help their victims heal, enough to help mend the careers they have damaged through their actions. Have they donated money to organizations that help victims of abuse? Worked to change their behaviour and create safe spaces? Boosted the careers of women in their industry?

During Louis C.K’s nine months away from the spotlight, he did not do enough. Simply admitting you committed a crime is not absolution; especially when you have spent years silencing the women who accused you. By imposing his presence on an unsuspecting audience at the Comedy Cellar, with no concern for who might be affected, Louis C.K. only showed that he has learnt nothing. He made a joke about rape whistles, as if he wasn’t part of that very conversation. All he has done is wait for the negative attention surrounding him to fade. He is a sexual predator and an abuser and deserves nothing for it. By allowing perpetrators to return to the very spaces they committed crimes in, without having made any effort to change, we are putting people at risk. We are saying that these men’s careers are more valuable than the people they harm.

By allowing perpetrators to return to the very spaces they committed crimes in, without having made any effort to change, we are putting people at risk

When we allow men accused of sexual misconduct to come back on the scene after a few short months, what we are saying is that their actions aren’t “that bad.” The standard to which we hold these men is biased. One can spend decades harassing women, but if they didn’t rape them, they are considered worthy of a second chance by the public. If you’re Charlie Rose, you can even turn your harassment of others into a form of profit. This reality is reflected in the conversation surrounding these cases. When democratic Senator Al Franken was accused of groping and forcibly kissing women, many argued that his behaviour should not end his political career. It was believed that he mustn’t be lumped together with Roy Moore, who committed sexual acts with teenage girls. “At most, Franken, who announced Thursday he is resigning, is guilty of boorish behavior,” wrote Ginger Rutland. Groping and forcibly kissing women, she argued, is “not assault, not pedophilia, not even sexual harassment.” What we hear, over and over again, is that only certain acts deserve punishment. But we should not get to pick and choose who is worth condemning, and a timeout isn’t enough to exonerate anyone. Many of these celebrities have yet to be convicted of any crimes, and probably never will be. Thus, the “time” they serve is up to public opinion and allows for a looser sentencing. For most people , no punishment at all is punishment enough. Their victims will never receive any real legal justice. If there is a way in which redemption is possible for those who commited sexual misconduct, we have yet to see someone worthy of it.

Louis C.K. could have used his performance to speak about sexual violence and take a moment to apologize for and acknowledge his actions. He could have talked about how he has been challenged to work on himself in the last year. He could have made it harder for himself. Instead, he chose to pretend that nothing happened. By doing so, he also chose to erase the damage he has done to multiple women and to perpetuate the culture of silence that exists around abuse. And he received a standing ovation for it.

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Unless they make, like, really good movies. The ceremony began with Seth Meyer’s monologue, which brought up the scandals that shaped Hollywood this year. Whoever wrote the speech hadn’t seen last year’s show, because the Hollywood Foreign Press joke was a deja-vu moment. Meyers then recreated a segment from his show, “Jokes Seth Can’t Tell.” “Call Me by Your Name is nominated for Best Motion Picture. It is a gay coming of age film.””Said Kevin Spacey: You lost me at ‘of age,'” replied Billy Eichner. Get it? Cause Kevin Spacey’s gay? And the movie’s gay? And Kevin Spacey sexually assaulted a boy?

Throughout the first half of the event, powerful feminist shows such as Big Little Lies and the Handmaid’s Tale won many awards, a big win for white women and the one recurring black character.

After a moving acceptance speech from Oprah, the Internet went wild when rape-apologist Natalie Portman probably read off her script and mentioned the lack of female director nominees. A truly feminist moment from the woman who signed a letter in support of child rapist Roman Polanski.

The night came to an end with James “I try to hook up with 17 year olds” Franco and Gary “I hit my wife in the head with a telephone” Oldman taking home the Best Actor awards. A New Day indeed.

After the show, Best Picture winner Greta Gerwig was asked about her feelings on having worked with Woody Allen. In her black dress, she said:

“Well, you know, I’m so thrilled to be here tonight as a writer and director and creator, and to be making my own movies and putting that forth. You know, it’s something that I’ve thought deeply about and I care deeply about, and I haven’t had an opportunity to have an in-depth discussion where I come down on one side or the other.”

I guess a black dress is just a black dress.

We were told time and time again during the ceremony that times are changing. That time is up. But for who? For Woody Allen? For Roman Polanski? For Gary Oldman? For James Franco? It doesn’t seem so. We need more than performative activism and black dresses, more than empty speeches, more than activists used as props. We need more than wealthy white women on the front stage. I hope to see Tarana Burke and Marai Larasi’s voices elevated. I hope to see justice for Dylan Farrow. I hope to see a feminism that is void of hypocrisy, that is intersectional, that is true.

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