A Chance in Kamloops

First of all, I must note how warm and welcoming the people at Western Canada Theatre have been. Not to diminish that compliment in the least, but I have found a similar reception from most theatres at which I have worked—more so than doing film and television, where one tends to be treated rather brusquely, what with money often being of higher status than art in such productions.

Secondly, I am wowed with everyone in the Man Who Shot Chance Delaney cast (with the possible exception of myself). This is somewhat rarer. Think of your job. There is usually someone who doesn’t pull his weight or whose personality sours the workplace. But these actors, as well as our running crew, are both impressive and inspiring. The cast includes Peter Anderson, Naomi Wright, Mia Ingimundson, Bob Frazer and Brian Linds. Huzzah, all.

Thompson River Valley

I have not met nor formed any opinion of the local populace. The city of Kamloops lies at the junction of two rivers among not-too-overwhelming mountains, most of which are picturesque (the exception being one right in the middle that looks like a big pile o’ dirt). The old downtown has some appeal, while the aroma provided by the area paper mill has not.

A scenic hill and the pile o’ dirt

Our motel is generally crappy, with broken appliances and sagging mattresses, but its location up a long, steep hill from the city centre provides a great view of the region. It’s a forty-minute, three-and-a-quarter kilometer (2 mile) hike down that long hill to the rehearsal space, and just as far—including a climb up a second hill—to reach the theatre. I manage the commute down to work all right, but for someone with bad knees, a bad back and the too-sedentary lifestyle resulting from those conditions, the return trip is difficult. I have been fortunate to locate rides most days. Such hill avoidance techniques become unlikely as of today.

The Sagebrush Theatre is a good space, with lots of room backstage and decent acoustics overall. It seats over 700, although our company only offers the 450 seats closest to the stage. We sold out that smaller number opening night.

The play is a hoot, that’s what it is, and so is the playwright. Ian Weir can write funny. He is also a thinker. I’ve said it before: smart plus silly, that’s for me.

I hope to have photos of the set and characters later.

Forward into the past

 

In four weeks, Western Canada Theatre brings me out to Kamloops, BC and rehearsals for the world premiere of The Man Who Shot Chance Delaney, an affectionate, mostly comic tribute to those sprawling western sagas as told by Hollywood. Playwright Ian Weir, perhaps best known for his television work but whose creations range from stage to radio to film as well, is apparently rewriting even now, potentially enfeebling my current memorizing of lines.

I get to portray a handful of colourful characters, among them a travelling salesman, a sadistic gunslinger, a newspaper editor, and a small town mayor. The script seems great fun and I know of at least one terrific actor with whom I’ll get to share the stage. I met Naomi Wright a year ago at a party but finally saw her awe-inspiring work just last week as a guest performer with the amazing improv group Impromptu Splendor. She, too, and the rest of the cast, will play a variety of denizens from the saloon and into the sunset.

Set in Texas, New Mexico, and Kansas, the story spans the years 1855 to 1907. In a minor turn of the century coincidence,  Ah, Wilderness!, for which I begin rehearsing at a different theatre three weeks after Chance Delaney closes, is set in 1906, albeit in Connecticut. 

I may even get to wear a bowler hat in both plays.

Pastorized and Borderline acting

 

I filmed a scene playing a minister in a new Hallmark TV movie, Taking a Chance on Love, that stars the gracious Genie Francis (the legendary Laura from General Hospital, among other credits) and the gregarious Ted McGinley (a regular on numerous TV series including Happy Days, Dynasty, Married with Children, Sports Night and Hope and Faith). I have not learned when the movie will air; might they rush it through post in time for this Christmas season?

Despite another small, forgettable role, the day was a happy one, thanks to the last minute addition of spoken dialogue for my character, the friendly cast and helpful crew, and the affable writer-director, Doug Barr. Thanks to all.

The Canadian film & television actors’ union, ACTRA, holds semi-annual conferences for their members with discussions, workshops and even some “free” food. (It’s all paid for by our dues, of course, but the volunteers who put these things together are to be lauded.)

Four cast members from the TV series The Border generously graced the most recent conference, answering questions at one session and re-enacting scenes from their show with selected non-stars at another. I got to do a brief scene with Nazneen Contractor, who was lovely and sweet. It was a truly enjoyable three minutes, no lie.

Now somebody please get me onto the actual damn show. Merci.

Rank? You bet!

 

According to Foreign Policy magazine, Toronto makes it into the top ten “Global Cities.” Out of 60 ranked cities, Toronto comes in at #26 for “Business Activity” (surprisingly behind Milan and Stockholm but ahead of San Francisco and Berlin), #24 in “Political Engagement,” #18 in Information Exchange,” #10 in “Human Capital” (edging out Paris), and (insert fanfare here) #4 in “Cultural Experience” (trailing only London, Paris and New York).

Like all such lists, this index begs for arguments. Nonetheless, I shall enjoy a moment of pride. Happy to help your rating, Toronto. And rah, rah, culture! 

If you want to kiss the sky, better learn how to O’Neill

 

Eugene O’Neill. American playwright. Tragedy. Gloom and doom. Disillusionment and despair.

And yet, O’Neill wrote one comedy. A gentle, nostalgic look at the boyhood—and the family—he wished he’d had.

I have been cast in Ah, Wilderness! at Chemainus Theatre Festival (same place I did Miracle on 34th Street last year) as Nat Miller, patriarch and owner of the local newspaper. It’s a role that has been played by the likes of George M. Cohan (original Broadway cast, 1933), Lionel Barrymore (movie, 1935), Jason Robards (Broadway, 1988), Craig T. Nelson (Broadway 1998), and Walter Pidgeon (musical version—Take Me Along, 1959).

A warmhearted and classic piece of theatre by an immortal. Spring on beautifully scenic Vancouver Island. Actual work in my actual profession. Good all around. 

April 22 to May 23, 2009. Be there.

Latitude stats

 

 

Toronto beach

When I announced I was headed north for my birthday vacation, most of the responses I got were variations of “You’re already north!” My friends and relatives do not as a rule tend to be idiots, so it was with some confidence that I assumed these comments were meant as jokes. 

Still, it seems a good idea to give a more precise view of my relative north-ness. I drove 225 km (140 miles) north-northeast from Toronto to our motel. The province of Ontario extends beyond that (to the northwest) another 1,500 km (930 miles). Canada itself stretches more than 2,800 km (1,740 miles) past Ontario’s northern boundary.

At latitude 43º 39′ 0″ N, Toronto is farther south than every other Canadian province and territory outside of Ontario, and only a few other Ontario cities are farther south than Toronto.

Toronto is farther south than Minneapolis, Seattle, and Portland, Oregon. In fact, Toronto is farther south than all of Alaska, Washington state, Montana, and North Dakota; south of almost all of Minnesota and Maine; and south of half of Oregon, Idaho, South Dakota, Wisconsin, Vermont and New Hampshire.

Toronto is farther south than the United Kingdom, Iceland, Denmark, Sweden, Norway, Finland, Netherlands, Belgium, Luxembourg, Liechtenstein, Germany, Poland, Switzerland, Austria, Czech Republic, Slovakia, Hungary, Estonia, Latvia, Lithuania, Belarus, Moldova and Ukraine; as well as most of France (including Paris), Romania, and Russia.

Despite our near-tropic location, a brief flurry of snow yesterday—can you say early?—gave us a taunting of things to come. Yikes.

Ontari-ari-ari-o, look!

 

In honour of Fall, I am falling behind again on blogging. What else is new?

Two weeks ago I treated myself (for my birthday) and Katharine (for my birthday) to an overnight trip out of the city and into Ontario’s scenic countryside. Driving about three hours north of Toronto, we were greeted by ever more colourful signs of autumn. I can recommend Route 118 between Rtes. 11 and 35! Even the off-and-on rain wasn’t enough to keep the beauty from shining through.

Our weather luck improved, and by the time we visited Haliburton Skyline Park, the sun was putting in more of an appearance, illuminating the leaves in a variety of stunning hues. 

Then to our charming, not-a-chain-or-brand-name motel.

A short walk took us to bewitchingly tranquil Twelve Mile Lake for a brief visit before the rain returned. 

After dinner and sundown, the clouds remained—thick, low and dark. So I was unable to enjoy starry skies and once again missed the Milky Way, which I have really seen only once since I was in college. (We have yet to see a moose, either, so future trips to the country are required!)

The following day brought clear skies and magnificent views, as we crossed from the Haliburton Highlands into the Muskokas and to the Dorset Scenic Lookout Tower, the high point of my birthday (rimshot).

On the way home, we stopped for a second time at Weber’s Hamburgers (a tradition! a must! we were told—and now I’m telling you). And back to the commonplace reality of day-to-day existence, plus one year of deterioration. And since then the somewhat subdued yet ever so welcome colours have reached the trees of Toronto. I love autumn.

Buffalo Shufflin’

 

Stayed overnight with our friends and most excellent hosts Steve & Martha Thomas, who gave us their hospitality so that we could get an early start at the Canadian Consulate General in Buffalo, NY. With the request for Katharine’s passport in hand, we arrived shortly after 8:00 AM to find a short line in the lobby. After ten minutes we were all taken upstairs to the consulate, where there were maybe ten others already in the waiting room off to one side.

We handed over the passport and paperwork and were given a card with a number and told to wait. We hadn’t eaten because, based on reports of others who had been through the procedure, we thought we’d be killing five hours in Buffalo while waiting for Katharine’s immigration visa to be processed. After two hungry hours our number was called and within minutes, visa attached to passport, we were eager to finalize Katharine’s immigration at the border. Except that getting the file electronically transferred to ports-of-entry isn’t quite that fast. 

So three hours, brunch, and almost but not quite meeting up with another friend in the area later, we crossed the Peace Bridge back into Canada. No wait at all at the guard booth. Pulled into Customs & Immigration and walked inside. No wait at all at Immigration. The official went clickety-clack at his terminal for a few minutes, had Katharine initial and sign a few places, and told her she was now a permanent resident. (No complimentary pin, flag or flask of maple syrup given as a welcome. What the hell, Canada.) Then across the narrow room to Customs—no wait at all—to provide a list of Katharine’s belongings we hope to move up here… someday. Then to the cashier: no wait there, either, nor fee to be paid, just a stapling together of documents. And we were done.

Except that we figured: let’s face all the bureaucracies in one day! So we went to the Service Canada Centre in Niagara Falls, Ontario for Katharine’s Social Insurance Number (like the Social Security card in the US) and then to to a Ministry of Health location in Toronto to register her for health care, which will become effective on Christmas. No more than a two minute wait at either of these places, either. For once the government was working as it’s supposed to! Everything went smoothly and easily. Still, it was eight hours all told from the consulate to the ministry of health; eight months since we started Katharine’s immigration; close to two years since I immigrated; and going on four years since we decided to attempt the move and change our lives.

Celebration dinner and home. Yes, home: Canada. A long day but a good day. (Except now we have TWO federal elections to angst about…)

We won!

 

Much to the shock—and probable dismay—of the competing teams, the hosts, and Canadians everywhere, the “Americans in Canada” scored highest in knowledge of Canadiana on Test the Nation – Canada, Eh?  Hey, we were surprised, too.

Confession: call me a cheater. That’s right, I studied. Thanks Canadian History for Dummies and assorted helpful websites. (But I still couldn’t tell you about Canadian hip-hop.)

Welcome to the theatre; you fool, you’ll love it so

I rarely see as much theatre as I’d like. In a distant past chapter of my life I lived in New York City, which coincided with one of my most poverty-stricken periods. Having the least spending money in the town with the most theatre. That’s irony, baby, and an experience shared by many.

Conversely, when I’ve had steady jobs and some money to spend, my gigs have generally been evening performances, the upshot of which was limited opportunity to avail myself of the local theatre scene. If there even was one. 

L'Histoire du Soldat by Igor Stravinsky

Now that I’m in driving distance of the Stratford and Shaw Festivals and living in a city with several top-notch theatres, I am back on an austerity budget. It agonizes me to miss Shaw’s Caesar and Cleopatra starring Christopher Plummer (whom I saw onstage years ago, absolutely brilliant as Iago in Othello). And as a big (but discriminating) fan of musicals, I am missing Jersey Boys, Spamalot, and The 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee among others, simply because of ticket prices. I haven’t seen a single show at two years of the Toronto Fringe, and only one at Summerworks: Stravinsky’s L’Histoire du Soldat, done with imagination and a kick-ass chamber orchestra.

Eventually, of course, I break down and buy tickets. Maybe the theatrical tectonic forces have been building, because Katharine and I recently saw four plays in a week. First, a double bill of two comedies at Soulpepper: The Real Inspector Hound by my idol Tom Stoppard and Black Comedy by Peter Shaffer. The former has been a favourite of mine since I first read it in college some 35 years ago. Soulpepper, one of Toronto’s most respected theatre companies, did a nice job with this witty, silly, stylized piece. Black Comedy has a reputation for being hilarious, and needs to be seen rather than read to experience the physical comedy. This production was not bad, if a bit short of hilarity.

Soulpepper really dropped the ball, however, with Jean Anouilh’s Ring Round the Moon. Miscast, paced far too slowly, and missing the bubble-lightness required, it was a disappointment. A few strong performances provided moments of real enjoyment, but they were too sparse to save the evening.

Tarragon Theatre, another great Toronto company, remounted the inventive, theatrical and visceral Scorched by Wajdi Mouawad. Highly regarded since seeing it a year ago, the treat was doubled when, as a sometime volunteer usher at Tarragon, I was given 2 free tickets to the remount. And free cookies, too. That’s the kind of evening I can afford.

The biographies of Soulpepper’s and Tarragon’s actors are intimidating for someone eager to break into Toronto theatre. How can Florida credits, for example, convince such illustrious theatres to cast me when compared with actors whose meatier experience has helped them infiltrate these essentially closed-shop companies? Only the weak performances by a couple of actors of my type/age provided some encouragement.

Well, until Toronto and Ontario want me on their stages, I’ll return to British Columbia to appear on theirs. I’ve been cast in a western by Ian Weir, The Man Who Shot Chance Delaney, at Western Canada Theatre (Kamloops, BC) February-March and Eugene O’Neill’s Ah, Wilderness! at Chemainus Theatre Festival (Chemainus, BC) April-May 2009. So there. 

Five months between now and then. Who wants me?