The enigma of Pierre Elliott Trudeau is a bug Canadians will never fully get out of our system. His presence redefined a somewhat dowdy country in the eyes of the world, leaving us with a collective anxiety about whether we quite measured up. Brooke Johnson has captured this strange ambivalence in a beautiful one-woman show about her friendship with the just-retired PM begun when she was 23.
While attending the National Theatre School in the mid-eighties, Johnson, as student rep on the Board of Directors, was summoned to take part in the institution’s 25th anniversary celebrations. Wearing a borrowed dress and shoes two sizes too big, she was an awkward ingénue. Trudeau caught her eye in the crowd, insisted on a dance and slipped her his phone number. What followed was a platonic liaison built on lunches, dinners, long walks and late-night cognac at his art deco mansion on Pine Avenue.
Two decades later, she resurrected old diaries and their letters, turning the experience into a monologue. First performed at the Toronto Fringe Festival in 2007, the story has evolved into an evocative piece of memoir theatre, enjoying a successful run at Toronto’s Theatre Passe Muraille, which incidentally, premiered Linda Griffith’s memorable Maggie and Pierre in 1980.
Inevitably, there’s an element of voyeurism in the act of going public with a private experience like this one. The cringe factor looms large. In the first 10 minutes, the actor/writer reduces the risk considerably by establishing an engaging version of her younger self, conveying the terror of being spotted and courted by the great man so convincingly that you can’t help sympathising.
Stranded in the middle of a ballroom dance floor, forced to confess she can’t dance because the toilet paper in the toes of her ill-fitting shoes won’t permit it, she’s a stand-in for the whole star-struck country, simultaneously awkward and dazzled, struggling to rise to the challenge of amusing the great man.
Johnson’s ability to recreate the spirit of Trudeau in the telling of her story is quite amazing. With a minimum of effort, she conveys his voice, his shrug, the oozing confidence rendered human by the faintest whiff of vulnerability. The cathedral bells tolling for his funeral sent a collective shiver through the audience. Afterwards, the lawyer representing Trudeau’s old firm Heenan Blaikie (inevitably, the production sponsor) was visibly moved when called upon to say a few words to the reception crowd, added proof that, while offering no great revelation or fresh insight into the only PM in living memory with royal jelly, Trudeau Stories succeeds in the way that all theatre yearns to succeed, by bringing a character to life onstage, his joie de vivre, his passion for life, and his angst.
Most movingly of all, we get a strong sense of the man’s profound loneliness as he reaches out to a youthful spirit across a crowded room. At 70 minutes, an engaging encounter with two memorable personalities, not to be missed.
Trudeau Stories continues at Centaur Theatre through June 6. Box office 514-288-3161.
Montreal actress Marthe Turgeon will read from Marianne Ackerman’s new novel, Piers’ Desire at Casa del Popolo, 4873 blvd St. Laurent on Wednesday, May 19, 5 – 7 pm. (reading at 6). Copies of the book will be on sale for $25 cash (a $10 discount).
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I, too, saw this play but had a completely different reaction. For another perspective on Trudeau Stories, please see review in Poetry Quebec (www.poetry-quebec.com)
Carolyn, your review is perceptive and very well argued.(http://www.poetry-quebec.com/pq/review/article_20…
Actually, I did think the telephone message at the end of Trudeau Stories was creepy. But then the entire premise of the piece seemed to want us to feel spooked by the evocation of a powerful personality no longer on the planet. And yes, I agree that a standing ovation for this piece is partially at least a standing ovation for Trudeau, but that's the power of the piece (I hesitate to say play). It's an act of reincarnation, so the mixture of unease and awe seemed absolutely appropriate. So often I sit in a theatre and feel torn. I have to will my brain, the critical eye, to let go, give into pure feeling. Then it works. If the brain puts together all that we know, then theatre is impossible. There's something almost shamefully innocent about the very act of performing onstage before people sitting quietly in seats. That's why I keep going, to stay in touch with that state of mind.