Nicholas Voeikoff-Erens’ colourful acrylic-on-newsprint wall hangings are at once visual and sculptural, borrowing from design but bypassing cliché. Using paint to highlight images and stories on the printed pages and block out advertising, he effectively alters the content of the news. The result is far from museum objects. Each two-sided piece is meant to be touched. As the viewer moves around the different images, the play of light reveals as much as is conceals.

Currently showing at the Segal Centre’s ArtLounge, these delightfully off-beat twisting, swirling, flapping creations bridge the gap between canvas and sculpture, print and painting, figurative and abstract art as they tell whatever stories the onlooker chooses to read into them.

In the exhibition catalogue, he writes “In it’s raw state the newspaper is a babble of claims and counter claims and look at me and look at me and look at me … all vying for my attention and encroaching upon my visual landscape. As an active response I paint to break down that overwhelming clamoring of everybody hawking their wares in the market place. I damp it by pulling a blind over it, with paint. Metaphorically, I close the window and create my personal space.”

The Montreal artist of Russian and Dutch heritage began his artistic career as a student at the Montreal Museum of Fine Arts School of Art and Design in the late 1960’s when the “painting is dead” orthodoxy of the day was a challenge for many young artists struggling to realize their own visions.

Much of what he has done in the last 40 years has been a personal attempt to look at painting in a new way and to explore its full potential. An evolving process, he says, one that took a long time to figure out before he arrived at a format that works as both media and message.

Erens freely acknowledges that his work is on the periphery of the art scene and laments the fact that so much of the contemporary discourse about art is focused on its public character rather than the private experience of art. “Not everyone gets it,” he says.

Still, a number of galleries have been “willing to be surprised.” In the last couple of years he’s had a string of shows in Montreal, Toronto, and Chicago and will be off to Hong Kong by the end of May to lecture at the Hong Kong Design Institute where his work will also be exhibited.

The exhibition continues through May 24 at the Segal Centre, 5170 Côte-Ste-Catherine

www.segalcentre.org

Le Bancs d’Essai Internationaux brings together dancers and choreographers from around the world to put the newest generation of dance on display. The biannual tour ended its Montreal run Saturday night before heading to Europe.

Though the performers came from diverse regions throughout Italy, Canada, France, The Netherlands, and Wales, a common thread ran through the night.  Multimedia, once a novel addition to put dance-based pieces in the often provocative territory of interdisciplinary performance, has become the status quo.  The question of adding a video backdrop now seems as necessary a consideration as the number of dancers onstage.

Babacar Cissé, a French dancer and choreographer performed his solo piece “Le Syndrome de L’Exilé,” winning the award for the most compelling interaction with his AV self. Always with his signature blend of styles, including African, jazz, salsa, and breakdance, Cissé tried to keep up with his projected shadow as it multiplied, shrunk, expanded, challenged and even taunted him.

Later, on screen, Cissé struggled to escape from a bowl of water, and then quite literally splashed into reality. He glided across the water that had been thrown onto stage, flopped around like a beached fish, and eventually turned the slippery terrain into a source of momentum for never-ending spins: an appropriate metaphor for a piece exploring the difficulty of leaving one’s native land and adapting to a different environment.

Presentented by Montreal’s Tangente was “Corps: Relations” by Maria Kefirova. This was a remounted version of her work originally produced in 2010. While the real Kefirova went about her stage business, her recorded head floated inside a television set discussing the realities of living with one’s body. I saw this piece in rehearsal a few weeks ago during Québec Danse. On Saturday, it was obvious that Kefirova had achieved at least one of the piece’s goals – the audience was laughing.  Kefirova and her artistic consultant/répétrice Florence Figols had worked hard to create something beyond a one-way interaction between Kefirova and her virtual self. They wanted to find the game between “Maria, Virtual Maria, and the audience.” As Kefirova balanced on her head and tossed chunks of potato into her open mouth on the screen, it was clear everyone wanted to take part in the fun.

“Unattaching,” a resonant duo choreographed by Wales’ Tanja Råman, perfectly blended dynamic butoh-inspired movement with immersive sound, video, and lights designed by John Collingswood. Projected close-ups of the dancers gave the illusion of displaying a hidden interiority alongside their physical form.

Two performances on the bill made their world premiere here in Montreal. “Bianconido,” choreographed and interpreted by Italy’s Daniele Ninarello (pictured), is a chilling account of the moment “between thought and action.” Fear pervaded the first half of the work. The lighting intermittently turned the audience into an active participant in the piece, but the looming mass of spectators only increased the threats and antagonism bombarding Ninarello.

The second premiere, sharply contrasting the despair of Ninarello’s work was “The Fifteen Project,” choreographed by Arno Schuitemaker. It began with two regular guys in jeans and plaid shirts stepping out of the audience to perform a duo in the truest sense of the word. They went through a series of pointing gestures increasing in speed and intricacy into a contact-based pas-de-deux. The throwing, falling, and catching of one another enforced that neither was in full control, but rather, always relying on the interaction between them.

Arno Schuitemaker’s piece asked the question, “How do we establish a rapport with the people and things we see?”  Perhaps that’s what the Bancs d’Essai Internationaux attempted to answer by bringing such disparate artists together.  How the relationship played out between them was up to you to decide.

A characteristic of almost any historical novel, regardless of its other qualities, is the tendency toward the spectacular: the evocation through sensual detail of the daily life of a time and place (the quirky habits of people who live without electricity, eat strange foods, hold quaint ideas disproven long before our own time). One can reasonably expect this kind of pleasure from a novel set in, say, 18^th-century Russia, and Eva Stachniak’s The Winter Palace delivers.

I wouldn’t call it lush, or incredibly detailed; the description is surprisingly repetitive, and some details feel as if they were lifted directly from research. At times it is as if the author is following a template, for example frequently mentioning odours to set a scene even when they have nothing much to do with the action. But the story moves along and is pleasant enough to keep a reader moving along with it.

The main character, like the author, is Polish. Unlike the author, our heroine Varvara becomes, through several unlikely twists of fate, a servant of the Russian Empress Elizabeth, daughter of Peter the Great. Through the sponsorship of an important diplomat, Varvara rises to become an intimate servant of the Empress, massaging her feet late at night, hearing her wandering thoughts or private complaints. Varvara’s diplomatic patron trains her in the various arts and ruses of the spy. She loiters and eavesdrops in corridors, snoops through documents of state and sealed letters, sniffs the air for the scents of passing lovers.

This is a clever move on Stachniak’s part, because it allows Varvara access to information about the workings of court that she, a mere maid, would otherwise never have.  Stachniak uses this privileged access to help Varvara overhear, glimpse, or participate in the political course of the Empress’s reign and, after her death, the beginning of the reign of Catherine the Great. Unfortunately it is really not enough to make the reader believe that our heroine, who is bright but not otherwise in any way exceptional, could actually know everything we see her find out. Much of the story feels contrived in order to reveal a piece of information she could not have known otherwise, and she seems at times to ignore the lessons of secrecy we are told she learned so well.

The political history, which governs so much of the course of this novel, is weakened by the narrowness of Varvara’s perspective. For example, we hear of the brewing conflict between nations as Varvara observes the future Tsar wearing one day a green uniform, one day a blue one, signifying seesawing allegiances. A few broad strokes to situate the events at court within the very wide range of European history would have expanded the power of the story dramatically; as it is, the reader sees just the shadows of great events as they pass over a few individuals. The end of the tale, in which Varvara retires to a country estate after the accession of Catherine the Great to the throne, is anticlimactic, generated not so much by the events of Varvara’s life but rather by the shape of the planned sequel, which will obviously be the story of Catherine’s reign.

The book is also weakened by errors; for example, misused verbs (e.g. “…Cossacks danced, jutting out their legs…”) and adjectives and prepositions (“The Chief Seamstress … stepped back, marred with resentment for being overlooked.” ), or lack of agreement of tenses (“If she succeeds, Darya and I would never go without.”).  She uses “weaved” where “woven” is needed. There are also infelicities, such as “Its appeal has little allure…”

While these errors are not serious enough to get in the way of understanding, they happen often enough to intrude on one’s attention. And while such small errors are forgivable in a writer who has created a very readable book in a language not her mother tongue, an editor should have made sure the story’s flow was not interrupted by these oddities in what is otherwise an entertaining story.

Haunted Hillbilly is a great whopping romp of a play and a fabulous send up of all the country and western clichés one has come to know. There is also a touch of the gothic as naïve Hyram Woodside (played with infectious energy by Mathew Raudsepp) sells his soul to the evil cowboy couturier, Nudie. Greg Kramer is magnificent in his role as the cowboy designer who has serious designs on  the young Hyram, bringing a kind of poignancy to the vampire Mephistopheles persona.

Hyram discovers that in order to achieve the stardom that Nudie offers, he must betray the woman he loves and give up his own reach for happiness. Graham Cuthbertson, who adapted Derek McCormack’s novel for the stage, plays a slimy but wonderful Pastor Ray, warning us from the get-go that this is a “cautionary tale.” In short, do not hang out with gay vampire couturiers and then let them manage your careers.

Daniel Bruchu is truly unfettered in his role as Erskine Mole, the king of country, and his performance is a stomp in the country ho-down style of the play. Kyle Gatehouse is terrific as Nudie’s side kick, Dr. Wertham. With just a raised eyebrow he was capable of bringing the house down. Katie Smith is delightful as  the tough Audrey Woodhouse, and Alexis Taylor is wonderful as Bobbi.

There was the captivating score of Matthew Barber. And the band was perfect in their music and interaction with the cast. There was also the professional hand of Andrew Shaver directing. Susana Vera did the costumes proud.

The play is a sure delight, and the only thing that could be criticised was that it was a little too slick. The original version, which I caught at the Segal Centre, had rawness and energy that this version did not quite match. But that is a small quibble. If you can get to this really hot show, y’all better get a ticket before they run out.

Centaur Theatre: May 8 – June 3, 2012

Box Office: 514-288-3161

J’ai demandé à 12 hommes de me recommander des livres importants pour eux. Mon but final est de réévaluer mon rapport avec eux et avec les hommes en général. Juste avant de rejoindre la fameuse manifestation du 26 avril, je rencontre Xavier, professeur d’histoire au secondaire et ami de longue date, pour parler du très puissant roman « Pour qui sonne le glas » d’Ernest Hemingway.

Robert Jordan est un professeur d’espagnol, un américain qui participe activement à la guerre civile d’Espagne en tant que dynamiteur pour les communistes. Sa mission spécifique est de faire exploser un pont. C’est un ordre précis, venant d’autorités supérieures, auquel il ne peut absolument pas déroger. Et comme c’est souvent le cas dans la vie, rien ne va comme prévu, malgré la détermination obsessive du révolutionnaire.

Xavier m’a recommandé ce livre avant le début du conflit étudiant: ma lecture d’un pays en guerre civile, aux affrontements violents, décrivait pour moi une réalité très éloignée. Je ne parlerai pas de printemps érable (je trouve le terme insultant pour les luttes populaires au Moyen-Orient), mais dans le contexte de la grève étudiante, il est certain que notre interprétation du livre était modifiée, influencée par les manifestations souvent réprimées dans la violence ainsi que le clivage net entre différentes factions idéologiques.

«Je n’ai pas connu la violence, on est plusieurs à ne pas avoir connu la violence dans notre société », explique-t-il. « De voir écrit comment ça pourrait s’installer, comment c’est possible que ça s’installe, jusqu’où l’humain peut aller, c’est fascinant, ce bout-là se lit tout seul », dit-il. Le passage dont il est question est celui où des communistes espagnols d’un petit village encerclent un camp fasciste. Ils exécutent violemment, cruellement et publiquement des voisins fascistes. Les dérives autoritaires d’un groupe certain de sa justification morale, ça provoque de tels abus.

Nous ne sommes pas rendus à jeter des jeunes grévistes en bas d’une falaise ou à monter une guérilla clandestine contre les forces policières. Pour qui sonne le glas est un outil précieux pour relativiser notre colère et détecter les abus, dans le but de ne jamais se rendre là. Je l’accorde, il n’y a pas grand parallèle à faire entre la grève étudiante et la guerre civile espagnole (tant mieux!) mais notre paix sociale en est évidemment affectée et la violence a fait son entrée de jeu officielle dans les rues.

Le livre est aussi un éloge surprenant du moment présent. Les quatre journées fatidiques du groupe guerrier se déroulent en quatre-cents pages denses et intenses. À plusieurs reprises, Robert Jordan constate que sa vie se limite au cadre de ces quatre journées-là. Rien d’autre ne compte. Seul le moment présent existe. Le moment présent, c’est l’amour passionnel de Maria, l’amitié complexe de Pilar et une mission explosive. Il n’y a rien d’autre.

Pour qui sonne le glas est un roman marquant sur les compromis tragiques de toute guerre. La force de la plume d’Hemingway confirme toutes les idées reçues sur la férocité de l’auteur misogyne qui était également boxeur. Jamais une mission n’aura semblé aussi importante que la destruction de ce maudit pont par un dynamiteur qui souhaite obéir à des ordres précis mais qui est confronté à l’amour, la trahison, la mort et le doute.

Originally posted in Baise-Livres.

Given his pacifist perspective, you might expect Noah Richler’s new book about Canadian military involvement in Afghanistan to be a rant. Or one of those “important” books that attract high-powered reviewers, so you can get by with reading reviews. Not so. What We Talk About When We Talk About War is an eloquent meditation on the nature of modern warfare, and one of the best books I’ve read about Canada in years – not the surprisingly colourful, forgotten history of, but a biting analysis of who we are in the twenty-first century, and why. Spinning off from the Raymond Carver story What We Talk About When We Talk About Love, … About War makes an elegant bridge from Richler’s justly acclaimed Literary Atlas of Canada (2006), which was based on his coast-to-coast road trip encounter with contemporary novels and novelists, in search of our national soul.

This time Richler promises “a consideration of the phrases and forms of story that Canada has used in order to talk itself into, through and out of the war in Afghanistan.” Culling through mounds of old newspapers, he gleefully cuts and pastes together an astonishing account of how the Harper government, spurred by the crisis of 9/11 and backed by a handful of sympathetic intellectuals and journalists, undertook a massive “recalibration of Canadian ideas about the importance of the military and its role in foreign policy” which allowed for a huge increase in military spending, the publically-stated purpose being to support American military goals. Astonishing not because he uncovered new facts (he didn’t), but because the synthesis and analysis of known facts is so deliciously provoking. Because it raises news and comment to a higher level, that of psychological, emotional, philosophical meaning.

In the space of five years, Canada’s international image was radically changed, with profound domestic implications. One small example, the Macdonald-Cartier Freeway became the Highway of Heroes, a gesture fraught with symbolism. The effort entailed a concerted reformulation of the Canadian personality, reviving old myths, putting others to bed. Richler argues the makeover didn’t stick in part because the chosen battleground for testing this new image was an unwinnable war. Forced to retreat, Harper and the military were forced to revive the lost legacy of peacekeeping; renaming what the military was doing over there made slipping away publically defensible.

This book with a long title has a narrow issue focus – there is no discussion of the extent to which military expenditure was inspired by domestic, vote-getting motivations, providing the government with opportunities to spend millions of dollars in parts of the country where Conservative support needed shoring up; no reference to Harper’s wider learning curve in the realm of foreign policy, for example, his public appreciation for the Dali Lama and disdain for China’s internal politics, followed by a parallel reversal over the same time period, as he woke up to the reality of the international economy. We’re left with the impression that, in spite of his best efforts, Harper has been drawn back into the deep middle road (or rut) of Canadian values where peacekeeping is the thing to do. This makes for a neat story arc, but it feels premature; surely Harper’s attention has just gone elsewhere. The changes he wrought – or tapped into – will not soon disappear.

Arguably more interesting is the ‘big idea’ Richler develops using war (like novels in his last book) as material. Built slowly and carefully to a crescendo, his idea both nails and transcends its subject masterfully, and it is a literary one: that war and war mongering call for an epic form of thinking, whereas peace and peace-keeping require a taste for the novel. Epic literature is heroic, favouring the stark contrast of light and darkness, friends and enemies, winners and losers; the novel seeks to understand, illuminate complexity and reconcile or at least bring about a truce in the natural clash of opposites. These two forms of thinking obey quite different laws and uphold different values.

Dipping into the Iliad, he frames the central paradox of pacifism in mythological terms: as Achilles’ mother told him, a young guy has two choices: live a long, unremarkable life of peace, or a short military one promising everlasting glory. War is hell, a terrible waste of life and money. But it is also exciting, rousing, energizing, especially in a time of uncertainty, which is to say pretty well all of the time.  Since the first recorded skirmish, war has offered generations of youths without prospects a quick route to self-definition and a glamorous routine. War has also presented generations of writers with a subject worthy of their deepest outrage, finest style. An ancient irony, tackling an ideology he passionately opposes has brought out Noah Richler’s inner warrior, inspired his best writing yet.

So we are living in epic times. By identifying a sea change in the Canadian political psyche, Noah Richler identifies the spirit of our times, opens an important discussion. His big idea explains, for example, why the bottom has dropped out of literary fiction, why all people seem interested in reading in droves is crime fiction, Swedish polars and, well, books like What We Talk About When We Talk About War. Books that are the intellectual equivalent of a good night’s sleep, that leave you feeling smarter, ready to cope with the grind of national news, and actually interested in Canada and the culture wars that lie ahead.

Don’t leave this one to the critics. Buy the book, sink back, get mad and enjoy.

Noah Richler will appear at Paragraphe Books and Breakfast this Sunday, May 13, with Kim Thuy, Taras Grescoe and Jeff Rubin, 10 am at Le Centre Sheraton, 1201 Boul. René-Lévesque West. Tickets are $32 plus tax. Call 514-845-5811.

Check out Noah Richler’s columns for The Rover, The Writing Life, here.

http://youtu.be/5yUi_pMGI6k

Detroit, Michigan, sometimes looks like the surface of the moon. The American dream as envisioned by the US ‘Big Three’ automotive companies (GM, Ford, and Chrysler) back in the 1940-50s gave birth to a vast middle class. They have since done everything in their power, however, to erode it.

Detropia, a 2012 documentary film by Academy award-nominated duo Rachel Gray and Heidi Ewing (Jesus Camp, 12th & Delaware, Boys of Baraka), takes a look at contemporary life in the city of Detroit. From the local café barista-turned-blogger to the artist couple who purchased a loft at a rock-bottom price, new and old Detroiters share their stories in what was once the fastest growing city in the U.S. Today, Detroit is the country’s fastest shrinking city.

Detroit blogger Crystal Starr roams old abandoned buildings in-and-around downtown Detroit, taking photographs and making videos of their stylish design and interior. Inside an old luxury hotel she points out walls ripped to shreds by the city’s newest class of citizens, who gut old buildings and homes of their copper wiring to sell to a scrap metal yard.

If this doesn’t give you a sense of the type of urban decay seen in Detroit, one scene in the film follows a group of unemployed men illegally tearing down the remains of a building left standing. They use their vehicles to pull down the remains of the structure, as shown in Detropia’s trailer.

Down the road from one GM plant still in operation, which now produces hybrid vehicles as a stipulation of the US government financial bail-out package in 2009, an affable blues bar owner recounts the good old days when business was booming and how he hopes GM’s production of the new hybrid Chevrolet Volt will bring life back to this economically-depressed area of the city.

The bar owner actually attends the International Auto Show in Detroit and compares GM’s new hybrids to a Chinese manufactured car, which the GM representative counters as being like “apples and oranges.” The bar owner isn’t convinced and finds that out the Chinese version, backed by American philanthropist-investor Warren Buffet, gets much better mileage than the GM vehicle.

Ironic considering this is exactly how GM once compared itself to Honda.

Detropia is a brief glimpse into the current crisis facing American cities. Manufacturing jobs continue to leave Detroit, despite the highly-touted “Buy American” campaign, due to the city’s urban blight and dwindling population. Filmmakers Ewing and Grady say the film is meant to start a dialogue on the future of cities in America. Detroit needs immediate attention.

Detropia opened at the Bloor Hot Docs Cinema in Toronto, Saturday, May 5.

A comedy about a couple who are married but not to each other and agree to meet every year on the same date at a motel, Same Time Next Year premiered in 1975. It’s a terrific play for summer stock theatre because it has only one set and two actors, but also very dated – just the kind of shmaltzy old time sentimental pap that seems to target the Segal’s silverback audience. I thought that when I heard the pre-show music, and I was right.

The Segal production also has R.H Thompson, who could probably make the phone book palatable, and Michelle Giroux who is a fantastic Doris. The direction was not outstanding and the first act had some of us dreading we would have to sit through every minute of the not spectacularly interesting lives of George, the CPA/piano player, and Doris, the housewife/hip student and entrepreneur.

You know a play has problems when the transitions are terrific yet a number of your fellow audience members choose to snooze through long stretches of act one. The transitions were meant to wake them up; the music and newsreel-like projections and videos were loud and fantastic. The action starts in 1951 then moves to 1956 1961 1965 1970 1975. There is something beyond nostalgia in the projections of the news of the day in those years rolled against the astonishing music of those eras.

Some scenes really did not work. The real-time viewing of photos of offspring brought yawns all around. However, one does marvel at how well R. H. Thompson looks as he plays a much younger man. At one time, Doris asks her paramour whether her hair is too blond, and of course it is brown, but the audience is too sleepy to notice. The costumes were delightful and the set done with great mission style furniture is too.

Which brings me to the obvious question: why does a well-endowed theatre like the Segal bring in a road show from Ontario? Yes Bernard Slade is officially a Canadian playwright, but surely we did not need another “warmity” (a play that is neither comedy nor tragedy, but leaves you feeling warm all over) in May.

Then there are the many Montreal women directors who could have done something daring interesting and well, theatrical. For what it’s worth, the 1978 filmed version of Same Time Next Year can be rented on DVD or Netflix. Unfortunately, both the film and this production maintain the feeling of the many sitcoms for which Mr. Slade is famous.

At the Segal Centre to May 20th: Segalcentre.org / 514 739 7944

Michael Ondaatje’s latest novel, The Cat’s Table, floats in a sea of magic, curiosity and the fantasy of youth. Ondaatje animates life aboard the Oronsay, a six-hundred berth passenger ship en route from Sri Lanka to England in the 1950s. The twenty-one day journey is seen through the eyes of an eleven year-old boy nicknamed Mynah. Terminating with him meeting his mother in England and attending school, Mynah is essentially on his own under the scantest of supervision.

Mynah’s place in the ship’s dining room is with strangers – two children his age, Cassius and Ramadhin, and the remainder adults. ‘“We seem to be at the cat’s table,” the woman called Miss Lasqueti says. “We’re in the least privileged place.”’

Mynah, Cassius and Ramadhin quickly become friends. “By the end of our first day, we discovered we could become curious together.”

Shifts in narrative chronology, from Mynah on the ship to him looking back as a teenager or adult, explore the formative experiences that imprint on him from their 21 days together, “as boys on that journey to England, looking out on a sea that seemed to contain nothing, we used to imagine complex plots and stories for ourselves.”

The novel flirts with the surreal. At one point the children discover a garden, ubiquitous in magical novels, in which “Mr. Daniels was transporting to Europe.”

Driven by their inquisitiveness, “We were learning about adults simply by being in their midst. We felt patterns emerging.” They notice a passenger “might have an interesting reason for their journey, even if it was unspoken or, so far, undiscovered.” They of course try to investigate everyone.

It’s perhaps trivial to note that the vocabulary and phrasing is constantly adjusting to the contents of a scene – it does in all writing. But Ondaatje’s skill for this is exemplary; when the nature of a scene changes the language follows with subtle and seamless referencing which at no point feels contrived. This conjuring and quality of perception gives the novel a superb and engaging intimacy.

The crown of Ondaatje’s imagery, which is too long to quote, comes when, for fun, Ramadhin ties Cassius and Mynah to the deck of the ship during a storm. “The gale hit and pulled the air out of our mouths.” Toward the end of this ordeal as each wave makes a wash that covers them Mynah describes, “There was only noise. We could not tell if we were screaming or only trying to.”

The Cat’s Table contains much more humour that most of Ondaatje’s novels, with some subtle observations. “An outdoor concert was given one night on the Promenade Deck, with the sound of the sea filling our ears. It was classical music, something Cassius, Ramadhin, and I had never heard about, and because the three of us had grabbed seats in the front row, we were not able to get up and leave, unless we pretended to be overcome by illness. I was not really listening, trying instead to invent a dramatic walk away from my seat while clutching my stomach.”

In contrast to the diligently-researched history and politics of his previous novels, The Cat’s Table is a lighter introduction to the imagination of Ondaatje. It has a simpler foundation that keeps it free and dreamlike – like the mind of a child. Ondaatje tells a seductive and captivating story which reveals itself with his characteristic effortless and dexterous rapid scene transitions. The Cat’s Table is a story of youth, curiosity and being in awe of the world. Mynah notes at one port of call in Aden, “The professions along this promontory belonged to the sea, and the merchants whose laughter and bartering surrounded us were the owners of the world.”

Martyn Bryant is a writer based in Montreal. (martynbryant.wordpress.com)

Horse Feathers frontman Justin Ringle spoke to Rover over the phone from his front porch in Portland, Oregon where he was “trying to soak in the last bit of home” before heading out on tour for the indie-folk five-piece’s latest album, Cynic’s New Year, which the band brought to Montreal this past week.

What got you into music?

I grew up in Idaho, which wasn’t necessarily a thriving cultural center, so I guess in a lot of ways it was to pass the time.

Back in Idaho, you were more into playing in indie rock bands. Why did you make the make the change to acoustic?

I played in rock band after rock band since I was, like, 15, and then when I was in my early 20s, I grew tired of how loud it all was and I got more interested in where the song was in that whole mess of stuff. I’d moved to Portland and pretty much had an acoustic guitar, an apartment and a lot of time.

The new album is titled Cynic’s New Year. Can you tell us about the title?

I felt like the whole last year was kind of a little bit rough and tumble – it had pretty big ups and downs… I kind of looked at it as being a cautionary tale. A “cynic’s new year” is pretty much where every day is no different from the last one.

How are the songs written? Do you come up with an idea and then work with the rest of the band?

I’m usually going for a specific idea or vision of how the ultimate sound is going to sound with everybody else, but I always like to give enough room for individual voices in terms of instrumentation [in order] to have space to complete it. I’m a songwriter, on one hand, and the other hand a band leader/producer.

Loneliness, alienation and the pressures of day-to-day life are often present in your songs. Why do you choose to write about those subjects?

It ends up kind of being like an exorcism. I’d rather express myself musically about the things that bother me and have something good come from it then live with those problems all the time.

The single Foot against the Country is about a workingman’s sorrow. Where did the inspiration for those lyrics come from?

[Sighs] You’re gonna do that to me… I come from a supremely middle-class town, my dad worked in a paper mill and my mom’s a nurse, and whenever I go back home it’s so evident the type of strife that’s happening right now.

What distinguishes the album for you? How is Cynic different from your previous albums?

Music has always been tied to my life, and I can see each one of those [albums] as the progression of growing up. The biggest distinction I’d see with the newest record is how I feel like I’m all grown up now… all the other ones were like getting to the place I’m in
now.

For more info about Horse Feathers, and to listen to or purchase Cynic’s New Year, please visit http://www.killrockstars.com/artists/horse-feathers

When I first came to Montreal, I was impressed with its charm and beauty. Our neighbourhood was replete with immigrants of all kinds – Italians, Greeks, Portuguese, Asian as well as Orthodox Jews and Hasidim. It was a beautiful place to raise a family. People were friendly and kind. My husband’s parents came to Montreal with the first wave of immigrants after the war, over 65 years ago. We recognized the city as being a malchus shel chesed, which translates from Hebrew to “A government of kindness.”  The laws were fair, people were receptive, and we could raise our family within the traditions that our parents were able to salvage after those bitter war years.

While Montreal evolved with its waves of immigrants into a cosmopolitan centre, there followed tremendous transformation within the Quebec social framework. My husband remembers how on Sundays the streets of Outremont were flooded with families in their Sunday best on their way to church services. The dress codes were more stringent and parallels between our communities were easier to make. We shared mutual respect based on common religious understanding. Later, as more and more taboos melted away, the fabric of society diversified.

Today, the Plateau and Outremont have become an enclave for arts and culture. The edifices remain, monuments to where the masses used to flock. But now technology is the forum in which people connect. Unfortunately, however, it is all too often knotted with tangled threads, leaving us alone to navigate through it. In the name of “openness,” people are now able to use the Internet and media to vomit their angst, prejudices, and uninformed conclusions. They point their fingers, accuse and blame, or just vent. It is very difficult at such times to maintain an intellectual equilibrium while rummaging through the garbage of venom. Yet I still believe that the best in humanity prevails.

The most fundamental need of a person is to share their lives with other people. Every society is privy to the best and the worst of people. Every person, regardless of persuasion, colour, race or creed has the capacity for the best and for the worst within themselves. The deciding variable is the ego. When we measure each other against the backdrop of our egos, our experiences, prejudices, and limited knowledge, the result is often misconstrued conclusions.

I was not privy to the various articles on the websites and in the media recently. I choose not to read the comments and websites that attack those things that I hold dear, though I have heard second-hand about them. I prefer not to be drawn into belligerent argumentation. I choose to believe in the best in people, and avoid the gut stewing that leads to nowhere. What I write now is purely my own opinion. I do not profess to represent any common Hassidic viewpoint. (I do not dare. When twenty Hasidim get together there are at least forty opinions.)

But I want to express my thanks and appreciation to those of you who look deeper and can think outside the box. I thank those of you who look at the situation with understanding. Many of you have Hasidic neighbours, for example, who have large families. Kids make a lot of noise and often a mess, and we may have encroached upon your peace and quiet. But I can attest on behalf of the Hasidim, that if and when our Outremont neighbours suffer inconvenience when we perform traditional ceremonies, or from any aspect of our lifestyles, it is certainly with no malice intended. The negativity that has built up is from grievances that have not been properly addressed.

As I said, every person has the potential for the best and for the worst, Hasidim included. I understand and respect that our neighbours have needs, and we would like to accommodate your needs, hopefully within a framework of positive understanding and mutual discussion, void of ugly back and forth. And I appreciate your attempts at dialogue so that you can understand our needs.

I would like to address the fact that Hasidim appear to be closed and uncommunicative. It may give the impression that we isolate ourselves from society because we are elitist. As a community, even amongst ourselves, we are extremely discreet about our personal lives, and it is considered honourable to be so. What goes on in our families, in our homes, is very private. Home is our haven, our friendly territory where we feel the safest. That is why it is extremely uncomfortable to be put under a microscope and read about what kind of people we purportedly are by lopsided journalists. In the interest of juicing up a story they make priorities out of insignificancies and play down what is important. If the implications would not be so sad, it would be laughable.

A few years ago, the door to my basement was spray painted with swastikas and derogatory messages about Jews. To say I was unimpressed is an understatement. I did not take it personally, nor did I attribute this scrawl to “kids being kids.” I took it in stride, as a fact of life but not necessarily a reflection of the environment in which I live. However, I did repaint the door. Sure enough a week later — I guess the guy or gal had plenty of paint — the messages were back in full glory, new and improved. The least vindictive among them was the dollar sign with a message indicating that Jews have money. This time I did not bother to paint it over.

“May this message go to G-d’s ear,” I thought as I read it out loud. “I could use some dollars right now.” I ignored the tainted door and tried to view the black graffiti against the grey as a Picasso. After all, Picasso also drew crooked.

Some weeks later, a stranger rang my bell. She told me she represented an organization committed to doing good (I wish I could remember the name of the organization). She asked if she could paint over my door. One of the things she and her friends were doing was going around painting over hate slurs. She was neither Hasidic nor Jewish. The graffiti and its mean message bothered her more than it bothered me. This was very refreshing. If she reads this I hope she can leave a message so I can thank her again.

Yes, we need some constructive talking between ourselves because there are issues that must be resolved. I trust that both the Hasidim and our good Outremont and Mile End neighbours will approach this discussion not with finger pointing but with openness. I hope we can really listen to each other and put our egos aside, helping us come to decisions with mutual give and take where possible and where necessary. I believe we can enhance our communities and confirm what I truly believe, that in my beloved neighbourhood of Outremont-Mile End, the best of mankind prevails.

Malka Zipora is the author of Rather Laugh Than Cry (Véhicule Press). The name is a pseudonym.

The Friends of Hutchison, the very first community group comprised of Hasidim and non-Hasidim members, are hosting a friendly community meeting:

Sunday, May 6th at the Mile End Library (5434 ave du Parc), 1pm to 4pm. All are invited.

For more information go to the Facebook page or email ruehutchison@hotmail.com.

Multi-instrumentalist, musical prodigy, guitarist for Canadian indie rock band The Dears and fellow Montrealer Patrick Krief took some to discuss his latest solo venture, Hundred Thousand Pieces, with The Rover on the eve of its release, April 17.

Your album was released today. How were the months leading up to this day?

Pretty chaotic, but it’s good to be busy… Now we wait and see. It doesn’t belong to me anymore.

You did most of the work on the album yourself, including the production. Has it been more stressful to make something so personal for the public to judge than it was with a band?

It’s one of those things that’s more rewarding when it works and it’s a lot more work involved… This is a direct line of communication between me and the listener.

Is there an underlying theme on the album?

There’s a lot of catching on to reality in the music – the whole idea of fitting in when you get to a certain age and isolation.

What’s going on with you and The Dears?

We’re trailing off the end of a mountain now. We’re starting to discuss the possibility of making another record or touring again.

Did you learn anything while you were in a band with them?

Yeah, I learned a lot about arrangements and how to tour properly. A lot of trial and error that we went through on tour has come in handy for me. It’s been an endless amount of lessons.

Do you have a personal favourite track on the album?

They’re moving around on me all the time… I love all the songs, they’re really personal so they all bring something else out of me. It’s really the album that I’ve been able to tolerate the most, which is amazing because sometimes I can’t even listen to my own records.

So this one you’re really proud of. There’s nothing you would change if you could?

[Pauses] No. I would not change a single thing… It’s totally weird, I’ve never had that before.

As a multi-instrumentalist, which instrument did you begin with?

Guitar. I had a fascination with it because my uncle was a guitar player. I started fooling around when I was two or three, but not in a serious way until I was ten and I got my own guitar.

When you did you start to write your own songs?

As soon as I was strumming a guitar, I was trying to come up with my own shit… The idea of getting lessons was completely out of the question and so I wasn’t being taught anything, I was just doing my own thing. The motivation was to write songs, not play other people’s music.

Did you always want to be a musician?

In my 20s I started coming up with alternate realities because I thought it would be more realistic, but I realized that my only reality is that I’m a musician. Anything else would just make me miserable.

What’s your favourite thing about living in Montreal?

I appreciate the standard of living. I think it’s pretty good bang for your buck here… There’s definitely something going on in the city in terms of energy.

Nearly four hundred eager spectators gathered on April 30^th for the second screening of The Flood (Mabul), acclaimed picture by director Guy Nattiv, part of Israel Film Festival’s 8^th consecutive year. The film—about a family leading parallel lives where 13 year old Yoni struggles with his lack of growth, his autistic brother’s presence, and being bullied at school—was emotional for many.

After the screening, the director, whose award record is as extensive as a grocery list, came to the front. In a low voice he said, “I hope you enjoyed it.” The response was an enthusiastic and loud clapping. The picturesque production filmed in Israel’s northern HaBonim region inspired the viewers to engage in a spirited discussion. Nattiv charmed us all during the twenty minute we had before the AMC closed and he was spirited away. He flew out the next morning for Tel Aviv, but fortunately an accommodating publicist arranged for the following interview.

Tell me what inspires and motivates you?

As a director, I love telling stories particularly those that I feel connected to and touch me. Music is a big inspiration as well, I love music with soul—classical, Israeli, old music—but with a deeper meaning, a music that tells a story. I am very emotional; therefore what inspires and motivates me is closely linked to how I emotionally I react to it.

Your film Strangers (2007) is about an Israeli man who coincidently meets a Palestinian girl in Berlin during the soccer world cup finals. They are drawn into a 3-day affair — until Rana abruptly leaves for Paris because Israel invaded Lebanon. The film is a kind of Middle Eastern Romeo & Juliet in Germany. What inspired that film?

It almost happened by accident. We took two great actors, a camera and filmed for several days hoping the characters would fall in love in real life. With hardly any scripts, it was practically all improvised. The actors ended up falling in love and the movie saw its day. I strongly believe in the power of improvisation. The Flood (Mabul in Hebrew) was 20% improvised too.

I felt very emotionally engaged by The Flood. What do you want to transmit to your viewers?

The movie portrays the story of a family. Autism is not the central theme. I wanted to get away from Rain Man, not turn it into a cliché. I researched autism thoroughly for almost a year having direct observation sessions. I wanted Tomer’s character to be as believable as possible.

The two main messages are the importance of communication at every level –within the family in this case—and also the significance of accepting those who are different.

What is the connection between the title The Flood and the meaning of the film.

In the film, we see Yoni rehearsing his part for Bar Mitzvah, which happens to be the account on Noah and the flood. But the deeper analogy lies in the fact that Tomer who in his autistic condition is paralleled to the ‘righteous’ man who ironically does not communicate but who’s arrival draws the family closer together forcing them to regain the lost communication bond.

The lack of physical growth in boys as Bar Mitzvah approaches, along with the pressures related to that event, feel to me like a recurrent topic in Israeli films. It made me think of Nir Bergman’s Intimate Grammar. Tell me about the dilemmas of Israeli boys and their Bar Mitzvahs.

Well, although it may seem a Jewish particularity, Bar Mitzvah represents for boys the transition of growing up, which in fact is universal. The awkwardness, the body’s physical changes, instances of bullying are what most young ones anywhere in the world can relate to. In Israel the two occurrences that have a deep impact on young boys are Bar Mitzvah (at age 13) and entry into the army (at age 18).

How much of Yoni’s character is taken from personal experience?

Quite a lot. I was Yoni growing up. It was rough for me, my voice was not changing, I wasn’t getting taller, and I was bullied in school. I even tried screaming my lungs out like Yoni and drank body building shakes hoping it will get me growing faster. I wanted to show my truth but at the same time present it in a way that others can relate to.

What is your greatest satisfaction related to The Flood?

Seeing people leave the theater in tears, I feel I’ve succeeded in moving the audiences. It’s rewarding to have made a movie I would want to see many years later and even leave as a legacy to my children.

What were the challenges connected to this film?

My main concern was to find a suitable child actor for Yoni’s character that could perform naturally. Another fear was not to fall into a cliché with the autistic character, to make it as credible as possible.

Tell me about an achievement that particularly fills you with pride. Which award has a special meaning to you and why?

I’m so proud that my voice finally changed and I turned into a man! I think I possess the capacity to make my vision happen, I have the drive and leadership to accomplish what I envision. I am particularly proud of winning the Crystal Bear for Best Short Film, as well as winner of the Special Mention for The Flood at the Berlin International Film Festival. I personally like the Berlin International Film Festival and Sundance Film Festival, they both are great festivals.

Tell me about your future production, Son of God.

It’s a road movie, like a sideways story. A 78-year-old father and son—Chasidic rapper—travel together to Poland. Many things take place on their journey, teaching them lessons and testing the solidity of their relationship. My grandfather is a holocaust survivor so I wanted to honour his story. A very touching moment was when, on my grandfather’s wish, my whole family and I travelled back to Poland. He stood there with his children and grandchildren and said, “This is my revenge, they are my revenge.” It was a deeply emotional moment for us.

What do you think of Montreal?

It is my favorite city, feels to me like a mixture of Paris and New York. It is my seventh time here. Montreal is culturally rich and full of beautiful people.

For more information on Guy Nattiv’s films and awards visit www.guynattiv.net. If you missed The Flood screenings during the Israel Film Festival, the film will be shown as part of the AMC Forum’s upcoming regular program starting from May 4^th. Details on: www.cinemaclock.com/movies/que/Montreal/48430/The_Flood.html.

Style triumphs over substance in The Heretics of Bohemia, the newest play from Scapegoat Carnivale Productions. A zany extravaganza involving a cast of thousands (many of them are puppets), Heretics overflows with shtick, witty banter and delightful theatricality. But its narrative is far too weak to support even its brief seventy-five minute running time. One can easily sit back and enjoy the ride – just don’t expect to understand what any of it was about when you’re done.

The play, written by Joseph Schragge, opens in the mythical land of Bohemia, a place where puppet and human live side by side. The tyranny of the human King (Michel Perron) has put the land into disarray and his various subjects have fled to the woods to stage a rebellion. Others soon follow including humans Equine and Pillet (Andreas Apergis and Felicia Schulman), puppets Arlo and Pierrick (Dan Jeannotte and Morgan Nerenberg) and, in a clever twist, the King himself – after seeing a vision of his own execution, he promptly exiles himself.

Julie Boubonnais’ set is playful and the tone of the night is continually underscored by the lively music from John Dodge and David Oppenheim  Director Alison Darcy keeps things moving at lighting speed and the cast is a Who’s Who of Montreal’s finest. The ensemble, some of whom had little experience in puppetry when they joined the cast, are clearly having the time of their lives and their enthusiasm is so infectious that it’s tempting to forget (or forgive) that the script itself doesn’t really make a lot of sense.

There are shades of Shakespeare in this convoluted story – the Tempest, As You Like It, Midsummer Night’s Dream, take your pick – but the disparate storylines never really add up to much. The King is the closest thing we ever get to a central character for no one else is on stage long enough to earn our sympathies; he’s also the only one whose motivations are clearly known. Many scenes fly by with little purpose. Equine and Pillet fall in love with a non-credible speed that would make even a musical comedy writer blush and it’s late in the day when the plot finally kicks in – something about a ritual and a faceless thing called a Pfingstl.

But you may not care about any of this. The production is a visual gem, beginning with the glorious hand-crafted puppets designed by Zach Fraser. These aren’t muppets or marionettes: many of the inventive puppets are integrated into the puppeteers themselves. Arlo, for instance, has Dan Jeannotte’s legs; the wild King of Moravia (Paul Van Dyck) has a puppet body and a human head. There’s a glorious theatricality to this and allows the production to marry the fantasy of the puppet world with the physicality and creativity of the actor.

For some reason, none of the actors are in a puppeteer’s usual black attire, which at times threatens to distract us from the puppets. When more traditional puppets were used, no attempt was made to hide the puppeteer’s presence. This caused a few problems: Dan Jeannotte, of Uncalled For fame, is such a wildly expressive performer that when he played the maniacal wizard Grimoire, he himself instantly became the most interesting thing on stage.

My companion enjoyed the ride immensely and I overheard a young man of twelve tell his mother that “this was the best thing” he had ever seen. The show definitely has its own quirky appeal and is stuffed so full of enthusiasm and talent that it’s worth checking out; whatever you think of the script, Heretics of Bohemia remains one of the most creative theatrical experiences you’ll probably get all year.

The Heretics of Bohemia by Joseph Schragge runs at the Segal Centre’s Studio Space until May 19^th. For tickets visit www.segalcentre.org or call 514.739.7944.

PHOTO: Tristan Brand

Pinocchio is one of my favourite stories and, according to my Italian speaking friend, it is a verb in that country which means you are fibbing and comes with an equally adorable gesture which starts at the nose and then moves away from the face.

The story is about an elderly wood carver who receives a magic piece of wood from his pal and carves this into the mischievous trouble-seeking little puppet. Dean Patrick Fleming is a veteran director who really does know how to create magic onstage and his kabuki-like shark interiors and terrific timing show a rare and well developed skill.

The script was not only enchanting for children, who whooped and yelled as the hero made one bad decision after another, but there were enough adult lines like ”You really can make money in the theatre,” to keep the grown up audience in stitches.

Mellie Ng was a fabulous Pinocchio and played him with a magical consistency. Alain Goulem was really delightful and heartbreakingly poignant in his portrayal of Giuseppe. His other personae were delivered with great energy and panache. Amanda Kellok was delightful addition to the cast and her “cat” was a perfect balance of whining and obstinacy. Antoine Yared delighted as the fox and managed a moment of sheer magic with his mini puppet show.

The itty bitty puppets were a bit tawdry and not well manipulated and although they were just used as segues in the narrative they were not up to the rest of the production. In terms of the narrative, the final appearance of the fox, brilliantly embodied by Antoine Yared, was bit unclear, and that loose end never really got tied up. I also thought that the puppet troupe and their interaction with the hero were terrific, and merited a bigger space in the story.

Ana Cappelluto delivered a really simple and lovely set, and it worked like a giant puzzle to serve the multiple locations and scenes. The lighting by Michel Charbonneau was equally up to the challenge. Cathia Pagotto costumes were clever and gave the animals a punk-like appearance which suited and amused. The issue of the burnt feet and the final reveal were also well designed.

Harry Standjofski’s script was a terrific adaptation of a great story and, as one  has come to expect, Geordie has another hit.

SAT MAY 5 @ 1pm & 3pm / SUN MAY 6 @ 1pm & 3pm

Centaur Theatre. (514) 845-9810 / 453 Saint-François-Xavier Rue  Montreal.

I first read Alice Petersen when my friend, author Alice Zorn, sent me one of her stories in the mail, torn out of a literary magazine. I went online to find more of Petersen’s work because I loved the way her writing cuts with precision across dangerous emotional territory. I loved her subversive humour and sensuality of character and imagery. Now Petersen’s first collection, All the Voices Cry (Biblioasis) is set to launch this month in Montreal. Quill & Quire has already called it “a beautiful tribute to human fragility and the inevitability of change.” Authors David Bezmozgis and Mark Anthony Jarman have called it impressive, compelling and wise. I had the honour of asking Alice Petersen to share with Rover a little about the underground streams that nourish her work. Here are my questions and her responses:

Can you talk about the subversive thoughts going on in your characters’ minds while they appear to go about their daily lives?

Usually in the stories with a third person narrative, there’s more than one thought voice commenting on the events – it’s a kind of parallel inner rumbling or chirping, depending on the mood of the character.  A bit like the old good angel, bad angel figures in a comic. I tend to use a third person voices that lie very close to the thoughts of the main character.  You know, the critical and the more supportive or imaginative voices of the self.  The voice that tells you when you are being ludicrous, or that a certain pair of pants makes you look like the back of a bus, but the kind of voice that is so subjectively inflected that, if the reader looks at the facts, it’s not necessarily true.  For example, in “Neither Up Nor Down”, a third person voice says, “he was an irritating know-it-all, and she, she was a pudding.” But she’s not a pudding.  The next voice tells us so.  And by her actions we can tell that she’s not a pudding, she does something, she leaves him, whereas a pudding would wobble and stay put.  And Charles is not all bad, he’s just over-exuberant and excited and Penelope just can’t be bothered any more.

These inner voices can also move the character along in a positive way, depending on the nature of the character. The young woman in “Where the Corpse Weed Grows” has third person voices that indulge her fantasies, because that’s her coping mechanism, to make a game or a play out of things.  Her mother, a difficult woman, is dying.  So the actress is trying to do something about it with this rather ineffectual search for the ingredients of a herbal remedy, and the play-acting helps her get through, because she not only has her own imagination, she has the voices of fairy tales and plays to help.

The inner life of some of your characters feels to me like their sanctuary, to which they long to flee. Robyn, in The Frog, feels this: “Soon she would have to stand up and make herself visible once more. She did not want to, but she would.” Can you elaborate on the presence in your work of this longing to stay camouflaged, to be at home in oneself instead of feeling exposed?

Perhaps this is an aspect of young middle age, but my characters in a certain age range have either found their comfort zone, or their necessary sphere of operation, and they are put to the test when they are invited to leave it.  I like the way that nature tests this kind of ingrained comfort zone– that kind of what do I do without a plug for my hairdryer kind of test.

In The Frog, Robyn finally finds herself alone beside a river in a national park. You know mothers, they are never alone, they are so often out following their children, either physically or mentally.  And for once, her son has gone off with his aunt and Robyn is unplugged and alone with what she really feels.  And she goes with it in a very physical way, she wallows about in it, she feels like she’s on the run, crashing about over the logs and stumbling through the water.  And she finds that she likes it. She doesn’t particularly want to go back to her life, but she has to—innately she feels that you can’t just sign off on children like that—but now she has been reminded what it is to be without children, and perhaps it’s the beginning of something else.

By contrast, Professor Pilchard goes up to the country with some vague idealistic sense that romance is to be found there, and in the end he just wants to be back in his office or in the library. He has his coping mechanisms, but they don’t operate very well in the country, and when it comes down to it, he is afraid, only, in this instance, he can’t get away.

There is a sensuality of place and detail throughout: “The water flowing beside Robyn made a hollow gollop as it fell from a pitcher-shaped scoop of stone.” The seams in rock, the names of natural objects, details of light and colour and form… How do you feel about the idea that these stories treat words as if they were thread or clay or paint?

I do love writing about nature, but I have to suppress the urge to do it for the sake of it. I try to make my choice of natural forms relevant to what the character is thinking, so that a character in a heightened state of awareness will fix on one detail that seems to speak to her situation.

That particular detail, the gollop of sound, was a sound that I heard, from water passing over a river-worn rock. It reminded me of a radio interview with a member of a First Nations group who could hear the voices of ancestors in the movement of the river water, and how those sounds were to be drowned out by construction of a hydro dam and the flooding of the valley. I like the idea of nature speaking, if we only knew how to listen. Robyn infuses that hollow gollop with the mild sense of dread that she feels about the woman reported missing in the forest.  Another character might hear it differently, or not hear it at all. My characters are very self-centered in that way.

My favourite thing is when other writers hear the same noise and interpret it differently.  Bea in “Vandals in Sandals” hears the clatter of the poplar leaves as being brittle, like rice wafers, because she feels brittle and over stressed. After I had written this story I came across a Mavis Gallant story that used the exact same sound of the poplar leaves but the character heard it as tiny party castanets. Isn’t that great?  Like little clappers, because the character was in a positive mood. Maybe it was also earlier in the season so the leaf sound was different.

The subversive humour feels pressurized, as if a valve becomes released only when the reader enters the picture – what is your view of this and how do you think of your reader when you are writing.

I am glad that you think the stories have a funny side. To tell you the truth, I am so much thinking about the character that I don’t think about the reader at the time I am writing. I am just trying to be truthful to the character in the given situation. Thinking about the reader comes much later, when I am doing a bit more by way of shaping or setting up echoes to direct the reader towards a certain emotional vista. If there is humour, it just kind of pops up.

The Montreal launch of All the Voices Cry takes place in the auditorium of The Atwater Library, Monday May 7^th from 7:30-9:30pm. Admission is free and all are welcome.

What’s most striking at first glance about neo-expressionist painter Manuel Mathieu’s exhibition of paintings, “PRÉMICES/OPEN ENDED”, is not the work itself, but the curatorial decision to paint one of the gallery walls a brilliant yellow. Perhaps it’s unfair to suppose that everyone will be impressed by this. I noticed it because it is the same yellow as my bedroom wall, with which I have a fairly unhappy relationship.

“Yellow is a colour, for all its dramatic unalterability, with a thousand meanings”, writes Alexander Theroux in The Primary Colours. “It is the colour of cowardice, third prize, the caution flag on the auto speedways…Easter is yellow. So is spring.” In my case, it is a colour that yells at the fitful sleeper.

Yet as a framing mechanism the precise illumination of one gallery wall, it grabs attention. Its disruption of the white cube is a reminder of the influential power of colour—a muscle Mathieu wields to success in his canvasses—and of the relationship that can be forged between artwork and gallery space.

In this show narratives are not told by recognizable images. The canvases on display present “quasi-figuarative specters,” fragmented heads that recall those of Jean-Michel Basquiat— “le James Dean de l’art contemporain” (Emmanuel Gallad, curator). Basquiat most definitely influences Mathieu’s work, but it would be unfair to linger long on the connection. “C’est normal par contre pour un jeune artiste d’être fasciné par le parcours fulgurant, le mythe ,” says show curator Emmanuel Galland.

Mathieu is Haitian born, having immigrated to Canada to earn a BA in Visual & Media Arts from UQAM. Gallad describes him as an ambitious person, involved in his student community and thirsty to learn. It is explained on Mathieu’s website that his art making began at “an early age [when] mirroring “Bad Art” painting, Manuel began transforming his childhood bedroom into a “Sistine Chapel” of graffiti” (to see images of Mathieu’s childhood bedroom in Haiti click: ROOM).

He claims his colour application is spontaneous and motivated by “the proximity of the tubes of paint.” If this is true then he has a habit of leaving the tubes of blue and aqua-green nearby. It would appear to me that Mathieu is not disinterested in colour choice, but is captured by the states of mind that colours engender. Aqua green is the hue of longing, especially for those dreaming of warm waters. Blue is a void, an infinite space or an open-question.

One particularly striking piece from the show is “Modern Landscape,” a painting that presents a post-apocalyptic vision of the future. T.S Eliot’s Wasteland springs to mind: What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow/ Out of stony rubbish?[…]A heap of broken images, where the sun beats.”

Mathieu’s canvasses ask questions (some OPEN-ENDED, as per the English title of the show). What do these fragmented figures have to say? Are they screaming, or smiling? And as the French title of the show, PRÉMICES, suggests, this work marks one beginning, hopefully among many, in the trajectory of an artistic career propelled by existentialist inquiry.

PRÉMICES/OPEN-ENDED at MAI (Montreal, arts interculturels) until May 5^th. www.m-a-i.qc.ca. www.manuelmathieu.com.

There is still time to get your toes tapping, arms swinging, or body bouncing as part of the first annual Québec Danse festival. Studios all over Montreal and 10 other cities in the province have opened their doors since Monday for free classes in everything from contemporary dance and street jazz, to bharata natyam and Afro-Brazilian.Performances, exhibits, open rehearsals, and traditional dance nights are also included in the lineup, but some of the most memorable events happened outside of the theatre or studio.  Dancers from Les Grands Ballets Canadiens de Montréal performed a flashmob inspired by The Little Prince at Metro Square-Victoria.  Écoute pour voir brought audience members and dancers into extremely close contact via an iPod and two sets of headphones at the Grande Bibliothèque and the Hôpital Saint-Luc.  And Nico Archambault, one of the festivals dance ambassadors (and winner of the first season of So You Think You Can Dance Canada) challenged students at schools around Québec to create their own flashmobs based on the first few steps he gave them in this video.

If you haven’t ventured onto a dance floor yet, what better reason than the celebration of International Dance Day on Sunday, April 29.  The festival is closing with a lineup of inter-generational dance events at Place des Arts including Le Bal des Bébés, a modern ball for parents and children and a repeat of Margie Gillis’ performance On Fairness.

Open rehearsal of Corps. Relations – Maria Kefirova

This past Thursday Thursday, at the Outremont studio of Pigeons International, choreographer and performer Maria Kefirova rehearsed her short piece Corps. Relations.

Created for the festival Bancs d’Essai Internationaux 2012, the piece is a duo between Maria’s real body and her virtual head flickering away on a television between her.  It explores the effects of time, energy, balance, touch, sound and other stimuli on the body.  As it says on website, the piece investigates “the logical representation of reality and the immediate embodiment of impulses,” but by observing and taking part in the rehearsal process, it becomes obvious how little these concepts really matter while making a performance work.

Florence Figols, a Montréal-based choreographer and teacher presided over the rehearsal as an outside eye.  She focused not only on the what, the concept that Kefirova is trying to communicate, but the how: how the dance interacted with the audience.  For this piece, keeping the dance engaging meant constantly focusing on the relationship between the audience, television Maria, and Maria the dancer.  “Créer une écologie,” said Figols in one of many attempts to articulate the relationship between the three actors.

At the generosity of both Kefirova and Figols, the public audience was very much a part of this discussion.  Unfortunately, only myself and two others took the opportunity to witness this creative process, but it was a unique experience. To have to articulate one’s experience as an audience member directly to the artist is both terrifying and flattering.

For myself, so many of my initial reactions were entirely kinaesthetic.  When Kefirova dunks her head in a bowl of water, I feel myself stop breathing.  For a piece that focuses on bodily impulses, this was welcome feedback.  How it will play out in the final product?  I’ll have to wait and see.

Corp. Relations will be presented with other works from Bancs d’Essai Internationaux 2012 at the Monument National from May 10^th-12^th.  514.871.9883.

On Fairness in Financial Markets – a dance and dialogue with Margie Gillis and Dr. Janis Sarra

Fairness in Financial Markets is part of a larger project by Dr. Janis Sarra that strives to create broader public policy discussions about governance and regulatory mechanisms of financial institutions.  Dr. Sarra works with Margie Gillis to explore the importance of fairness – “a dance between ourselves and the powerful institutions that can support us or harm us.”

Gillis utilizes the body as a tool for conflict resolution.  She has delivered workshops to policymakers, lawyers, and members of every intellectual field on using the experiential wisdom of the body to explore intellectual problems.  In the post-performance discussion, Gillis and Sara talk about the ability of dance (once they eventually convince intellectuals to start moving) to get rid of language-based, disciplinary barriers, and clarify problems by putting them into the abstract.

This work began with an original composition by Dr. Alfredo Santa Ana for violin, cello, and flute.  Inspired by the concept of fairness, it follows an un-fixed script to emphasize the role of both listener and performer in the unfolding piece.

Margie Gillis’ choreography built around three chairs and a tiny wooden chair named “Little Voice,” integrates Sarra’s critiques of unfairness in financial markets, with the corporeal response to moments of fairness and unfairness.  The result is a breathtaking picture of how art can be used to make sense of intellectual problems.  The question is whether society and policy makers will allow it to present answers.

Fairness in Financial Markets: a dance and dialogue will be presented again on Sunday, April 29, at 3:15pm as part of the International Dance Day celebrations. Espace culturel Georges-Émile-Lapalm, Place des Arts. 175 Sainte-Catherine St. W.

The Montreal Israel Film Festival is back for its 8^th installment and boasts yet another impressive collection of films.  This year’s edition, which runs from April 29^th to May 7^th, covers a diverse array of genres and styles.  According to festival organizer Eran Bester, “There is no better place to see these cinematic offerings than at the Montreal Israel Film Festival.”  Given what I’ve seen from the festival thus far, I’m inclined to believe him.

The obvious centerpiece of this year’s festival is Guy Nattiv’s 2011 film The Flood.  Winner of the Generation Kplus award for Best Feature Film at the Berlin International Film Festival, The Flood tells the story of young Yoni, a diminutive 12-year-old who struggles with bullies, his Bar Mitzvah prayers and the disintegration of his parents’ marriage.  One day he comes home to find his autistic 17-year-old brother has returned from the institution where he’d been staying for the last ten years.  The picture is a stunning coming-of-age story set against a beautiful rural landscape, with a script that manages to be touching without ever being heavy-handed; a rarity with films of this nature.  Both screenings of The Flood will be accompanied by a discussion with Guy Nattiv himself.

Another brilliant selection in this year’s festival is Yossi Madmoni’s Restoration. This brilliantly directed film is a tale of family and old age, as we see an elderly antique furniture restorer try to come to terms with the death of his business partner and close friend, as well as his strained relationship with his son. Upon learning that he may have an antique Steinway in his shop, he and his apprentice set out to restore it, resulting in a complex and telling relationship between the two.  The film is superb in almost every aspect, especially with regards to the quality of the performances.  Madmoni’s style and shot composition puts most directors on this side of the globe to shame.  Restoration has won countless awards and was an official selection at the Toronto and Sundance Film Festivals, and with good reason.  The film is a treat and is not to be missed.

Melting Away is another film of note, as it tackles the complex relationships between transgendered children and their often estranged parents.  According to the Festival’s official website, it is the first film in the history of Israeli cinema to deal with such a topic.  Inspired by an event which rocked the Israeli LGBT community, Melting Away finds a young transgendered man returning to face his ailing father, years after he’d been cast out from the family home for having hid women’s clothing in his room.  The score is somewhat overbearing and frankly a little corny, while the dialogue often suffers at the hands of the film’s didactic nature.  Still, it remains an interesting and relevant film and shouldn’t be missed by anyone with any interest in issues of LGBT rights around the world.

This is just a small peak at the festivals diverse offerings.  Other films worth checking out are Mrs. Moskowitz and the Cats, a story about love in old age, and the Academy Award nominated Footnote.  The festival will also be the site of two Canadian premiere screenings, Obsession and My Australia, as well as the Montreal premiere of My Lovely Sister.

Overall, the variety offered up by this year’s program shows that Israel has a national film identity not too dissimilar from our own, yet distinct in its own way.  Anyone with the slightest interest in international cinema would be missing out if they didn’t give some of these great films a glance.

Tickets are FREE for students and general admission is $14.  To purchase, visit www.israelfilmfestival.ca or call 514-937-2332.  Screenings to be held at the AMC Forum 22 and Mega-PlexSphèretech 14.

Who is not fascinated by manners?  Our survival in groups is based on our ability to decode our environment whether it is a boardroom, a children’s playgroup, a drop-in centre, or a Concordia activist meeting. Why is it that Montrealers line up for the bus, for example, whereas in Mexico City a line is an invitation to budge and nudge? Why are suburbanites so loud while apartment dwellers speak in hushed tones?

The subject matter of Would It Kill You to Stop Doing That? is interesting, promising some intellectual candy and a philosophical romp through the world of manners. And all of this by a Vanity Fair-featured writer acclaimed by the New York Times Book Review as having “humour that demands to be savoured on the printed page.”

Even the wrapping is beautiful: a mint green vintage cover with a catchy title. The publisher, 12, a New York City imprint of Hachette, says it prints no more than 12 books per year to ensure that only quality, enlightening books make the cut.

But while Would It Kill You To Stop Doing That? has some clever ideas, like interviewing a convict who describes the rigid codes of manners inside a prison, or the conversation with Ms. Manners herself, who recalls that it was black slaves who were in charge of teaching manners to Southern society, the book does not live up to its expectations. Rather than explore the topic and the lives of other people, the author prefers to talk about himself.  Which would be fine, if he were interesting. But he is not. He is actually quite neurotic.

For example, Alford finds it extremely rude that people in a social gathering will say to a writer, “I think I just read something you wrote” and not be able to identify the piece. Apparently, this shows that what the person read didn’t make an impact on them. Now, dearest reader, if I meet you in a social setting and you remember me but not this fine article, I wouldn’t be offended. Some authors should realize that the world does not revolve around them.

Another Alford rule stipulates that it is rude to meet someone in a profession and ask them about someone else in the same profession. Apparently, it is rude to post pictures of your babies on Facebook because it hurts those who have had miscarriages or are infertile. And he cautions that it is important before going to a social engagement to rehearse or even prepare witty and important things to say.

Then there are the long chapters on his ridiculous “experiments” In manners. For example, he practises “retaliatory manners,” where he apologizes for the things rude people should be apologizing for. In the end, he realizes that he is being rude after considering Oscar Wildes phrase, “A gentleman is one that never hurts anothers feelings unintentionally”. .

Then, there is a weird game called “touch the waiter,” where he and his guest try to see who can touch the waiter more times in a “non-flirty” way.  In another experiment, he tries to be an online etiquette coach for his friends. This chapter has little to do with manners: he ends up giving relationship advice.

There are some moments of enlightenment. A chapter explores email and the new social rules for email and Facebook. For example, is it rude not to ”friend” a person you know?

Another chapter deals with protocol and new situations with their own codes. For example, a courtroom has many rules around hierarchy and decorum. He quotes Bruce George, author of a book on gangs where pecking order and customs are very important. George says this is also true in facets of everyday life — even on the train or the subway. “The people who are already on the train — they have a certain comfort level of already being on the train. They look at the new people and think, ‘Don’t sit over here’.”

Alford talks about the Ugly American syndrome of Americans in foreign countries being unable to adapt at the best of times and seek familiarity instead. He says that in a new job, a new country or a new context, we often have to observe behaviour in order to crack the code.

Another interesting insight comes from an advocate from the John Hopkins civility project who believes that manners can be harnessed not as list of what you should and should not do but rather what you might do to make life better for people around you.

Would It Kill You sometimes raises interesting questions that it doesn’t answer. Are manners about keeping social status or about keeping social peace? Why are manners more important in an industrial society? Or when we do something rude, we may feel we are just being inattentive, but the same behaviour in others is perceived as being rude. There are gems in here, but to get to them the reader has to wade through a sea of triviality. Isn’t that rude?