Rent, A Wrinkle in Time & Grand Magic: Stratford 2023 part II
21 Jun 2023

by Drew Rowsome - Photos by David Hou

As the bus pulled up to the Festival Theatre in Stratford, the woman directly behind me added a new observation to her non-stop commentary. The entire trip she had expressed a continual litany of complaints, from the comfort of the bus (she was wrong, it is as close to luxurious as a bus can get), to the weather to the quality of the snacks her daughters (seated directly behind her, so that their exasperation was fortunately not audible to me) had packed. She near shouted, "There are gay flags everywhere," referring to the Pride flags adorning the outside of the theatre, as they do the majority of Stratford establishments. I braced myself for whatever she might say next, that might require a response. "Well," she said, "good for them."

Considering that theatre would not exist without the gays, Shakespeare was at least bisexual, and Stratford is one of Canada's most LGBTQ-friendly and gay-populated cities in Canada, the plethora of fluttering rainbows is perfectly apt. And a potent symbol in these politically worrying times. The festival itself has programmed a handful of explicitly gay plays with Brad Fraser's adaptation of Richard II yet to be seen, and the previously reviewed Casey and Diana which is a must see. And the explicitly queer musical Rent that is my first Stratford matinee of this trip.

Since the late '80s, Stratford has presented at least one big splashy musical, usually a classic, every year. Regardless of where you believe that Rent fits in the musical theatre canon, this production makes a solid case for the glory of Jonathan Larson's score. There are hooks aplenty but this Rent brings out how cleverly, how classically, the melodies are linked and interwoven. I've seen many versions of Rent and listened to the original cast recording countless times, but for the first time I heard the wistful and hopeful melody of "Santa Fe" resurface in moments that were otherwise despairing. Similarly, "Light My Candle," another sweet melody, becomes not only one of Mimi's signatures but takes on a thematic erotic resonance for several characters. Director Thom Allison (Mary Poppins, Killjoys, Elegies, Ragtime) blends the musical lines visually as well, with the final numbers of the first act all blending into a stunning image that if even slightly less heartfelt would be camp.

The musicality is helped immensely by an extraordinary collection of voices. Robert Markus as Mark is the first, shedding his nerd persona to fill the cavernous theatre with rich enveloping sound before the ensemble joins in for a driving and anthemic rendition of "Rent." Minutes later Kolton Stewart as Roger  does the same, making "One Song Glory" (a personal favourite) into a soaring showstopper. After five or six showstoppers the effect is in danger of wearing bombastically thin, until Matthew Joseph, Masina McDermott and the ensemble add a gospel flourish to the already roof-raising "Seasons of Love." When a vocal powerhouse like Alex Wierzbicki (Peter Pan's Final Flight) is given a single vocal line in which to impress, which he does, it is apparent just how vocally overloaded this cast is. Because there is a lot of belting, it is the subtleties that stand out. Andrea Macasaet as Mimi adds a Dolly Parton/Stevie Nicks vibrato to extended notes for a breathtaking vulnerability, while Lee Siegel as Tom Collins silences the house by dialling his formidable baritone down to a heartbreaking heartbroken sotto voce.

Olivia Sinclair-Brisbane is a no-nonsense but warm Joanne, who deftly adds melodic heft to what often, in other productions, comes across as patter. Erika Peck is a rock chick Maureen with the pipes to prove it. For the first time in my memory, her version of "Over the Moon" feels like an actual '90s performance piece instead of a production number, and is all the stronger for that verisimilitude. Twenty-five years on, Rent is a period piece though this production is very good at drawing parallels, particularly in a stunning final image that works the tear ducts, to how consistently difficult the artistic, emotional and sexual struggles have remained. Benjamin Coffin III, gorgeously voiced by Jahlen Barnes, is still a villain, but on a minor scale compared to contemporary real estate vultures. Mimi would have an OnlyFans rather than a career stripping which now, even with the BDSM reference,  seems almost quaint. And of course the metaphor of answering machine messages as deliberate miscommunication almost requires an explanatory footnote. If Larson had lived to continue finetuning Rent, the episodic nature (which is exacerbated by the blackouts between scenes) and the disjointed final act might have been solved. And he could help solve just what to do with that number "Contact."

Considering that the audience was composed of mainly bus groups, an even mix of seniors and students, and these perilous times, I was curious what the reaction to the drag queen Angel would be. Noah Beemer's full glam entrance was greeted with a roar of approval and thunderous applause, as was each new outfit. Beemer, subbing in for Nestor Lozano Junior, is more gentle and kind than sassy, but his and Siegel's touching romance quickly becomes the beating heart of the show. Only upstaged by the one between Macasaet who demands attention, and Stewart who commands it. In the kaleidoscope of movement and vocal gymnastics, Stewart has a star turn, at one point executing a pirouette of sheer exuberance and bravado. That could be a metaphor for the entire production, dynamic adversity in the face of seemingly insurmountable opposition. Thanks to love, friendship, and song and dance, "La Vie Boheme" triumphs.

Due to a glitch in my schedule, I attended a preview of A Wrinkle in Time after agreeing to not review. If the show is this polished before being locked in place, it will be spectacular upon officially opening. There is a lot of scientific and mystical detailing in Madeleine L'Engle's original novel, so paring it down for a snappy and compelling theatrical experience is daunting. Fortunately the adaptation uses a clever workaround and a conceptually striking staging that echoes that choice. We are never unaware that this is theatre, that our imaginations and our faith are required, until we become so involved that an unreal reality takes over. By the time the giant puppet Aunt Beasts, a Jim Henson daydream, appear, the audience is awe-struck and the magic of science, or the science of magic, is supplanted by the magical science of theatre. 

The dialogue, even the science, is realistic banter with lots of humour, and Noah Beemer does a perfectly pitched star turn as a boy "who notices things" and is unconcerned about how others notice his eccentricities. When his blooming bromance, Robert Markus, insists that "If things get weird, we're out of there," Beemer replies, "We'll define weird as we go along." Things get plenty, magnificently, weird but narratively a little shaky. The fate of the universe thanks to the looming evil shadow, is less developed than the personal stakes which are intense, rendering some of the flourishes and characters borderline superfluous even as they remain fabulous. But I, and the audience which ranged from very young to very not-as-young, were raptly entertained and, as one of the colourful Mrs.s stated, "If it were not for shadows, there would be no beauty." The themes of being different making one special, and the power of forgiving familial love, come through loud and clear.

Stratford theatre is exhilarating if also exhausting but, after a restful sleep at the exquisitely comfortable faux-old school above-a-pub lodgings of Foster's Inn (highly recommended), I was ready for more traditional Stratford fare: a production of the classic, but less well known than Shakespeare, 1948 play by Eduardo De Filippo, Grand Magic. Billed as a comedy filled with ideas and starring Geraint Wyn Davies (who I remember as loin and spine-tingling from a production of Dracula seen in my misspent youth) as a broken down magician, Grand Magic intrigued. Magic, even on the skids, always fascinates. While there is a great deal of comedy, both slapstick and word play, in Grand Magic, the ideas take over with the third act becoming a swirling murder board treatise on the nature of reality, faith and, of course, theatre itself. 

Grand Magic begins with a lavish recreation of an Italian seaside resort, complete with a bocce ball game and a small army of waiters catering to the glamorous sun worshippers. One can hear the sea, almost smell the salt air, and feel the sun to the point that one longs to snap one's fingers to have one of the cocktails delivered to one's seat. The hotel guests are also gossips and the initial exposition is relayed in gleefully catty tones. The magician Otto Marvuglia is to appear that evening, and his wonders are extolled by a trio who turn out to be fellow con artists working with Marvugulia. The booking is a front for a job allowing a bored bride the opportunity to escape her jealous husband to spend 15 minutes with her lover. Of course the grift goes wrong and for the rest of Grand Magic, Marvugulia continues to contrive more and more elaborate cons to avoid financial ruin and/or arrest. Wyn Davies blusters and wheedles and is shamelessly charming. The magic is magically mediocre and his explanations and excuses are convincing if utterly baffling. He convinces the husband, the slimily suave then dishevelled, destroyed and hilariously distraught Gordon S Miller, that this is all a game they are playing. Games within games within alternate realities. Magic.

The comedy and the ideas need to achieve a delicate balance and when director Antoni Cimolino gets it right, Grand Magic is uproarious and spellbinding. Sarah Orenstein as Zaira Marvuglia is a knock out whether as the bitter wife, the past her prime showgirl who still has it, or the loving if exasperated partner in crime. Emilio Vieira has a manic, highly comedic set piece as a police officer who colludes in his own bamboozlement, and Tyrone Savage (Fifteen Dogs) gets laughs as a befuddled head waiter who is eager to be a grifter himself. Kim Horsman gets repeated and escalating laughs for a simple repeated line, perfectly timed. All of the roles, and there are many, there is a cast of 27, are not only expertly sketched but also full of reactions making the stage constantly alive and in motion. But it is the duel between Wyn Davies and Miller that takes over as the play progresses. Wyn Davies has a horrific metaphor to dispense about the price of magic, and delights in toying with an electronic applause generator to the point where he collapses the fourth wall. And in one telling moment, he convinces Miller that we the audience are actually the seaside resort audience, and that Miller is stuck in time. The grand magic is almost enough to convince us as well.