There is violence and there is righteous violence and there is death or, the born-again crow: leather, feathers and safety pins
23 Mar 2025 - Photos by Jeremy Mimnagh

there is violence and there is righteous violence and there is death or, the born-again crow (henceforth referred to as The Born-Again Crow) is long, enticing and slightly unwieldy title. So is the production. Beth (Tara Sky) returns to her mother's home after an arrest for an attack of violence against the Real Canadian Superstore where she worked. Her mother Francine (Cheri Maracle) has retrofitted her backyard into a shabby idyllic space full of bird feeders ranging from handmade to elaborate. Francine explains that having something rely on you can be a way to heal and find yourself. The relationship is loving but antagonistic, and both have much they want to say but have trouble cutting through unspecified past problems. Beth begins to feed the birds. A crow (Madison Walsh in a punkified combo of leather, feathers and safety pins) begins to converse with Beth and gives her small gifts, beginning with a fragment of mirror, in gratitude. Complicating the healing and forgiveness process is the boy next door, Tanner (Dan Mousseau [Hamlet, Wildwoman, Prodigal]) who is a man child barely containing his white privilege and a streak of toxic masculinity. He too has an unspecified past with Beth that apparently did not end well. The birds grow to Hitchcockian proportions including a murder of over 50 crows.

That is a lot of metaphors to handle with the crow as a trickster being the dominant one. It adds a sense of mystery that is the aforementioned enticement, while simultaneously butting against the central mystery of just what happened at the Superstore. The shiny objects urge Beth to take a look at herself and her rage, and she is devastated when the crow gifts her with a dead baby bird. We can never forget that the world is both beautiful and horrifying. And ruthless. Francine likes to read and eschews television (though, oddly, she later invites Beth into the house for a bonding viewing of Chopped), the crow pretends to read a Nora Roberts novel though it is upside down. There is literacy and theory as a form of protest, but sometimes it is superfluous and action is necessary. The crow is also fascinated with a lighter and stares at the flame, one of the Superstore actions by Beth was to set fire to the magazine section. Beth is visited by Jane LaFontaine, a local reporter, for a human interest piece that becomes a Cassandra-like warning that the crows are upsetting the neighbours. Francine lives in an upscale cul-de-sac—despite the deliberate shabbiness of the backyard—and the murder of crows are defecating everywhere, particularly on expensive cars. Tanner is given a gun, which Beth is pointedly, phallically, far more skilled at using. The neighbourhood descends into conflict.

Director Jessica Carmichael (Hamlet) gives Caleigh Crow's text a reverent treatment while doling out the multiple metaphors and adding a lot of business. The scene changes mainly involve turgidly moving the bird feeders around, but that is in preparation for a startling coup de theatre of a set change where we finally experience Beth's triggering. The interpersonal relationships are well crafted if frequently deliberately obtuse, and the bridge between realism and expressionism is respected, until it isn't, and The Born-Again Crow erupts into performance art that can't decide whether to be enlightening, shocking or unintentionally comical. Unfortunately there is a lot of the latter as destruction reigns and the stage is littered with commercial carnage. Beth refers to herself as a rebel against being a wage slave, and anyone who has worked a wage slave job is firmly in her corner. More so when we see the underlying racism, classism, sexism and homophobia that she is eventually subjected to. Crow writes some very funny lines and conjures a convincing magic realism, but the structure puts us in Beth's shoes too late in the process. There are three false endings and the final one is a bit muddled, we are exhorted to "be more or less a good person."

Sky seethes convincingly but her tough exterior cannot stand up to the aggression of Tanner and the Superstore middle manager. When she explodes it is not as convincing, but her headbanging hair tosses are fetching. Maracle exudes a brittle mother's love but the character is struggling with how to react and raises more questions than the script answers. Walsh is bewitching as the omnipresent crow. Always watching and learning, always feral, and leaning in to the sensuality of life and anger. Her pleasure in sampling a fruit tray (from the Superstore?) is exquisite, erotic and animalistic. She stalks the stage, taking as much pleasure in misdirection as righteous fury. Mousseau plays four characters, all villains, all with deceptive charm. Quick changes turn him from the neighbour masking his outraged hostility with platitudes, to the man child Tanner, to the oleaginous and imperious corporate tool Superstore manager. Mousseau adds bursts of physical comedy that contrasts sharply with Walsh's enigmatic grounding, His Jane LaFontaine pushes past drag, though that is an integral part of its comic appeal, and sketch comedy tropes to create a character, self-centred and devious. And delightful if sadly denied a much desired Tippi Hedren moment. 

A lot of care and thought (and hundreds of props and prop fragments) have been lavished by Shannon Lea-Doyle on the set, the sound of bird seed being poured is exquisite, and Asa Benelly's costumes, particularly the crows and LaFontaine's fuchsia ensemble, are spot on with minute alterations signifying major differences. Chris Ross-Ewart creates an eerie soundscape that escalates from soft rock to harsh electronics, perfect for Walsh to sinuously glide through before taking flight. The Born-Again Crow wants us to think about our roles as proletariats and the joy, and consequences, of unleashing that anger. It is never explained why Francine lives in an upscale neighbourhood nor why she is perceived to not be a part of it. And with the Real Canadian Superstore being a Roblaws product, an opportunity was missed. Delaying the reveal of Beth's rage source is a calculated risk and while it pays off theatrically, it puzzles thematically. And slightly fizzles. As does aligning the crows, the trickster, with the punk movement. It gives an air of futility, all the sound and fury of Beth's destruction has no visible consequence, just as all the sound and fury of the punk movement paved the way for the still omnipresent new wave pop. Capitalism is relentless. The Born-Again Crow provokes thought, teases rebellious exuberance, and is unable to offer any hope.