Iya+Downey


 * Here Lies Henry**

Synopsis: Daniel MacIvor's 40-minute This is a Play is a play about a play ~ the creative process counterbalancing the sheer sweat, bad wigs and tricks of performance. MacIvor‘s spoof sets up (and knocks down) what actors might be thinking about while performing, theatrical in-jokes and will have audiences howling in recognition. Three actors perform a play within a play. Instead of hearing the storyline from their script, however, we hear their thoughts, hopes, fears and motivations from within their own minds as they struggle through the crazy stage directions from their 'dance back-ground' director, attempting to talk over the persistent musical score by the overly philosophical composer, and trying to find meaning in the playwrights words.

From []

Reviews:

TORONTO - Playwright/performer Daniel MacIvor has made a name for himself playing cat to an ever-expanding global mouse, otherwise known as an audience. In plays like House, Cul-de-Sac, Monster, A Beautiful View and A Soldier Dreams, MacIvor has perfected a theatrical version of I've Got A Secret that audiences love as they hang on his characters' every word, trying to glimpse a bigger picture that only MacIvor has seen. Just how popular this minimalist version of cat and mouse has become accounts, in no small part, for the capacity house Tuesday night at Buddies In Bad Times, where MacIvor opened a three-play retrospective in co-operation with da da kamera that will consume much of the season. First was MacIvor's Chalmers Award-winning Here Lies Henry, a one-man show that, in typical MacIvor fashion, violates theatre tradition with impunity. Fourth Wall? Gone. Set? A bare stage, marked only by a square of light. Plot? Well, MacIvor demands that his audience make it up as he goes along. It starts with MacIvor as Henry stumbling onto the stage in a beam of harsh light.

Once he realizes he's facing an audience, Henry seems distinctly and understandably nonplussed. While he fidgets and indulges in self-conscious babble, his audience strives to figure out just who he is and what he's doing there, based on the minimal clues being offered. It is a task made more difficult by the fact that, by his own admission, Henry is a compulsive liar -- in fact, he can recite, chapter and verse, all the different kinds of lies that can be told. Slowly, under the carefully considered direction of Daniel Brooks and with the complicity of Richard Feren's soundscape and Andy Moro's lighting design, a portrait does start to emerge. It's a not-so-terribly flattering portrait of a man who feels that just about everything in his sad little life could be improved by a bit of fiction. What remains obscure, of course, is just what it is that has brought Henry to the theatre that night, beyond the fact that he seems determined to tell us something we didn't already know. And finally, he does, in the process letting us know why we are all there as well. Which is to watch a talented performer and writer re-visit one of the shows on which he's built a remarkable career -- not one of his best, perhaps, but one worth revisiting. The retrospective continues at Buddies with Monster in January and House in March. []

For almost 20 years, da da Kamera has been producing cutting edge, innovative theatre that has been hailed the world over. Next year though, the company is shutting down, and it will be a loss for the theatrical community. MacIvor first came to Buddies In Bad Times in 1987, when they put seed money into his play See Bob Run, and that began a long and productive relationship that culminated in a production of MacIvor's A Beautiful View at the end of their 2005-2006 season. Last night, one of MacIvor's one-man shows, entitled Here Lies Henry began a limited return engagment, and it's a shame. It's an absolute shame that we may never see MacIvor portray these characters again. Here Lies Henry deals with Henry, a self-confessed liar. He rambles on, awkward at times, about the meaning of life, and the pointlessness of it all. He tries to tell us something we don't already know, but because he is a liar, it's hard to distinguish what is truth and what is a lie. MacIvor is absolutely in his element on the stage, sharing a story that is tragic, funny and deeply moving all at the same time. His script is quick, sharp, and most of all, supremely elegant and blunt. He achieves moments of complete brilliance, captivating his audience for the full 75 minutes of the piece.

Daniel Brooks, MacIvor's long time collaborator, directs the production with energy and simplicity. There is no set to get in the way of MacIvor, and it isn't needed. Brooks moves MacIvor around a tiny playing area when needed, otherwise, he remains standing in one spot. This is the kind of evening we have come to expect from MacIvor and Brooks, and if Here Lies Henry is any indication, Toronto audiences have a lot of great theatre to look forward to before we say goodbye to da da Kamera and MacIvor. Here Lies Henry By Daniel MacIvor Presented By da da Kamera and Buddies In Bad Times Theatre Starring Daniel MacIvor Directed By Daniel Brooks []
 * (out of five)

Daniel MacIvor is a great big tease. He keeps you in a state of constant arousal with the promise of a life-shattering moment in the theatre, an epiphany. This state of excruciating pleasure lasts the entire 70 minutes of his one-man show Here Lies Henry, currently running at Buddies In Bad Times Theatre. That the epiphany never appears, that he offers no release, is one among many satisfying points in this elliptical exploration of death and desire. MacIvor offers no easy answers, only mind-whirring riddles. The da da kamera play originally from 1996 and again directed by longtime collaborator Daniel Brooks is almost impossible to describe. Reducing it down to its narrative elements won't help your comprehension and might even lessen the power and pleasure of seeing it for the first time. Outward descriptors of the protagonist, Henry -- cosmetics salesman, gay, Canadian, dead -- are such mundane bric-a-brac compared to the urgent needs and passions MacIvor evokes through a bravura display of physical ticks and verbal hiccups. Nothing is obvious; meaning is found in the tiniest things. Everything else is just posturing, lies. We are all the same, Henry says. We are born; we have some experiences; we die. You don't believe for one moment that the quivering bumbler who greets you at the opening of the play is anyone but MacIvor himself, the celebrated theatre artist totally in control of his craft. But the character of Henry soon has you under his bitter, guilt-ridden, ever-romantic spell. His merciless insights never miss their mark. A deliciously cynical diatribe on the boredom and petty defeats of connubial bliss, for example, has everyone squirming in their seats. In an empty black space framed only by light, MacIvor's performance is nothing short of spellbinding. The torrent of words is delivered flawlessly; stories fold back on each other and repeat to illustrate their inner meaning not the outward affect. MacIvor's delivery is wonderfully punctuated by sound effects or underlined by soundscapes designed by Richard Ferren, all perfectly in synch with the performer. And what a shameless ham MacIvor can be. When Henry falls into a feedback loop of public speaking errors -- "um, sorry, anyway" -- both he and the audience revel in how far MacIvor can push it. MacIvor and Brooks know how to structure a strange piece like this: the positioning of set pieces and purely physical moments, juggling drama, comedy and thoughtful reflection -- the pacing is flawless. Buddies' opening night audience -- notorious for enjoying performances over productions, the man not the meaning -- still had its expectations scrambled. MacIvor has much greater ambitions than just a fun night out at the theatre (well, maybe not; it's complicated). Only he could make what turns out to be an object lesson in Nietzschean philosophy so enthralling. In this harsh nihilistic vision, nothing exists -- not God, nor love or meaning -- except what we create. It's a frightening and lonely worldview. But life, like theatre, is made easier through a few tricks of the trade. Here's where Henry's lying and MacIvor's stagecraft come in handy. Life, like MacIvor's theatre, is our own creation. By play's end, MacIvor has turned Henry inside out and brought the empty outside world into a theatre brimming with ideas. He finishes with an off-kilter but deliriously happy description of the afterlife. Heaven, it seems, is an audience. When he finally spins this comforting deception, that hoary old chestnut that theatre is a collaborative creation by playwright, actor and audience never tasted as sweet. []

There's a 1 hour and 15 minute play happening down at the Usine C, in English, called Here Lies Henry that I'd deem worthy of the $26 admission. If you've never been to the Usine C, it's an old factory just south of Ontario on that warm and fuzzy strip somewhere just west of Papineau, it's a large but welcoming space with an equally hard-to-find cafe in the back that buzzes prior to shows. I've never seen a bad play there. The site lines are good, seats are comfy, although perhaps a tad more leg room would help and the sound and lighting are superior. As for the play itself: Henry - created and acted by Daniel Brooks, 48, is chatty gay man who starts off with a lot of nervous "umming" - the three rules of public speaking he says, are "never say 'um', never apologize and never say anyway." He then breaks the rules countless times and finally gets into gear to discuss his various disjointed observations on the experience of life. He slowly and in an increasingly endearing manner sews a crazy quilt of observation, explaining the various types of liar, the worst being the pathological liar, which "can lead to craziness" (much clever echo on that last word). The worst type of lie is the universal lie, which are the ones that we all share. His narrative is like a speeding train constantly derailing and returning to the course. At one moment he's discussing how time and beauty are at constant war and then he explains that the only response to someone calling you from the other room expecting you to come is to "stab them with a butter knife" a gesture that can be justified on four reasons which he gets into in detail, he then goes on Robin Williamsesque manic prevaricatory binge confessing to such misdeeds as giving the video camera to Carla Homolka, and teaching the 911 terrorists to fly because he hates smug New York. He bums a cigarette from an audience member, dances to CeCe Peniston's Finally and brings you on a trip to the final destination, allowing you to enjoy the manic ride along the way. He notes that we all come from a dark place into light and then return from light to dark. He then explains what happens after death, you rise from your body and then bounce off your ceiling and then your maternal grandmother aged 18 - who you don't recognize because you never saw at that age - walks you somewhere else, the post-mortem events which await us apparently includes getting to go into your best friend's closet and try on all his clothes. The audience was clearly delighted at this very tight, yet unpredictable romp with this self-deprecating seemingly aimless persona of little conventional virtue yet whose rap is both insightful, pithy and hilarious. You've really got to get down and see this thing, it's quite a mindfuck. It's only on from 29 November to 2 December, so you've really got to get down there or dial 521-6002. [] (Blog)

(I kept getting snippets of writeups with "this is a play blah blah blah")
 * This is a Play**

Reviews:

Lettuce is a temperate plant of the daisy family and is typically eaten cold and raw in salads, sandwiches, hamburgers, and in many other dishes.

Lettuce also has a starring role in the US-based **Theatre Simple’s** hilarious spoof //**This is a Play**// now showing at The Odeon Theatre in Adelaide’s eastern suburbs.

In **//This is a Play//** writer **Daniel MacIvor** sends up actors by amusingly exposing what they think of themselves and others while they are performing. The technique is simple and effective. Three actors speak their thoughts out loud while outlining a plot of a play. The result is clever and hilarious.

This is a play within a play and therefore aptly named **//This is a Play//**.

Director **Monique Kleinhans** has adroitly pulled together this three-hander making the most of the humour.


 * Pamala Mijatov**, **Llysa Holland** and **Ricky Coates** are the actors who so convincingly walk through their parts with exaggerated movements, outlining what they are supposed to be acting while at the same time speaking their thoughts. The dexterity required is deceptively simple and yet very, very difficult. This is no job for simpletons and all three hit the mark with highly amusing accuracy.

The only criticism is that at half an hour long this play is way too short. What has all of this got to do with lettuce? Well that would be giving away the plot! []

Maybe, possibly, ought-to-be, this outing of inspired lunacy is a bona fide Fringe hit. Smart, achingly funny (the audience last night spent the better part of their time in the theatre convulsed with laughter) and damned clever. There are four characters in Daniel MacIvor's play: a Voice Over playwright fretting about theatre's Big Questions such as the worth of trying to create a play of originality when the time-tested and successful combo of banality and derivation always works successfully; two actresses and a lone male actor. Amazingly very little of the Writer's "original" play's dialogue is actually presented by the actors. Instead we get from them intimations of what the (side-splittingly banal and derivative) play's about, hilarious voicings of the actors' individual stage directions, their inner thoughts about their mutual competitiveness, status as characters, personal insecurities, critical musings about the play itself and their relationships with the disembodied Writer real, imagined or suspected. Under the sharp direction of Jackie Torrens, the wonderfully comic cast of Mauralea Austin, Emily Bartlett and Kevin Curran skillfully and touchingly perform as hammy actors in a terrible "Southern" weeper about love and three heads of lonely lettuce (really) and simultaneously as three real live vulnerable people beset by real and imagined anxieties. Quite an acting feat. This is great stuff. And a master class of fine comedic acting and zazzy playwriting. Not to be missed. []

//Lettuce forget theatre and perform in the world//

- Al Hansen, Lettuce Manifesto Short piece of metatheatre satirising bad plays and the players that play them, by Daniel Macivor, with Llysa Holland, Pamala Mijaov and Ricky Coates. Metatheatre: now a mainstream genre where one may find comedian dancers offering running commentary on the pretensions of whatever contemporary dance piece they’re performing, or a tubby Englishman in a skeleton suit explaining at length the various ways in which the show he’s in is not a spectacular, or an even-toned American deconstructing The Event we poor fools call theatre by means of a dramatic monologue. Or this play within a play, by Seattle’s globetrotting Theatre Simple. The shell play is something about lettuce and families. I don’t really follow the significance of lettuce. I think it must be something to do with Tennessee Williams. Whatever the significance, however, I couldn’t help but think to myself that cabbage would have been better. No reason for that, especially, only but //cabbage//–say it with conviction–sounds better. But, aside from that the shell play is a pretty funny bad play. The play within this shell play is not really a play. It’s just the actors substituting their inner thoughts about life and performance for the lines and directions they’re supposed to be acting. It too is quite funny. Not especially insightful, but funny. But getting back to the genre. When I say it’s mainstream, what I mean is that a company like Theatre Simple can now plausibly write in their festival blurb:

MacIvor’s spoof sets up (and knocks down) what actors think about during performance, sending audiences into howls of recognition.

So, like, if even the audience, and it’s a pretty mainstream audience they’re pulling, like grandparents taking the grandkids out for the afternoon, if they can ‘recognise’ the meta of theatre and laugh like it was slapstick, we must conclude that deconstruction is now family entertainment. And Theatre Simple do it well—simple, direct, funny, without pretension. Good healthy green stuff. [](Doubled on front page)