Titus Andronicus

My review of Bard on the Beach's Titus Andronicus appears in this week's WestEnder. Pick up a copy if you get a chance!

Titus Andronicus
By Andrea Warner


Considered one of the most structurally problematic of Shakespeare’s plays, and certainly his most violent and bloody, Titus Andronicus is often dismissed in favour of staging more straightforward tragedies such as Macbeth or Hamlet. Thank goodness Kim Collier (making her directorial debut with Bard on the Beach) possesses no such fears about grappling with such dark material.

Collier’s Titus Andronicus is relentlessly gripping and disturbingly modern as themes of revenge and evil reveal themselves in unthinkable and senselessly violent acts. Titus returns from war, victorious, with Tamora, Queen of the Goths, and her children as prisoners. Titus, mourning the loss of his sons in battle, sacrifices Tamora’s eldest child and she vows her revenge. Saturninus, the new Emperor, wishes to marry Lavinia, but Bassiana (a male character in the original Titus, but overtly lesbian here to complement Collier’s 21st century setting), his sister, has already claimed Lavinia as her own. Saturninus takes Tamora as his wife, who continues to dally with Aaron, her Moorish lover, the puppeteer who orchestrates the vile and contemptuous chain of events that follow.

This is the same cast that sparkles so brightly in the delightful Tempest. The material is strikingly different, and the cast nimbly and successfully delivers fantastic performances with characters that are polar opposites.

Omari Newton’s Aaron is a solid presence as the devil’s henchman, glowering and conniving, manipulating Tamora and her Euro-trash psycho sons into doing his bidding. Newton is a physically powerful actor, but the character doesn’t have much depth except that he loves to do bad things. It will be interesting to see what Newton does with a truly three-dimensional role in the future.

Jennifer Lines’ Tamora could not be more opposite than her Tempest character, Ariel. The physical transformation is wondrous: she fills out the tight confines of Tamora’s outrageous outfits and spiked heels, exuding authority and confidence, asserting her sexuality with every word. The skin crawls when Tamora instructs her sons to be as violent as possible when raping Lavinia, directly proportionate to their love for their mother.

Julie McIsaac (Lavinia), Charles Christien Gallant (Demetrius), and Kyle Rideout (Chiron) are tasked with the most disturbing scenes. McIssac is truly devastating as she pleads to be spared and then pleads for her death before the brothers take her offstage for the attack. In the aftermath of the attack, as McIssac lies bloodied and battered on the ground, Gallant taunts her and Rideout takes out a digital camera, posing beside her and laughingly taking pictures. Their off-handed and casual glee in having repeatedly raped and then mutilated Lavinia is affectively sickening.

Russell Roberts, as the title character, carries the weight of the world on Titus’s shoulders, but he’s never more effective than in Titus’s debilitating discovery of Lavinia’s rape and torture. He cries real tears, and conveys beautifully Titus’s realization that he’s powerless to protect his children. Later, Roberts takes great pleasure in one of the production’s few funny moments, as he pretends to be crazy to fool Tamora and her sons. Finally, as he succumbs to the madness of his revenge, slitting Chiron and Demetrius’s throats, then feeding the boys to their mother in a baked pie, Roberts makes Titus’s descent painfully human.

The blood flows as freely in Titus as the wine did in Tempest, but it never feels silly or gimmicky. Each violent act resonates deeply so don’t be surprised if by the intermission you feel physically ill. This Titus Andronicus packs an emotional punch that is so visceral, you’ll wonder if maybe you didn’t leave part of yourself behind when the lights come up.

Space Chimps

My review of Space Chimps, a polar opposite experience from my review of Batman, also in this week's WestEnder.

Space Chimps

By Andrea Warner

0 stars

Monkeys in space probably sounded like a sure-fire hit to the Hollywood hotshots who gave this god-awful CGI movie the green light. It’s easy to score laughs (and some quick cash) with a monkey barrel’s worth of bad chimp puns— ‘cause kids are dumb, right?

Wrong. A big, fat, resounding silence greeted most of Space Chimps lame jokes, despite an audience laden with (I’m guessing) the studio’s target demographic: three to six year olds eating popcorn and drinking Coke at 10am on a Saturday morning.

In the film, The Space Program faces termination if a chimp-manned space shuttle cannot successfully return with proof of life on another planet. But, they need a “star” chimp to get more press for the expedition, so they recruit Ham III, grandson of the late, famous monkey astronaut, Ham. But, oh no! Ham III is self-involved, obnoxious, and just wants to (pardon the pun) monkey around in the circus as an entertainer.

As voiced by Andy Samberg (SNL, Hot Rod), Ham III is entirely unappealing and unfunny. Cheryl Hines and Patrick Warburton play along gamely as fellow chimps Luna and Titan, but it’s the equivalent of monkeys throwing feces at a wall—the jokes won’t stick no matter how much gusto they’re delivered with.

Most studios can’t rival the brilliance of CGI giant Pixar, but Space Chimps is so uninspired and dated, it feels as if it languished on the shelf for the last 20 years. The images are flat and lifeless, and the alien creatures that Ham and friends encounter look as if they were rendered by a five year old who lacks imagination. Space Chimps stalls, sputters, and dies before ever lifting off.

The Dark Knight

My review of The Dark Knight appears in today's WestEnder. Pick up a copy of WE today if you get a chance!

The Dark Knight

By Andrea Warner

4 stars

From the stomach-dropping opening sequence to the carefully orchestrated explosions to the twisted grimace of a scar slashed into a much mourned face, The Dark Knight tries to throw off the black veil of its troubled origins and becomes what it was meant to be: a kick ass summer blockbuster. It can’t quite escape the long shadow of Heath Ledger’s death, but it works overtime to make sure the audience gets plenty of bang for their buck.

Christian Bale returns as Batman (and Bruce Wayne), whose newest foe is his most formidable: the sick, psychotic Joker (the late Heath Ledger), whose sole motivation is to knock society’s saviours off their paper-thin pedestals. Aaron Ekhart’s Harvey Dent is the new District Attorney and he and Batman quickly become just the twin towers the Joker needs to topple to prove his point. Relationship drama comes courtesy of Maggie Gyllenhaal’s Rachel Dawes, Batman/Bruce Wayne’s long-standing love and Dent’s girlfriend.

Ekhart’s chiseled jaw and full head of shiny blond hair speak volumes about the kind of hero he seems destined to become. Gyllenhaal has precious little to do here, but her few lines permit her trademark playful intelligence to shine through. And, the neatly layered yet frenetic action sequences show plenty of cool tricks. (Want to know to flip a semi? Learn here!)

That The Dark Knight ultimately becomes Ledger’s movie is a fitting tribute. Ledger immerses himself inside the Joker, perfecting a gait, voice, and nuanced ticks and twitches to complement the creepy laugh and moments of impossible humour that make the Joker so deliciously, frighteningly evil. It’s a character study so complete, even the dark knight himself knows he’s second fiddle.

The Tempest

My review of the Tempest appears in this week's WE. Pick up a copy today!

The Tempest

By Andrea Warner

Like the very word from which it derives its name, The Tempest, has proved to be an uncontrollable force in Shakespeare’s canon. Originally labeled a comedy, it has gone on to defy scholarly expectations because of a deceptively simple narrative that masks grander themes of vengeance, the occult, and colonialist tendencies. That Shakespeare was a tricky guy, and he’s met his match in Meg Roe’s wonderfully magical reinvention of The Tempest.

Prospero —a Duke usurped by his brother, Antonio—washed up on a magical island with his daughter Miranda fifteen years ago. Prospero seized control of the island from the witch, Sycorax, and has enslaved her deformed son, Caliban. Ariel, a sprite, is eager to be freed from Prospero’s service, but is held to one more day of service as Prospero enacts revenge upon his brother, and washes the King’s boat ashore, stranding Antonio, the King, and several members of the King’s court. Prospero separates the Prince from his father, in the hopes that the Prince and Miranda will fall in love.

The Tempest’s opening minutes are electrifying, indicative of what’s to follow. With the use of a simple heavy rope, the cast and crew physically form the hull of the ill-fated ship, and struggle against the commanding storm Prospero has raised. It’s no easy feat to simulate a believable storm, and there were more than a few audience members steadying themselves in their seats throughout the sequence.

The ongoing physicality of the supporting actors is impressive, particularly Hamza Adam, Omari Newton, and Charles Christien Gallant, as Spirits and various mariners. Their movements are lithe and graceful, but strong, and bring remarkable energy to the stage.

Jennifer Lines’ great performance is also due in part to her physical embodiment of Ariel: eager to please (her knees turn in and one foot juts out in nervousness); desperate to know if Prospero really loves her (her face a mixture of hope and yearning); and anxious that her bidding buys her freedom (her eager flight for each task). Lines’ is incredibly light on her feet, and her energy never lags. She also possesses a lovely voice.

Allan Morgan delights in his character’s sadistic elements, but keeps Prospero playful as well. It’s hard to keep a steadying hand on Prospero’s multifaceted personality (perhaps also a commentary on mental illness?) but Morgan makes it effortless. And, his closing speech as Prospero asks the audience’s forgiveness is appropriately rueful—after all, to err is human.

Though the rest of the cast is also very talented, it’s Colleen Wheeler and Naomi Wright who steal the final accolades here as Stephana and Trincula, two ladies from the court who wash up on the island with a fondness for the drink. Their initial scene post shipwreck (mistaken identity, an eyebrow raising mounting) is possibly the funniest thing on stage this year. Wheeler (a modern-day Lucille Ball) plays up Stephana’s cougar-like shine to the slave Caliban (Bob Frazer), who proves game for anything, including foot licking.

Roe’s Tempest offers an onion worth of layered subtext: her clever changes—including gender swapping (as written originally, Miranda is the play’s only female role)—amp up the comedic and provocative nature of Shakespeare’s masterful use of language. This Tempest also plays up its kinkier side: master/slave relationships, interspecies romance, and sexual politics are featured prominently, all but obscuring the 400 year gap between its writing and this staging. The music is unobtrusive and effective, enriching scenes such as the beautiful wedding between Miranda and the Prince. Even the costuming and lighting are inventive. Fresh and frisky, this Tempest blows strong from start to finish.

Brick Lane review

My review of Brick Lane appears in this week's WestEnder. Pick up a copy of WE if you can!

Brick Lane
By Andrea Warner
Three stars

Brick Lane, based on the best-selling novel by Monica Ali, is a gloriously beautiful movie that should soar, but instead sags under director Sarah Gavron’s heavy hand.

Nazneen (Tannishtha Chatterjee) is just 17 when, following her mother's suicide, she’s sent away from her village in Bangladesh to London as part of an arranged marriage to a man twice her age. Flash-forward sixteen years and she’s still trying to make sense of her life, living in a cramped East End flat with her teenage daughters (one mutinous, one angelic) and her husband, Chanu (Satish Kaushik) — at best a Bengali Cliff Claven — who alternates between buffoon and bastard. Nazneen lives vicariously through her sister’s letters, desperate to return home and feel whole again.

Enter the handsome stranger, the young Karim, who delivers the garments Nazneen sews at home for money. A few shy glances from under her headscarf and a full on romance begins to bloom, against the backdrop of racial tension permeating London's streets and the world since 9/11. Karim’s youthful impulse leaves him vulnerable to the radical Muslim uprising, whereas Chanu becomes the surprising lone voice of reason. The problem is that Gavron initially plays up Chanu’s character defects so wholeheartedly, it makes it almost impossible to reconcile Nazneen’s renewed devotion to her husband and the film’s emotional end.

Brick Lane is a beautiful study in contrasts, textures, and color. Where London is sterile and drab (old buildings and nosy neighbours who live in boxes stacked like blocks of Lego), Bangladesh looks lush and vibrant through the soft lens of memory, childhood, and longing. Pretty to look at, Brick Lane is merely a melodrama masquerading as a story of female empowerment. Stare too long and the flaws become all too apparent.

Back Kitchen Release Party

My review of The Back Kitchen Release Party came out in today's WestEnder. Pick up a copy of WE if you can!

The Back Kitchen Release Party
By Andrea Warner

Start with a Newfoundland pastime that brings together friends, family, and fiddles for rollicking jams stemmed in Irish and Celtic traditional music; then add a bittersweet back-story, a road trip across Canada, and a left turn in the last act, and you have the bones for the new Canadian classic, The Back Kitchen Release Party.

The premise reunites The Back Kitchen band following the death of their beloved founder, Kate. It’s been five years since Kate and Maggie left Memorial, but band leader Ned is convinced that this is the perfect opportunity to fulfill Kate’s dream of playing a cross-country tour, arriving in Vancouver just in time to play her wake. There’s just one problem: Maggie, Ned’s ex and Kate’s cousin, is now a violinist in the Toronto Symphony and is weary of getting caught up in the past.

It’s impossible to dwell on the storyline and characters without revealing some key plot points that are better left unspoiled. It’s better to focus on the great songs, good music, and the multi-talented actors who propel Party forward, taking a “real Newfie band from sunrise to sunset.” The cast proves themselves talented musicians whose voices blend into beautiful harmonies, but the male performers have better acting material to work with than their female counterparts.

Trevor Devall plays a classically charming no-hoper who gets by on the stubborn certainty of dreamers. He’s also Party’s playwright, and does a mean Captain Kirk impression. He hits all the right notes as an actor as well thanks largely to the lovely ballad “Maggie” that helps the whole band begin to heal. Jonathan Teague secures plenty of laughs, whether wielding a fishing net or a drum, and watching his character struggle to overcome his fears is funny and heartwarming.

Sarah Donald has been blessed with a unique voice and a wholesome appearance, but she’s mostly tasked with smiling beatifically throughout the first act, a supporting character if there ever was one. Sarah May Redmond seems born to help lead a Celtic band: her voice is big and clear, her accordion never looks unwieldy in her arms, and out of everyone, she appears to be having the most fun. It’s unfortunate that she’s saddled with the one character that is mostly just caricature and never quite feels real. Tracey Power, who wrote several of Party’s songs, brings her sizzling fiddle skills to the mix, but most of her scenes opposite Devall fall flat—the back-story between their characters lacks believability.

The musical standouts include the opener “Farewell to Betsy Mae”, a robust tune with plenty of tongue-in-cheek moments that captures the spirit of Newfoundland. “McCoy’s Privateers” is a hilarious ode to Star Trek. Donald and Redmond’s voices blend perfectly on “I Am a Sailor.” And, “Kate’s Song” could elicit tears from a statue.

When Party strays from the singing, the dialogue drifts between awesome and awful. Awesome: “Toronto is really rubbin’ off on you. You only been here a day and you’re already an arsehole.” Awful: “You have the right notes, Ned. You just have to know how to use them.” Thankfully this is mostly a live action concept album—that happens to be held on a stage.

Party got its start as a Fringe show, which is evident in its plucky and lively staging, the inventiveness of the songs, and the sparse set decoration. The cast does a brilliant job at bringing the band to life—the pent-up excitement of a five-year reunion is palpable, and the songs are good foot-stomping fun. This Back Kitchen is cookin’ with gas!

Honouring Our Elders

I covered the Honouring Our Elders tea party on June 29th for Xtra! West. It was a great afternoon of meeting amazing people in Vancouver's queer community.

Honouring Our Elders
By Andrea Warner

Many of Vancouver's queer elders have been pioneers in the fight to live openly and honestly, despite facing years of hostility, discrimination and just plain ignorance. On Jun 29, The Centre dedicated an afternoon to honouring our community's trailblazers at its fifth annual Honouring Our Elders high tea, held at the Coast Plaza Hotel. With over 90 people in attendance, there were plenty of amazing memories to share and struggles to celebrate. Here are a few of their stories.

Basil Hunter and Frank Allison

Hunter and Allison, now both in their 90s, celebrated their 50th anniversary on Valentine's Day earlier this year.Both musicians, the couple played together for nine years at the Press Club in the 1960s, entertaining Vancouver's elite and visiting entertainers.Hunter wrote "Pacific Rhapsody and Brideship Ballet," which became part of BC's centennial celebrations.They count Phyllis Diller amongst their close friends, and they didn't let little things like a bum hip or knee keep them away from busting out a duet on the piano to everyone's delight.

Hunter: "When I saw her [Diller] in the dressing room [at the Cave], she was a mess and she said, 'What do you think of my hairdo, Basil?'"And I said, 'What did you do it with, Phyllis? An electric toothbrush?'"She said, 'Can I use that?' And I said 'That's a line you can have.'"And you can still hear her today using that on TV."

Gayle Roberts

After wrestling for years with her desire to transition to female, Roberts finally took the plunge in her early 50s, risking a lengthy career as a high school teacher and her personal relationships. Now she's finding a new voice as a writer.

Roberts: "This is a celebration that things are getting better all the time. When I made that decision to transition, all that pain I'd been feeling all of my life suddenly just ended, and I've never looked back. One student told me she thought I was brave and an inspiration, and I think in that sense you're a pioneer because by your example you're making it easier for other people."

Chris Morrissey and Bridget Coll

Together for over 30 years, thorny immigration issues became the thrust of an ultimately successful federal legal challenge as Morrissey (Canadian) fought to have Coll (Irish with US citizenship) recognized as her spouse so they could settle together here.Morrissey is now the program manager of The Centre's Generations Project, which hosted the high tea.

Morrissey: "There isn't much visibility with older queers, and it's really important to acknowledge their lives.

"I'm the first Canadian to file a suit in federal court to be able to sponsor my partner. We came back from Latin America and we decided to settle in Canada. We tried every normal way, so we had to file a suit with federal court. We didn't have to go to court because immigration stepped in and [granted Coll residency]. But we've worked getting the legislation changed to include same-sex partners in family class for immigration."

Ellen Woodsworth

Woodsworth came out in 1972 and has spent her life advocating for gay and lesbian rights and other equality issues. She also served as Vancouver's first openly lesbian city councilor from 2002-2005.She revealed at the high tea that she'll be seeking a seat on city council again in this fall's municipal election.

Woodsworth: "I was one of the early people in this country out and working for gay and lesbian rights in the late '60s, early '70s. I know the world is way, way better than we ever thought it could be because we organized together, we stood up, and we fought back, but it's not good enough yet and we have to keep working together."

Christine Waymark and Robin Rennie

Together since 1981, the couple has fought plenty of uphill battles. Rennie says she brought gay and lesbian rights into the programming at Family Services in the late 1970s. In the 1980s, Waymark says she was a candidate for ministry in the United Church when she was outed by a committee member and dismissed from the remaining finalists.

Rennie: "When I first came out [in 1972] it was a very hard thing to come out. There was nothing to come out to. I felt very alone..."I applied for the [Family Services] job not knowing that they were actually looking for somebody who was out. It turned out they wanted me to go out into the community and solicit people who would become involved with Family Services programs. I think it went very slowly, but it was wonderful."

Waymark: "When I was outed, I decided to become active and become honest. I got dropped as a candidate and I went on to be in AFFIRM, the United Church organization of gays and lesbians. I was the only lesbian to write the report that eventually led to the ordination of gays and lesbians in the United Church in '88."

It's really important to me that I have places where I can just be me. And "me" is definitely queer."

Orphans

My review of Orphans, on now at the Firehall Arts Centre, appears in this week's WestEnder.

Orphans
By Andrea Warner


The Dead End Kids were originally a motley assortment of young toughies plucked from obscurity to play kids growing up on New York streets. They went on to find success in Hollywood, and represented the gritty hold-your-breath hopefulness of a generation devastated by the Depression and caught between World Wars.

Orphans plants its roots firmly in this lore: Treat and Philip are brothers who were orphaned as children, but continue to live together in a strangely cozy codependence. Treat has a hair-trigger temper and pays the rent through petty crime. Philip’s allergies keep him locked up inside, imagining a dream world where Errol Flynn is to blame for breaking any other number of Treat’s rules. Their relationship is complex: Treat, the eldest, fought to keep Philip from social services, and his over-protectiveness hasn’t waned. Rather, it’s a metaphorical hug that’s squeezing the life out of Philip’s body. When Treat brings home Harold, no one is prepared for the wedge it will drive between the brothers, forcing them both to grow up beyond their fragile existence.

It’s best not to dwell too much on Orphans’ story, and regard it instead as a springboard for three wonderful performances, nurtured by director Stephen Drover. Andrew McNee’s Treat is a whirlwind of bravado and anger, and it’s entirely to his credit that Treat never becomes a “bad guy” despite his actions. It’s fascinating to watch McNee convey the constant threat Treat feels every time Philip makes the slightest movement towards independence; even Philip teaching himself to read becomes a battle.

Michael Charrois plays Harold, the man who finally comes between the brothers. His quick-as-lightening turn from victim to victor is delightful, particularly as he attempts to bring Treat’s lawlessness into focus. He’s part tender father, part dangerous outsider and lends a certain funny creepiness to his perpetual offering of “encouragement.” Harold’s motivations seem to rest entirely on his fondness for “dead end kids,” as he calls Treat and Philip, but Charrois isn’t provided with enough material to make Harold anything more than a convenient catalyst to the story.

Last but not least, Michael Rinaldi steals the show (much the way he did in The Dissemblers) with his charming embodiment of Philip’s naïve curiousity. Rinaldi’s a gifted physical comedian who infuses Philip with a believable desire to challenge himself and the status quo (re: Treat.) Philip’s gentle attachment to a high-heeled shoe and his wild imagination are perfect fodder for Rinaldi’s brand of graceful boyishness, and Philip’s transformation into a man is heartening to watch.

The production values are simple and effective. A coffee table becomes it’s own stage as a platform for all three actors to alternately sit, lay, stand, or jump on. A television set’s soft grey glare provides the only light on Treat’s sad face as he realizes Philip is finally stretching his wings.

Ultimately, Orphans shortcomings lie in the hands of playwright Lyle Kessler. The story arc feels rushed, the second half lulls in two of its four scenes, and a throw-away line hints at a major plot point but instead becomes a nagging question that goes unanswered. The script’s biggest crime, though, is the tidy bow it wraps around Treat’s metamorphoses: it comes way too quickly, and shortchanges everyone involved.

Yet, the acting makes this a show worth seeing; it’s owed entirely to the talented cast that Orphans finds a home inside its audience at all.

The Dating Doctor Interview

My interview with the "Dating Doctor", Daniel Packard, appears in this week's WestEnder. The layout is great, so pick up a copy if you can.

By Andrea Warner

Lots of people rely on social lubricant (i.e. getting drunk) to take them from “You come here often?” to “Can I fix you some breakfast?”

Unfortunately, the path from A rarely leads to B, so think of the Dating Doctor, Daniel Packard, as your personal guide through the twisted and thorny trappings of Flirting 101.

Packard got his start as a comedian before launching his wildly successful and controversial show, Live Group Sex Therapy. Recognizing that everyone needs help hooking up, he’s now made a career out of it. His work has taken him to locales as far-flung as Dubai and Greece, and his monthly FlirtFest nights with the Rendezvous Club in Vancouver are proving to be sold-out celebrations of female empowerment and male wish fulfillment, of which he guarantees the clientele is “very attractive.”

The WestEnder talked with Packard about what women want, the biggest misconceptions about men, and how our high school days are never far behind us.

What made you decide to go into this line of work?
High school was my Vietnam. That was my defining emotional experience, and it didn’t go well. I was always a guy I thought was a “catch.” I had a lot to offer, and I’d listen to girls and I heard the things they wanted and I was that, and I found how hard it was for me to connect with women. Part of the teenage adolescent in me, you know, up until about five minutes ago, was lonely and frustrated. I know how hard it can be for people to connect. I guess it came from a certain amount of loneliness and sadness, like any great art, and I’ve just tried to take that negative and turn it into a positive for everybody.

How would you describe FlirtFest?
Essentially, it’s every woman in control and every guy in heaven.

I’ve heard the word “empowered” bandied about…
I want to empower women. I find that in this culture women are enabled to blame men a lot, and no one will really interrupt you. You know, when girls are sitting around talking, and they say “Oh my god, this thing happened”, and the friend doesn’t turn around and say, “Well, let’s take a good long look at your role in the dynamics so you can avoid this pattern in the future.” Men are such easy targets, you know. But anytime somebody blames or gets frustrated, they are not taking responsibility for their actions and then they can’t improve the situation.

You talk a bit about high school. I guess it would be hard to leave certain behaviours behind.
Well, yeah, it’s really hard. And most people will blame until an external force forces you to grow up. And, because men are generally the pursuers, women don’t have to grow up in this area of pursuit. Men will do the work; we’re the hunters. Most women spend a lot of energy in terms of looking cuter, but they don’t spend a lot of energy in terms of becoming emotionally stronger when it comes to going after men.

Would you say you get to be in the very unique position of telling women how to grow up?
I don’t like to say, “Grow up.” I have a lot of compassion and understanding for it—I’m growing up myself. When you’re a guy talking to hundreds of women simultaneously and you say “grow up,” the female mafia will quickly lock arms and take you down. When I first started this, I thought the women would go, “Oh, wow, thanks for the information,” but they just hated me. This was before I knew what I was doing.

What’s the biggest misconception women have about men?
The first is that men like the chase, and the second is that if you sleep with a man too quickly he’ll think you’re a slut. And while there’s a sliver of truth in there, these are basically perpetuated by the female culture. If you believe men like the chase, then guess what? You can avoid walking up to a guy, pursuing him, and getting rejected. You never have to put your ego on the line. And, women have a lot of judgment around sexuality, and they think men have it too, but we don’t.

Have you ever had the women try to pursue you towards the end of the event?
Oh yeah! I’m the alpha male, baby!

For more information about FlirtFest go to www.danielpackard.com

Ben Stein interview

My interview with Ben Stein appears in this week's WestEnder. Pick up a copy if you get the chance!

Ben Stein interview
By Andrea Warner
763 words


He has given the world an opportunity to win his money, droned memorably about red eyes, and asked that timeless question: “Bueller…Bueller?” He was valedictorian of his Yale law class, a speechwriter for Nixon, and currently writes a finance column for the New York Times Business Section and Yahoo! Finance.

The question now: Who is Ben Stein? A Darwin-hating, right-wing sensationalist or just a guy willing to throw his reputation on the line fighting for freedom of speech?

Stein’s new movie, Expelled: No Intelligence Allowed, doesn’t provide any easy answers. The actor/economist/lawyer co-wrote and stars in Expelled, and begins by making the case that the scientific academia is silencing, censoring, and punishing the “rebel” scientists who dare to question Darwin’s theories in favour of Intelligent Design, which presumes an intentional design or architecture to human existence.

To say Expelled has been polarizing would be an understatement. Internet sites have sprung up to debunk the film’s assertions, and Richard Dawkins, avowed atheist and writer of The God Delusion, claims he was duped into participating along with several other scientists, who believed they were being interviewed for a much more secular documentary called Crossroads about the “intersection of science and religion.”

But for all the fervor, plenty of people feel Expelled finally provides a voice for their views. And the outrage from scientists and atheists just fuels Stein’s fire, making him a man in high demand with little time to spare. The WestEnder got a chance to talk (2 minutes 26 seconds to be precise) with Stein about his new role as the poster boy for Intelligent Design, his hopes for the film, and how ego is his driving force.

This movie has sparked a lot of controversy. Why do you think that is, and was it intentional on your part?
It wasn’t intentional on my part at all. I had no idea, and I’m not sure why it sparked so much controversy. I think it’s because people are afraid of God and they think that we’re trying to force God down their throats and that’s the farthest thing from the truth. If people don’t want to believe in God, that’s their business, but I think there’s some confusion in people’s minds about what our intention is here and it’s frightening them.

What was your intention with the film?
To teach, to tell people about a threat to free speech, and the Darwinian establishment refusing to allow even the most obvious questioning of Darwinism’s relevance.

When did you first become interested in Intelligent Design and making this film?
We where inspired to make this film in 2005 because we know that great advances in science and technology can only happen when there is a free and open environment in research and development. In today's Universities and research departments there is the clamp down on excepted orthodoxies and if there is a mechanism discovered that is in direct contradiction to the Darwinian orthodoxy, that discovery is hushed up.

What, if any, are your concerns regarding the public's reaction to this film? Are you worried about your reputation?
No I am not at all concerned.... I have always been a rebel of sorts.

Scientific American devoted a whole article called "Six things Ben Stein doesn't want you to know about Expelled". Have you read it? If so, what are your thoughts on it?
I have not read the Scientific American article or many of the other articles that have come out strongly against our film. We where fully expecting these articles to come out because we are exposing these very people and their tactics to suppress.

A lot of people have been attacking you, saying you “hate science.” How do you respond?
I know. I don’t understand where that comes from. I have no idea. What I said was science can be used for good or bad. [Note: Stein was recently quoted from an interview with Paul Crouch Jr. as saying “Science leads to killing people.”] There can be science that helps people and cures people and makes their lives easier, and there can be science which gasses people and different kinds of science. I don’t see how anyone can question that. People will say anything, any kind of nonsense that comes to their head. I’m afraid that’s sort of what’s happened now.

Intelligent Design, game shows, law, Ferris Bueller—what’s the connection between all these facets of your personality?
Hmmm…I think all get me in the limelight. (Laughs) I think the connection is they all focus attention on me.

So it’s the Ben Stein show?
Exactly.

Product reviews

A collection of product reviews for Shared Vision.

West Coast-ers
Wishing bad karma on guests who plunk their drinks on your brand-new coffee table won’t make those white rings go away. But thanks to Vancouver designer Amanda Weedmark, we can now keep our furniture—and relationships—pristine with her Creating Good Karma tile coasters. With two designs in five subtle colours, the coasters are practical for every coffee table (yes, even that classic Danish modern number you scored last weekend). The company hopes to spark positive change by donating a portion from every sale to charity—so here’s a chance to give your buying habit a higher purpose. creatinggoodkarma.com —Andrea Warner

So Pretty, So Practical
Plastic bags are so passé, especially when you can pack your goods into an AuMarché sturdy and sustainable shoulder-slung sensation. Each roomy tote boasts original artwork by owner Keiko Lee-Hem, whose vivid designs include fennel hearts, sassy summer bouquets, and multi-coloured asparagus. The bags are 55 per cent hemp (the rest is cotton) and fortified with reinforced handles, so you can feel confident schlepping home that 20-lb winter melon you scored in Chinatown, or several of your favourite bottles of vino on your weekly, er, monthly trip to the liquor mart. Bag yours at the Vancouver Art Gallery Shop (750 Hornby St.), or aumarchebags.com. —AW

Seat Yourself
When a tree falls in the forest, the keen ears over at Clayoquot Crafts hear. The Tofino company uses only salvaged red cedar for its award-winning patio furniture that’s sprucing up decks and gardens all over the world. An eco-friendly collaboration between Daniel Lamarche, owner and creator, and the Tla-o-qui-aht First Nation people, Clayoquot has earned rave reviews for its benches, Cape Cod chairs, and outdoor dining sets. Requiring little upkeep, and built to withstand the temperamental B.C. weather, these pieces are ideal for watching the waves crash onto the beach, or stargazing in your own backyard. Order online at clayoquotcrafts.com.
—Andrea Warner

King Lear review

My review of Bard on the Beach's King Lear appears in this week's WestEnder. Pick up a copy to see the lovely full page layout!

King Lear review
By Andrea Warner
502 words

This ain’t your high school English class’s King Lear. This is your liberal arts college re-imagining King Lear as part comedy, part musical, and part morality tale to show everyone how daringly innovative they are. Get it?

King Lear isn’t the most complex of Shakespeare’s works, but the web of familial deception still packs plenty of modern punch. King Lear banishes the only daughter who truly loves him, Cordelia, because she fails to kiss his ass the way his other daughters, Goneril and Regan, do. Meanwhile, Edmund, the illegitimate son of the Earl of Gloucester, schemes to turn his brother and father against one and other. Everyone’s evil plans unravel in a series of bloody confrontations that come like puncture wounds throughout the last few minutes of the first half and the entire second half.

The story has stayed the same, but Bard on the Beach’s updates to the bloody tragedy take wild liberties that mess with the audience’s expectations, and the results are alternately frustrating and fantastic.

This Lear is a twisted relic, swimming in a wheelchair and a grandfatherly cardigan, his mind starting to corrupt memory and reality as he succumbs to advancing Alzheimer’s.

This Lear’s first half is infused with so much dark humour, sight gags, and laugh-out-loud moments, it feels more like a night at Yuk Yuks than an evening of Shakespeare.

This Lear has a song in his heart and back-up musicians to boot.

Plenty of director James Fagan Tait’s risks work, largely because the cast is an accomplished crew of established and new faces. Robert Moloney (The Glass Menagerie) infuses Edmund with lots of devilish charm, and is a wry and wonderful presence even at his most fiendish. Patti Allen has plenty of bite and sass as Nurse, the only one who seems to be able to tell King Lear the truth. And, Christopher Gaze is given wide range to zigzag powerfully between Lear’s lucid triumphant moments and his descent inside his own crumbling mind.

The cast is also tasked with singing, playing instruments, and providing sound effects like the devastating storm that forces Lear to seek refuge in a hovel. The singing is best reserved for comedic effect, and works fairly well throughout the first act. The second act packs more emotionally turbulent material, and the songs feel heavy-handed. They prove an unfortunate distraction from the actual acting and dialogue.

This is King Lear’s real triumph, and it’s hundreds of years old: language. The insults Lear spits at his daughters are vicious, visceral, and funny. His revelations feel as fresh today as they did then, particularly when he realizes the lip service he was paid throughout his life, admitting ruefully, “They told me I was everything. ‘Tis a lie.” The lessons Lear learns come late in life and are perched atop an incredibly high body count.

Though it earns high marks for innovation, this production doesn’t quite make the grade in effectiveness. Ultimately, this Lear is less a King and more a Prince.

Finn's Girl

My review of Finn's Girl appears in the current Westender.

Finn’s Girl
2 stars
By Andrea Warner
269 words

Finn’s Girl, the clunky Canadian drama, peels away its layers with all the subtlety of a flasher in a trench coat. Though there are many good elements (strong female characters, great actors, a 21^st century take on sexuality and family), there are also lots of unnecessary plot twists, melodrama, and miles of back-story that all but drown Finn’s Girl in a bloated sea of good intentions.

Finn is silver-haired, no-nonsense doctor who rides a motorcycle, walks with a sexy swagger, and is on the rebound after her wife, Nancy’s, death. She’s also raising their daughter, Zelly, a precocious pre-pubescent with a penchant for shoplifting, smoking dope, and telling the babysitter to “fuck off.”

Finn’s sinking under her parental obligations, and desperately trying to keep Nancy’s abortion clinic afloat amidst violent threats and sniper attacks. Two cops keep her under 24-hour surveillance, and become enmeshed in Finn and Zelly’s lives as the threats escalate.

Brooke Johnson infuses Finn with a realistic combination of tough-talking helplessness, and Maya Ritter is fantastic as Zelly, a brilliant but lonely kid who is just trying to figure out who she is. Yanna McIntosh is a lovely and stoic addition to this duo as Diana, the cop who becomes so central to their lives. If this had been the extent of the story, Finn’s Girl would be a better film. But, there’s an entire subplot regarding Zelly’s conception, Finn’s previous work as part of a fertility drug-trial, and Zelly’s father, all of which feels like a year’s worth of television programming on the CBC condensed into 88 minutes, making Finn’s Girl impossible to fully embrace.

Memphis

My story on Memphis (The Band), appears in this week's Charleston City Paper.

Memphis wishes, rock star dreams

Eight years in, everyone thinks Memphis (the band) is still a little bit country, a little bit rock ‘n roll

By Andrea Warner

Twelve years ago, Jeremy Thompson and his cousin, Scott Morgan, were sowing some oats and wearing out their tire treads on a road trip to California. The two fell hard for Memphis, and when they started looking for a name to christen their new band, Elvis’s homeland seemed a natural fit for their rockabilly sound. Thompson admits that since their “Eureka!” moment, the band has often been dismissed as a country outfit based simply on Memphis’s physical proximity to Nashville. In reality, Memphis the band is more button-down shirts with ripped jeans discretely hiding their cowboy boots, than full ranch hand chic.

“I keep trying to tell everyone that Nashville’s six hours east of Memphis, but it hasn’t quite worked out as I thought,” Thompson laughs.

Memphis is the perfect band for fans of Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers, or anyone who appreciates songs that tell stories with a bit of blues, funk, and twang. Morgan is Memphis’ voice, and his rough growl is the stuff of back roads and beer, rollicking and rich where called for, and Walker’s drums provide a great backbone to the majority of Memphis’s songs. The cousins are joined by Shannon Morgan (percussion), Ryan Davis (bass), and Peter Lucey (keys and accordion), and help flesh out Memphis’s unique cross blend of sounds and influences. One of their most popular songs, “Fallen Down,” is a beautiful, bluesy ballad that harkens back to the scratchy-throat slumber of an old Tom Waits song.

Though most members of Memphis still hold down day jobs (Morgan is a published author!), they try to go on one small tour every year. Thompson admits the band is still awaiting their big break, but he’s ready for it.

“I have not experienced anything in my life that compares to being on stage with four other people,” Thompson says. “Myself and the bass player, we just want to tour and be out doing what we do best, and that’s play music.”

Thompson would like to see Memphis’s trajectory be something akin to that of Phish or Widespread Panic or Government Mule; independent but with a big enough following to move Memphis to the next level.

“We’re not Daughtry being played once every two and half hours in six radio stations just in my town,” Thompson says. “We’re not corporate. We’re not mainstream. Bands like The Mississippi All Stars have said, ‘We have the means to do it ourselves are out there, we’re going to show you we can do it, keep our fans, and keep it alive’ I really like that.”

But Thompson can’t help but hold one rock star dream close. It’s deceptively simple, hedonistic, and just a little juvenile.

“I’ve always wanted to throw a television out the window of a hotel room,” he laughs again. “But, the other members of the band keep me straight. On the next tour we’re going to take the TV with us, so we can throw it out the window and not be charged with any damages.” A gentlemanly approach, but keep your eyes to the skies if Memphis comes to your town.

Warrior Boyz

My review of Warrior Boyz appears in this week's Westender.

Warrior Boyz
Andrea Warner
3 stars
267 words

The front pages of local papers have become little more than a running tally for the body count succumbing to gang violence. Baljit Sangra’s new documentary, Warrior Boyz, packs a punch that hits uncomfortably close to home, tackling Indo-Canadian gangs in Surrey, and the teenage wannabes risking their lives to belong.

Jagdeep is the unofficial elder statesmen, sharing his story with at-risk teens. He’s a tough-talking ex-gang member, lean and fierce, and the residual anger of his youth still infuses his words as he recalls the perpetual racism he faced as a young immigrant in the Lower Mainland, and the escalating violence that inevitably resulted in a jail sentence.

It’s a pattern the audience sees repeating in 15-year-old Tanvir’s life. The downward spiral is almost dizzying, as he’s kicked out of his home and out of school, and begins to carry a baseball bat for protection. The interviews Sangra conducts with Tanvir are frustrating and frightening: they reveal a good kid making terrible decisions, and it’s devastating to imagine what his future holds.

Warrior Boyz barely cracks the 40-minute mark, but it feels like the start of a crucial conversation that desperately needs to continue. It’s heartening to see educators like Sukh Rai, the vice principal tasked with keeping these kids on track, make such an impact on boys like Vicky, the18-year-old trying to leave his past behind and graduate. Vicky refuses to reveal the extent of his gang involvement, for fear of retaliation, but it’s also the film’s weak spot, compromising the totality of Boyz’s impact as the audience never finds out what’s scared him straight.

Silent Light

My review of Silent Light appears in this week's Westender.

Silent Light
By Andrea Warner
4 stars
271 words

A Mexican movie with a skeletal plot and sumptuous visuals, filmed almost entirely in the Plautdietsch dialect of the German language, and cast with virtual unknowns? It’s a dicey experiment and it pays off beautifully for writer/director Carlos Reygadas.

Silent Light traverses a familiar topic with an intriguing twist: adultery, Mennonite style. Johan (Cornelio Wall) is deeply religious, but can’t fight his attraction to Marianne (Maria Pankratz), his lover of two years. Esther (Canadian novelist Miriam Toews) is Johan’s long-suffering wife, a stoic figure in a black dress who’s borne him a brood of blond babies.

The film slowly builds to a tragic climax (will Johan choose lust or family?), and then keeps going for another 15 minutes before its out-of-left-field ending. But, while the plot is interesting in its own way, it’s secondary to the cinematography and direction.

Silent Light is film making at its most prosaic and arty, and it’s incredibly gratifying to watch a camera linger over a scene in today’s style of quick-cuts. The opening shot envelops the audience in all consuming, disorienting darkness, the silence periodically shattered by high-pitched animal cries. It takes about five minutes before the orange glow of sunrise reveals the countryside.

The elements, both natural and manmade are used to wonderful effect: the tick-tock of the clock that looms, unseen, filling up the uncomfortable silence between Johan and Esther over breakfast; the torrential downpour of rain that soaks Esther to the bone as she finally breaks down.

Silent Light is almost confounding in its simplicity and sensory immersion. And though the dialogue is sparse, it will have film buffs talking up a storm.

The Producers

My review of The Producers appears in this week's Westender.

The Producers
By Andrea Warner
279 words

Mel Brooks has always tackled the taboo. His keenly astute appreciation for satire marched over the boundaries of good taste in 1968, when his film, The Producers, envisioned a hoofing Hitler with a song in his heart. In 2001, The Producers came to Broadway, tauter, tighter, and with lots more T&A. Now the Tony-award smash hit high kicks it’s way to Vancouver, and it feels just as frenzied, funny, and freshly shocking as ever.

The Producers is deliciously daring in its unbridled enthusiasm for dirty jokes, sweeping caricatures, and playful winking at show business. Charming shyster and failing Broadway producer, Max Biaylstock (Jay Brazeau) and the meekly nebbish accountant Leo Bloom (Josh Epstein) discover that in the right circumstances, a producer can make more money on a flop than with a success. They hit the poor-taste jackpot with ex-Nazi, Franz, whose Spring Time for Hitler aims to show the softer side of the war criminal.

The cast is fantastic. Jay Brazeau and Josh Epstein as Biaylstock and Bloom offer plenty of chemistry as they fully embody their campy and nefarious alter egos. Jackson Davies is furiously funny as the pigeon-loving, knock-kneed, Hitler enthusiast Franz. Terra C. MacLeod is a revelation as Ulla, the Swedish bombshell who woos Bloom.

The choreography and costumes transcend the confines of the Stanley stage, and create big scale productions that are innovative and hilarious. Particularly, the slew of little old ladies armed with walkers in “Along Came Bialy” and the fetish-wearing spectacular “Springtime for Hitler” are brilliant. Every stereotype meets its match in glorious song and dance extravaganzas: Gays, Nazis, show biz types—no one’s feelings are spared on this stage. Thank God.

Don't Mess with the Zohan

My review of Adam Sandler's new movie, Don't Mess with the Zohan, appears in this week's Westender.

Don’t Mess With the Zohan
2 stars
By Andrea Warner
270 words

Raunchy, rude, and kind of racist, Don’t Mess with the Zohan oozes stereotypes and clichés, but without the cleverness of Harold and Kumar the jokes amount to simple sight gags and an escalating array of crotch and hummus jokes, with much “America is good” rhetoric.

Think of this as Adam Sandler’s version of peace talks with the Middle East. Zohan is an Israeli counter terrorist with gravity-defying moves, an untamed libido, and a secret dream to go to America and be a hair stylist. He fakes his death during a fight with his Palestinian enemy, Phantom (John Turturro), and re-emerges in New York City where he gets a job in a salon.

Dahlia, Palestinian and the requisite “beautiful girl,” owns the salon, which happens to sit in a Middle Eastern neighbourhood, where Palestinian shops face Israeli shops. The whole community is at risk from Walbridge, an old rich white guy in a sharp suit, who wants to build a mall.

The political stuff could almost be interesting, and would make for good satire in other hands. But, the movie’s also hampered by stupid subplots: Zohan “makes sticky” with every woman who breathes before falling for Dahlia; Rob Schneider (himself tolerable, his storyline less so) is Zohan’s former foe out for revenge; and then there’s an apparent Middle Eastern obsession with hackey sack and disco.

The cameos come fast and furious, and are the only consistent bright spots throughout. With a script co-written by reigning comedy King Judd Apatow, Zohan should be far funnier. But, when Mariah Carey is the best thing to happen to a film, the jig is up.

Sex and the City

My review of Sex and the City, the movie, appears in this week's Fast Forward Weekly!

Grown-up Sex

Carrie and Company barely miss a beat

Published May 29, 2008 by Andrea Warner in Film Reviews

Take one last sip of your cosmos and shout it from the skyscrapers: Welcome back, ladies!

Was it the tough talk about sex, men and the business of love that helped build the Sex and the City empire? Fans of the show know it’s a truth far more profound — friendship. The beating heart of SATC has always been the relationship between soulmates Carrie, Miranda, Charlotte and Samantha. Well, that and shoes.

The film opens to reveal that the years since the TV series have been kinder to some than others: Charlotte is blissfully content with her family, Samantha has forsaken New York for L.A. (and possibly herself for her boyfriend, Smith), Miranda is more cynical than ever after hitting a hard patch with Steve, and Carrie’s fairytale ending is hanging by a silk thread.

The film clocks in at a little more than two hours, so some stories, unfortunately, get shortchanged. Miranda and Steve’s storyline, while offering Cynthia Nixon a chance to do some great acting, feels forced and maligns Steve’s character permanently. Kim Cattrall brings the sex to 50-year-old Samantha, who continues to grow as she makes a tough choice. Kristin Davis shines as Charlotte, who has become the girls’ spokesperson for happiness. But it’s Sarah Jessica Parker who brings a new and very welcome depth to our flawed heroine. Carrie demurs from sharing details of her sex life with Big, stays calm even when she sees the crisis coming and makes 40 look absolutely fabulous.

The men, save for Big (the reliably charming Chris Noth), struggle for face time, but lose out to the fashion. Scene upon scene is devoted to designers and stunningly chic clothes that insist on reminding viewers again and again that Sex and the City is a trendsetter. While the eye candy is pretty, it is also distracting and deprives the audience of more moments with characters like the gay boyfriends, Stanford and Anthony, who are under-utilized here.

Ultimately, this is a film for the fans. While the opening sequence gives a beautifully brief synopsis of the ladies’ lives — complete with some of their most memorable lines — it’s unlikely that the unfolding narrative will pack as much emotional punch for those viewers going in cold. It’s great to see Carrie so happily confident in hers and Big’s love (their playful banter hasn’t dulled), or to watch Miranda’s brittle breakdown. Still, Sex and the City has always been more about the journey than the destination. The film is a fitting tribute to the question the series posed all those years ago: single and fabulous? You bet.

Jerusalem is Proud to Present

My interview with Jerusalem director, Nitzan Gilady, appears in the current issue of Xtra! West.

By Andrea Warner

When organizers announced the 2006 World Pride march would be held in Jerusalem, Nitzan Gilady intended to capture this historic first in gay culture. He quickly realized his documentary, Jerusalem is Proud to Present, was actually a witness to a fight for human rights as organizers came up against formidable opposition, all in the name of the Holy Land.

“At the beginning, I was one of those who questioned why we need to have a parade at all?” Gilady admits, but as he began shooting, he experienced the homophobia and hatred firsthand.

“At that time it was very scary. You would never know where it would come from—
someone would lose his mind and think he should react towards the community,” he says, reflecting on his own frightening encounter, depicted in the film as he and Jerusalem’s only out gay council member visit the Orthodox community.

Gilady, who lives in Tel Aviv and came out to his family in 2005, was unprepared for one strong alliance that arose from the World Pride March proposal. Jewish, Christian, and Muslim leaders banded together against their common enemy: homosexuality.

“It was really weird to see that people really think like that. They said all these things, like ‘Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve,’ and ‘This is the Holy Land, not the Homo Land.’ I couldn’t actually hold the camera because I was laughing,” Gilady says. “But also for me it was standing almost in front of my father, because these are things my father still thinks.”

While 4000 people ended up attending the march, 7000 police officers were required to protect participants, a further testament to the courage of Jerusalem’s gay community. The film debuted on a major cable channel in Israel, and was broadcast throughout the country, making it difficult for religious leaders to keep the word “gay” under wraps. It has also made the festival rounds and picked up several awards so far.

Kris Anderson, the festival director of DOXA, Vancouver’s upcoming documentary film festival, saw Jerusalem at a festival in Amsterdam and felt it was an important message Canadians needed to hear.

“I think it’s a universal story, and probably a story that is getting more and more important. Fundamentalist religion is growing, and people who are oppressed are at risk, and these kind of battles—people need to know about them all over the world.”

Presidents of the United States of America rock again!

Check out my story on Presidents of the United States of America in this week's Charleston City Paper.

VISITING ACT | Presidents of the United States of America

What a peach: the 'Lump' guys

By Andrea Warner

No one could escape the Presidents of the United States of America in 1995, as their self-titled debut quenched the thirsty ears of people desperate for dance-happy, silly joy-pop.

Fans of a certain age still know the words to PUSA's first smash, "Peaches," a deliciously offhand song that alternates between quiet declarations desiring a simple life, and pulsing anger, as lead singer and songwriter Chris Ballew squishes "nature's candy" in his fist.

"Lump" and "Kitty" followed, and pretty soon PUSA was ubiquitous. Their fame reached another level of notoriety when the God of Goof, "Weird Al" Yankovic, turned "Lump" into "Gump," a fitting parody for a band that insists on making music that disguises its genius under lyrics like, "Kitty on the floor and I wanna touch it."

Ballew's ability to churn out head-scratching hits is just part of PUSA's success. The rest of the band is equally game to play along. Jason Finn's drums pound and propel the catchy beats, and "guitbass" player Andrew McKeag (standing in for Dave Dederer), alternates bits of brilliance between raging riffs and melody. Ballew also plays the "bassitar," and other modified instruments, which helps PUSA craft their sound.

Surviving breakups and make-ups, PUSA is back together in support of their new album, These Are the Good Times People (Fugitive). The single "Mixed Up S.O.B." is more straightforward than "Lump," but equally catchy. The country-twinge of "Ladybug" would make for a great alt-rock hoe-down. The funny but rueful "Bad Times" boasts a chorus full of sweet lament.

PUSA's live shows haven't lost any of the energy over the last 12 years either. Recent footage reveal three guys full of frenetic energy, jumping like kids on pogo sticks, and an audience that can't stop screaming. With PUSA, the more things change, the more they stay the same. These really are good times, people.

Ladyhawk

A quick preview I wrote about Ladyhawk, for the Charleston City Paper

The Melting Pot of Ladyhawk
By Andrea Warner

They look and sound like the love children of Neil Young and the Drive-By Truckers, but thrown from the back of a dirty Ford pick-up driven by the Killers. Famous for energetic sold-out shows in their native Canada, Vancouver's Ladyhawk has crossed the border, bringing with them their special brand of unrelenting guitar riffs, crashing cymbals, and a sound that refuses to be corralled into any one category. Southern rock? New classic rock? Indie alternative? It's a smorgasbord of sound, with songs that will keep the feet tapping from the bar to the dance floor and back to the bar again.

Ladyhawk pays proper tribute to some of their forefathers. "Night You're Beautiful" is all pounding drums, but offers a sly throwback to the Velvet Underground's "Walk on the Wild Side." The quieter parts of "Fear" are reminiscent of the Doors, as is the steady drum roll of "War." The sexy bass on "Long 'til the Morning" virtually guarantees vertical hip-to-hip action. And, while it's unlikely the crowd will need any motivation to put their dancing shoes on, the sing-song clap-along "My Old Jacknife" is maybe the happiest song to ever include the line "no one cares about me."

The Dissemblers

My review of The Dissemblers appears in this week's Westender.

The Dissemblers
By Andrea Warner

Vancouver's well-documented obsession with façade and pretense is the perfect fodder for biting satire. Populated with vividly recognizable and not entirely likeable characters, playwright Jason Bryden's The Dissemblers is a snapshot of early-thirties disaffection and existential crisis, or the moments lived out between Starbucks and stoplights.

Dash (John Murphy), a self-involved artist with an unfortunate obsession with crows, juggles an uptight fiancée, Mi Mi (Medina Hahn), and a sexy flirtation with his tart-tongued gallery manager, Olivia (Sasa Brown). He's also trying to keep his friendship together with best friend Simon (Michael Rinaldi), who's in love with the weirdly spacy Jules (Jennifer Mawhinney). As the relationships unravel amidst a dinner party, bird genocide, and planning a gallery exhibit in China, each character is forced to examine how truth and happiness are interlinked.

Murphy is at his best opposite Brown and the dialogue between Dash and Olivia crackles with clever sexuality. Michael Rinaldi's Simon deservedly gets the majority of the play's laughs as an over-the-top realtor with a faux-hawk: "It's Coquitlam, it's the new inner-city," he says while trying to sell Olivia a condo. Unfortunately, Hahn and Mawhinney are hampered by roles that don't feel fully fleshed out, a crucial area where The Dissemblers doesn't come together. A startling left turn in the script's final 20 minutes feels too abrupt, as if it's part of an entirely different production, or worse, just there for shock value.

A thoroughly Vancouver-centric work (references to local haunts like Keno's, the crow migrations at dusk to Burnaby, the East Side Culture Crawl), The Dissemblers has captured the city's curious cultural tics with just the right amount of rueful affection. Bryden's debut falters at times, but ultimately heralds a welcome new voice in Canadian theatre.

Then She Found Me

My review of Then She Found Me appears in this week's Fast Forward Weekly

Then She Found Me? Kind of wish she hadn’t

Helen Hunt’s directorial debut enters movie-of-the-week territory
Published May 8, 2008 by Andrea Warner in Film Reviews

Then She Found Me, Helen Hunt’s feature directorial debut, attempts to tackle such grandiose themes as love and loss, along with the three big Fs — fidelity, family and fertility. The result is something like an overgrown garden, with Hunt mistakenly planting the tangled roots in the estrogen-drenched movie-of-the-week genre.

Hunt stars as April, a kindergarten teacher in her late 30s. Within the first five minutes of the film, April’s entire world crumbles. In rapid-fire succession, her childish husband (Matthew Broderick) leaves her, her adoptive mother dies and her biological mother (Bette Midler) arrives on the scene. Twenty minutes later, she’s embarking on a meet-cute romance with the single father of one of her students (Colin Firth) and then finds out she’s pregnant with her ex-husband’s child. An entire year’s worth of soap opera-styled calamities and plot twists play out in the remaining 80 minutes.

There’s no lack of sincerity on the actors’ parts. Hunt’s April, at her lowest points, is realistically flawed and has the visage to complement her inner struggles — painfully thin, long frown lines, and not a trace of makeup. The actress’s choice to ditch vanity throughout most of the film is brave in today’s Hollywood. Midler is charmingly sweet and brash, and appears to relish the opportunity to dig into the emotional confrontations. She and Hunt have a nice chemistry and are believable as a reunited mother and daughter. Broderick fares less well in the thankless role of the man-child who doesn’t know how to grow up, particularly when compared to Firth’s romantic, sardonic and occasionally angry hero. Firth truly shines as a man trying his best to let his guard down and fall in love. He also lays claim to the best lines.

Still, even the stellar cast can’t get past the convoluted story. Based on a book by Elinor Lipman, the script apparently deviates heavily from the original text. This would be fine if a defter hand had cut the fat and made a leaner, more resonant film. While Hunt shows promise as a director, she seems unable to recognize her film’s flaws — it keeps insisting that it’s about real people and real situations, and yet it moves further into ridiculousness with each new revelation. April’s troubles and triumphs come fast and furious, but have no time to hit home.

Hunt spent 10 years getting Then She Found Me off the ground. Eleven might have been the magic number.

Shared Vision feature

My feature story on Maureen Jack-LaCroix, co-written with Tamara Letkemen, appears in this month's Shared Vision.

The Goddess of Gumption

by Andrea Warner and Tamara Letkeman

From the raucous realm of rock ‘n’ roll to the daring and dangerous edges of skateboarding, Maureen Jack-LaCroix has emerged as Vancouver’s golden girl of promotion. Her entrepreneurial moxie has always embraced a bottom line emphasizing social change—and now, the ingenious impresario is summoning all her brilliance to take on her most daunting challenge yet.

Within minutes of meeting Maureen Jack-LaCroix, it becomes clear that she is as wild as the free-flowing mane of silver curls that frames her delicate facial features. Energy and enthusiasm seem to pulse off her as we settle into an interview that underscores her talent as one of Vancouver’s best “connectors”: a networker and a weaver of ideas and people. She’s a rare find—a hybrid who’s equally comfortable working with concepts (the world of ideas) and practicality (the world of action).

Early in her career, Maureen established herself as a producer and impresario who could engineer projects at the highest of levels. But she’s perhaps best known for taking a teenage sport thought to be populated by juvenile delinquents—skateboarding—and making it a respectable and even celebrated part of urban life. Maureen, whose son is a boarder, did it through the creation of Slam City Jam, a three-day festival of skate culture and music—and the longest-running event of its kind in North America.

It was a tough undertaking. Maureen recounts bumping up against City Council, the Downtown Vancouver Business Improvement Association, and the Chief of Police, following a cover story in Thrasher magazine that featured one of the world’s top boarders bombing down a metal railing in Vancouver.

“The business association guy held it up and was like, ‘Look at this! Look at this!’,” she recalls. “And I laughed, and said, ‘Yeah, can you imagine doing that?’”

Before skateboarding, it was music. A classically trained pianist, Maureen stepped into the rock ’n’ roll scene after a college boyfriend enlisted her help in making a documentary about a band. She went on to become the band’s manager, and found herself thrust into a near-exclusive—and notoriously ruthless—boys’ club: the music industry.

The more intimate she became with the scene, the more appalled she was at the way musicians were being shafted, from contracts that resembled “master-slave” relationships to banks that rejected loan requests to replace broken instruments. Not content to merely play “backup,” Maureen founded a series of seminars on the music industry, which ultimately grew into New Music West, the biggest new music event in Western North America.

“It grew organically because it was of value, until we had 200 bands together showcasing in 20 venues, 150 talent scouts out from 75 labels internationally,” Maureen says. “It was a wonderful appreciation of our music and what was coming up from the grassroots of our creativity.”

And the hit parade doesn’t stop there. Maureen’s other credits include working closely with Bruce Allen, Bryan Adams, and David Foster to produce “Tears are Not Enough,” the song recorded in ’85 by a supergroup of Canadian artists to raise money for famine relief in Ethiopia.

It’s a star-studded resumé, to be sure, and it’s about to get fortified even more. Because now, Maureen’s entire career and set of producing experiences have aligned for her most important work yet. Get ready, Vancouver, for “Be the Change.”

A grassroots movement, Be the Change is bringing people together to combat global warming. Through a series of symposiums, it takes the huge and daunting concept of “saving the environment” and breaks it down into manageable chunks to show how our small, everyday contributions—like riding our bikes instead of driving, or composting our kitchen scraps—can result in permanent change. As the name suggests, “Be the Change” is about what you can do.
“This is no longer the time to marginalize our environmentalists,” Maureen stresses. “It’s not ‘They have to fix the problem and deal with it.’ What are our values? Who are we as a community?

“The best part of how big this global mind shift is,” she continues, “is that it’s truly ego-shattering—it’s so humbling to face the enormity of the task at hand, to fully recognize that I am not in control. ‘I’ cannot solve this problem. But ‘we’ can. It’s a profound shift in consciousness to truly value the ‘we’ over the ‘me.’”

The monthly, one-day symposiums are slated throughout Vancouver for the rest of this year. Participants are encouraged to bring the message back to their communities—but not to preach it. The philosophy is that as an individual changes, he or she will inevitably lead by example.

The ultimate goal? To get 1,000 Vancouverites to reduce their energy consumption by 20 per cent and, among other initiatives, increase their use of local organic produce by the same amount. In October, members and the public will gather for the first Be the Change Festival, featuring inspirational speakers, interactive workshops on climate change, plus music, film, dance, and poetry.

This is a project of—if you will—global proportions. But it’s also an idea that’s been germinating for 20-some-odd years. Shortly after Maureen finished working on “Tears are Not Enough,” she wrote her first proposal for an environmental event. Unfortunately, it didn’t take hold.

“At that time I thought we needed to have stars to endorse something for it to go,” she explains. “It needed to be powerful people that were behind it, and I was a young woman and I didn’t feel all that powerful. It never left me though.”

In fact, for the last several years, Maureen has had a quote from R. Buckminster Fuller, the American inventor, architect, author, mathematician, and futurist, affixed to her mirror: If success or failure of this planet and of human beings depended on how I am and what I do… how would I be? What would I do?

“I didn’t know,” she says, in answer to the first question. “But I knew I had to be different from the way I was.”

In response to question no. 2, Maureen’s taken a hiatus from her very successful company, Jack of Hearts Productions—and thus her income—to form the Be the Change Earth Alliance. It wasn’t an easy move.

“That entailed letting go of my attachment to the illusion of independence,” she says. “Of my self-worth being attached to how much money I made, and of my attachment to being in control. Not easy, letting go without knowing what will come in its place.”

With a string of such wildly successful events backing her up, it’s a leap of faith the premier producer and impresario can probably afford. After all, this is the same woman who championed skateboarding and took on the music industry—and the passage of time has done little to curb her defiant spirit.

“Ideally, I’ve become a wiser rebel,” she says. “But I think it’s really healthy for all of us to have a little rebel inside, because otherwise we just spend so much energy compromising to fit in that we don’t explore all of who we can be.”

Adaline interview

My interview with a new local musician, Adaline, appears in this month's Discorder!

Sweet Adaline
Sorry guys, but music is her boyfriend

By Andrea Warner

A few years ago, she was destitute and distraught, surviving on food from a church basement and suffering a severe case of post-break up and university-graduate blues. But, hitting bottom spurred Adaline into action, unleashing a torrent of creativity that portioned itself into 12 emotional and evocative songs for her debut album, Famous for Fire.

As she breezes into the coffee shop, apologizing for running three minutes behind schedule, Adaline radiates cheer, excitement, and graciousness. She warns that she’s a “chat-er” and that she’s working on showing a bit of decorum, not wanting to divulge anything that would “make her parents die.” But her natural friendliness and enthusiasm make withholding almost impossible, and frankly all the better.

Adaline in person is a stark contrast to the woman in her songs. Famous’s most haunting songs deal with betrayal, confusion, sadness, and heartbreak. And, while she’s pleased with the album and proud of the outcome, it’s still a tough place to journey back to every time she gets on stage.

“It was a really scary time. I am the most even-keeled, positive, outgoing person,” Adaline says. “And to know that I could go through a time that was that dark, makes you realize that everyone can.”

With nothing to lose, Adaline decided to hold a concert, a sort of “career launch” at a church to see if she had the chops to make it as a performer. She played for about 250 people that night, and hasn’t stopped yet.

Part of Adaline’s universal appeal might be the breadth of her influences. When she was younger, her father was a minister, and together with her mom and brother, the four would travel around and play music together, a Canadian twist on the Partridge family. Raised on a diet of church-based gospel and soul, the classically trained pianist ultimately discovered Pearl Jam’s Ten, a moment that shattered her preconceived notions of music and inspired a defiant streak as she bought and hid a new copy every time her parents found the CD and threw it out.

Her sheltered childhood couldn’t keep Adaline from indulging in her love affair with pop culture. She wasn’t allowed to take dance, but she made up her own routines to songs like “Baby Got Back”, that ode to junk-in-the-trunk glory off of secret tapes made from the radio.

“I was 17 or 18 when I heard Radiohead for the first time. And Tom Waits. People that everyone else knew of except for me,” Adaline says. “I was like, ‘this is so amazing.’ To hear people be creative and thoughtful about music in a way that I’d never heard before, it was absolutely mind-blowing.” And, while most people can’t recall hearing “Tiny Dancer” for the first time, it’s in part her perpetual wide-eyed awe that lends her darkest songs a lift up.

She admits her parents weren’t thrilled with the idea of her playing shows in dingy bars, but they have come around since her career launch concert, where her dad cried (and not out of joy) when he realized his daughter would make this her life.

Musically, her parents have a lot to be proud of with Adaline’s debut. Strongly influenced by women like Sarah Slean and Fiona Apple, the album’s haunting piano beautifully underscores her slightly smoky vocals. She’s already trying to mentally prepare for writing her second album, which will come from a vastly different place than Famous. But fans shouldn’t fear she’ll forgo her slightly sad songs entirely. Adaline’s more than a little cynical when the topic of love comes up, and she admits that all of her energy is intensely focused on her career.

“Honestly, I’m a bit of a geek right now. I’m really social, but I have found that lately the most exciting thing to do on a Friday night is how to plan my tour. Music is something that is so stable. It’s not like basing your happiness on a person or a situation. I often look at it as—and this is going to sound crazy—but as a romantic situation for me. Music is kinda my boyfriend. Which is a little weird,” she concedes with a laugh of embarrassment.

And this is part of the reason Adaline is poised to become a huge hit. Her sweetly self-deprecating candor is refreshing in a world of sound-bite ready bombshells. It’d be a shame for everyone if she gets the hang of that guarded thing.

Grand Canyon: River at Risk review

My review of Grand Canyon: River at Risk is in this week's Westender.

Grand Canyon Adventure: River at Risk
By Andrea Warner
Two stars

Part eco-conscious rallying cry and part paid advertising, the intentions behind Grand Canyon Adventure: River at Risk are as muddled as the water that flows through its majestic valleys.

The film follows Wade Davis, author/anthropologist/explorer, and his 17-year-old daughter Tara as they embark on a rafting trip through the Grand Canyon to witness firsthand the environmental changes impacting the Columbia River. Davis is gathering material for a book on the very subject, and his pal Robert F. Kennedy Jr., river advocate among other things, is along for the bumpy ride.

Frustratingly, director/producer Greg MacGillivray (nominated twice for Academy Awards), periodically uses cheesy CGI wooden frames to contain his interviews in the centre of the screen, over top of any number of beautiful backdrops. There are also numerous distractions from the film's main message: Tara is heading off to college soon; Davis is making his book; and Shawna, the guide, has lived in the Canyon with her tribe her whole life. Oh, and Robert Redford narrates to little effect.

River at Risk offers some nuggets of information, and river conservation is a timely subject as the world looks to create greener living. Risk also offers some truly glorious images of first person point-of-view of the beautiful rapids batting the rowers about like small balls of yarn. But, its myriad conflicts of interest ultimately prove insulting, particularly at film's end when you're shown the benefits of switching to a Kohler energy efficient toilet moments before Kohler's credited as a major sponsor. A synergistic washout indeed.

Kenny review

My review of Kenny also appears in this week's Fast Forward Weekly.

By Andrea Warner

It’s a safe bet that there’s never been a film so heavily laden with poop jokes that also packs as much emotional heft as Kenny.

The titular working-class hero of this Australian comedy is a gentle giant in overall shorts, busting his butt to balance his personal life (demanding ex-wife, bitterly aging father, a good rapport with his young son) with his professional life (an all-consuming job as the veritable prince of porta-potties.)

Shot documentary-style, the camera throws Kenny into one potentially degrading situation after another — determining the variety-of-food-to-toilet ratio at festivals (more curry means more potties), fishing a woman’s lost wedding ring from a toilet and putting up with a fussy customer haranguing his parenting choices. Kenny handles each situation with grace and aplomb. He’s proud of what he does and genuinely doesn’t understand why society looks down on his career.

Kenny’s naive glee is contagious as he hops a plane to Nashville to take part in an international porta-potty convention. His fish-out-of-water enthusiasm endears him to a fetching stewardess and a karaoke-loving Japanese businessman. Watching Kenny unknowingly negotiate a huge contract for his company is as pleasurable as watching his sweetly clumsy and innocent flirtations blossom.

Shane Jacobson’s Kenny is so charmingly real that every hit and every hurdle feels personal. He’s absolutely brilliant as he delivers one off-the-cuff monologue after another regarding the ins and outs of digesting and egesting. Jacobson co-wrote the script with his brother, Clayton Jacobson, who also served as the film’s director. Originally released in their native Australia in 2006, Kenny has become a cult sensation and is about to launch a television series.

The Jacobson brothers have crafted a remarkable first movie that hits at the epicentre of our service culture society — there’s an unfair stigma attached to those who do the jobs no one wants, but Kenny forces the audience to reflect on why this is and grapple with their own judgments. As Kenny deftly handles one landmine after another, it’s impossible to remain unaffected by his dignity and humour.

Kenny himself isn’t a typical centrefold fantasy, but this makes the Jacobson brand of manliness all the more refreshing in its inspiration. In this day and age, when more and more people are dissatisfied with their jobs and yet define themselves by what they do, Kenny was a crapshoot, and is now poised to become a cultural phenomenon.

Shane Jacobson from Kenny

My interview with Shane Jacobson, star of the Australian hit comedy Kenny, appears in today's Fast Forward Weekly. If you're in Calgary, pick up a copy!

Good guys don’t always finish last
Shane Jacobson isn’t a celebrity, just a guy with a ‘recognizable fat head’
By Andrea Warner

Shane Jacobson is about to be a very famous man. Already a 2006 best actor-winner from the Film Critics Circle of Australia for his humble little plumber film, Kenny, Jacobson is just now touching down on North American soil. Move over, FUBAR — a new classic of the mockumentary genre has arrived.

Kenny tells the simple but profound story of a porta-potty worker struggling to keep people happy. The movie connected so deeply with Australian audiences that it quickly became a cult hit, and soon Kenny fever went airborne.

Jacobson’s shares his Kenny success with his director, co-writer and brother, Clayton. This is their first collaboration, and the resounding accolades are still rolling in. The pair have just completed work on a Kenny “World Toilet Tour,” which will air in eight half-hour instalments on Australian television, and finds Kenny in places as far-flung as Egypt, India, China and outer space.

This is a big leap forward for the actor and writer, who used to supplement his income by producing events. Without those event management connections, he likely would never have stumbled across the Splash Down worker (the real port-o-potty company where the fictional Kenny works) who inspired the film.

“I met the Splash Down worker [at] an event,” Jacobson recalls. “One of the ladies came out [of the toilet] and she was like ‘that hole in there, it stinks.’ He said, ‘Look lady, I don’t want to state the obvious here, but that’s a ladies’ toilet and you just came out of it, and you’re saying it stinks. I don’t manufacture the stink. If it stinks in there, it’s clearly got something to do with you or the lady who was in there before you. I only take the stuff away, I don’t manufacture it.’”

Therein lies the film’s simple premise — a man who refuses to be embarrassed about what he does, and is genuinely happy and content with his life. It’s a refreshing change from most cinematic heroes, who are either complex, conflicted or a curiously tedious combination of the two. Jacobson says that Kenny is actually a movie about decency more than anything else.

“We’re dealing with working-class stuff here,” he explains. “Working in a job the world frowns upon, there’s a lot of heart to be found.” He recounts his experiences in shopping malls where the cleaners keep their heads down and don’t make eye contact, trained to not expect respect. Jacobson and his brother make it a point to have the cleaners in the audience stand up after Kenny screenings and be applauded. That natural desire to champion the underdog is a huge part of what makes Kenny shine, and why Jacobson and his brother were so determined to create a character that was genuine and unselfconscious.

“We all hear the expression never judge a book by its cover, and I find that an interesting notion,” Jacobson says. “The difference with our film is that the message isn’t to the people who judge, but to the books who are being judged. To all those books who are being judged, it doesn’t change the content of your book. It just means they’ve chosen not to read the pages.”

This philosophy is keeping Jacobson focused on his career. He likens the last two years to being a “paper airplane in a hurricane,” but he’s grateful for the opportunities Kenny has afforded him. Now he and his brother get to wrestle with the notion of celebrity.

“My anonymity’s kind of disappeared in this country, but I hate the word ‘star’ or ‘celebrity,’” he says. “My brother and I have always said I just have a more recognizable head. I just have a recognizable fat head.”