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A night with the Queen of Soul: As many Torontonians know, Aretha Franklin was in town for a free outdoor concert, making up for time off due to a bout with cancer last year. It was hard to know what to expect from a 69-year-old, post-surgery Aretha, but if she thought she was fit to perform then I knew it would be something to see. So did thousands of others, but everyone was friendly despite the close quarters, even if you stepped on a toe or two. (The audience was massive: take all the white people who came to the free kd lang concert last week and then add all the people of colour who didn’t come but should have. A very big event.) The only genuine disappointment was the poor organization that saw a VIP tent with too many awnings and flags obscuring the view, while a giant screen was positioned so far off that you couldn’t watch the real show in tandem with the monitor. That was just plain dumb. But we were there to pay homage to the queen, not to bitch. The first act was a bit tame as she flew through her old hits for the sing-a-long fans, but by the second half (after some truly awesome entr’acte jazz from her band) her voice had warmed up and she raised the roof. A twelve-minute rendition of Bridge over Troubled Waters (a song that in other hands can be so saccharine it hurts) showcased her gospel-raunch side. And what a side! I’ve lived with Aretha records for most of my life, but I’ve never experienced the fiery excitement she generates with a live audience. From that moment on, the fun never let up and we knew we were going to get what we came for. Freeway Of Love was the last great highlight of the evening for me, though the show went on for another quarter hour, ending at eleven-forty. Thank you, Queen of Soul. Thank you, TO Jazz Festival. It’s been a great time to be in Toronto.
So Vancouver had hockey riots. (What’s the surprise? It’s a game about barely suppressed violence, after all.) Toronto, on the other hand, had a free k.d. lang concert. I can now die happy, having heard lang sing Leonard Cohen’s Hallelujah live. I can barely remember the last time I cried in public (Well, yes I can, but I won’t mention it here.) Somehow, over the past twenty years, lang has gone from kitsch lesbian hillbilly to classic Canadian icon, all without getting staid and boring. Watching her perform has to be one of the most rapturous experiences on record, Canadian or otherwise. And the Siss Boom Bang is one of the best backup bands around. A superb evening. Thanks, Luminato!
What happens when you get a Shakespearean actor to direct a film about a Norse god? You get a terrifically entertaining action flick that doesn’t insult your intelligence. It’s funny, moving, wry and even educational (the gods forbid!) A cross between Henry V and Avatar, Kenneth Branagh’s Thor is a winner on all fronts. The only misstep is that it should have been 3D. If you didn’t enjoy it, you and I should never see a film together.
Recently watched the first two episodes of the 2011 Doctor Who. If you haven't seen it since you were a kid, try again. It's an updated, camp version of what was almost an embarrassment. Still, I was disappointed with this season's opener for several reasons. First, it's set in the US. Is it a coincidence that the Doctor’s rules of non-violence are being over-stepped at a time when the media is screaming, “It’s a great time to be American!” after Bin Laden’s murder? (I’m far from being a Bin Laden apologist, but let’s call it what it is.) Second, Matt Smith’s comic brilliance is taking second place to Arthur Darvill (Rory)'s new heart-throb hairdo. (Not such a terrible thing, but I found Matt pretty sexy last year, for all his goofiness.) All this comes about since Russell T Davies left the show in the hands of Steven Moffat. Will I stop watching? Hmmm…well, no, not as long as Matt's still in it.
It's been a whirlwind week of performances. Wed saw me at a dress rehearsal of the COC's Ariadne Auf Naxos. If you think German opera isn't funny, this will change your mind. It’s an hysterical collision between comedy and tragedy. Adrianne Pieczonka stars as Ariadne, though she opted out of the second half of the rehearsal (to save her voice for the opening, I presume.) No great loss, because her understudy, whose name I missed, was a marvel. Jane Archibald is utterly charming as the upstaging tart Zerbinetta. The performance is uniformly praiseworthy.
Thu saw me at the Enwave for a performance by a unique dance duo, the tiny Yvonne Ng and the much larger Robert Glumbeck, who together make up Tiger Princess Dance Productions. It would be inadvisable to focus on their physical disparities, however, because the dance is even more unique, often hauntingly beautiful, and with a perfect blending of east and west.
Fri brought me back to the Tarragon Theatre (where I once endured an unpleasant season as part of the Young Playwrights' Unit) for the English premiere of Forests, by Wajdi Mouawad. Mouawad is the writer of the critically acclaimed play, Scorched, now a brilliant, Oscar-nominated film Incendies from Quebec director Denis Villeneuve.
Happy one-hundredth birthday to writer Tennessee Williams, happy fifty-eighth birthday to artist Michael Ridler, and fond farewell to actor Elizabeth Taylor. As they say, thanks for the memories!
One of my fave things in Toronto is the World Stage Festival (sadly no longer a cohesive festival, but spread over a year.) Last night, writer Keith Garebian and I caught a feisty update of Cocteau’s La Voix Humaine. Acclaimed Dutch actor Halina Reijn gives a remarkable performance as a woman having a final, devastating phone conversation with a lover due to marry another woman in the morning. Moments before starting, Woody Harrelson, toque pulled well down, squeezed past and sat three seats away. Woody has always reminded me of my brother Mark, who lives two hours out of town. “What’s my brother doing at a Dutch play in Toronto on a cold Wednesday in March without telling me?” I wondered. Then I realized who it was. “Oh, it’s not my brother,” I thought. “It’s only Woody Harrelson.”
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