>>REVIEW
RE:GENERATION
THEATREBoom
Runs until June 17
Motel (Epcor Centre)
Re:Generation is a patchwork of pieces by an ensemble of writers, held together not so much by a thread as by the idea of a thread. Even the generation that provides the closest thing the production has to a theme is tough to pin down, sporting a stutter of names from Gen Next to The Millennials to Generation Y or Y2K.
Happily, the production wisely concentrates on specifics, trusting that a profusion of acute moments can add up to a rich, coherent experience. As a result, what could have felt like little more than a collection of skits emerges as a meaty and provocative piece of theatre.
The seven actors who perform Re:Generation – Sara Corrigall, Patrick MacEachern, Michaela Jeffery, Jed Tomlinson, Kelly Dawson, Evan Rothery and Joel Smith – are all under 30, and so part of Generation Next themselves. Yet they bring an energy and a conviction that go beyond mere youthful exuberance. There’s an obvious belief in, and engagement with, the material – not surprising, since the performers each had a hand in the writing of the show (whose "blueprint" was created by Jason Rothery, Aaron Coates and Jeffery). But it’s their nuanced skill as comic actors that has the audience eating out of their hands. A great deal of Re:Generation’s content is pointedly provocative – there’s everything from a wrestling match between Jesus and Mohammed (the latter represented by a large black rectangle, a nice riff on the prohibition of depictions of the prophet) to a brilliant (really!) song featuring the refrain "anal sex is fun for you and me." Yet the show’s aim is clearly to think and explore, not shock. I saw several audience members who had at least two generations on this cast looking entirely unfazed by it all.
Not all of the 95 minutes are equally delightful. To be honest, the production’s gentle start struck fear in my heart. The opening scene, in which a woman carries a lantern and declaims poetically about blindness, direction and a bunch of other existentialist stuff clearly meant to evoke Plato’s parable of the cave, made the proceedings feel altogether too close to a post-Communications 101 open-mike set. The lantern bit is reprised several times throughout the evening, apparently for fear things might not otherwise seem deep enough. That’s a pity, because it’s by far the weakest link in the show. Other early segments include a performance of the song "It’s the Muppet Show!," which had me nodding ruefully along to the line "Why don’t we get things started?," and a projected montage of iconic images – from an Exxon-oil-slicked duck to the crumbling Twin Towers to a mugging Paris Hilton – that felt like it could belong to any one of a billion productions.
Things don’t take too long to pick up, however. Quite soon, we are treated to one of the funniest 10-minute stretches of theatre I’ve seen in, well, a generation. A recitation of a rhyming picture book called How Ritalin Made Alan’s Heart Explode melds seamlessly into a slow-mo sendup of a certain politician’s reaction to the "America is under attack" news. It’s a credit to both the cast and the production team that such a notorious event achieves, through superlative use of physical acting, music and sound, an entirely memorable incarnation all its own.
And there are plenty of other highlights. Two of the most successful storylines are developed over several segments. The first concerns a new company hireling who's terrorized by a company "personal enthusiast" prescribing everything from a near-starvation diet to an "anal bleach" – all mandatory to rising in the ranks, of course. The second sees a couple choosing the genetic features of their son-to-be (at one point, the doctor offers them a selection of paint-swatch "celebrity skin tones"). The story transcends the level of simple satire and pushes itself to satisfyingly absurd conclusions. There's also a wooing of Jesus by the Republicans, paving the way for the line, "Mr. President, it’s God on line one," and the too-true-to-life followup – "Hi, dad."
One of the most telling moments of the night comes when Jesus is preaching to a crowd of twenty-somethings clearly bored out of their skulls by his spiel. The creators of this show are as interested in baring their own vanities and vices as they are in pointing fingers, and that’s what makes it so honest, and so palatable. I can’t think of a category to slot Re:Generation into – let’s just call it a cross between agitprop and vaudeville, or the unholy child of Brecht and Saturday Night Live (with the creators of South Park as babysitters, maybe).
Whatever it is, it’ll do your heart good. The world may be going to hell in a Louis Vuitton handbasket, and this show isn’t terribly interested in convincing you otherwise. But with Nexters like these, theatre’s in damn fine shape, thank you very much. So who needs the world? |
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