When you pull up next to them you discover they’re talking on the phone. Maybe they’re driving too fast, encroaching in your lane, or just plodding along and then making adjustments that disrupt others around them. The person driving in front, beside you, way ahead or behind is driving erratically. And if you didn’t, now’s your moment to sample a Chekhovian regret for missed opportunity.You’ve experienced it. Stephanie Bahniuk, who should be getting snapped up by theatre companies across town, designs a frankly fake bucolic space with astroturf, the classic Chekhov birch trees as playing areas, and an abstract wall of domestic cubbyholes. Horak gets sharp, very funny and rueful, naturally detailed performances from all his actors. I loved the mixture of ruthless upward mobility and fragility in Glassman’s Nina, who comes onto Trigorin relentlessly, gets her man and chance at stardom, and gets discarded by both in turn. “I think I’m ready to do my late 20s really well now….”
Pushing 60 and bemused by the frantic disappointments around him, he mixes himself a cocktail and muses that he wants to be 27 again. And he’s been foiled, not by love or God but by time. In this crowd of theatre people and writers, the only character who isn’t an artist is a doctor (Robert Benz). And her relationship with her equally famous writer lover, played with worldly authority by Ian Leung in another of the play’s fine comic performances, has every kind of nuance of power and vulnerability. She sees through herself but carries on in spirited fashion anyway, just because it tickles her to be an Artist. Thingelstad’s creation knows that noblesse oblige is merely a theatrical ruse. Melissa Thingelstad is tremendously funny as Emma, the play’s Arkadina, famous grande dame actress, queen of the flamboyant ego, aware of her audience at every second. He’s the one who tries to let Con down gently, but is too forthright not to tell him the truth. He tries so hard he’s thwarted so regularly. At moments of extreme frustration, she takes to the ukulele and sings hilariously bleak ditties of her own device: “you’re hot, you rot, and then you’re done/ And where’s the part of this that’s fun….” That sort of thing.ĭev’s unfailing attempts at hopefulness are consistently funny and touching, as Steven delivers them. Why don’t the right people love you back when you love them so intensely? Mash, played with amusingly pitch-perfect acid-tinged ennui by Paula Humby - her whole body can do one of those skeptical eye-rolls - is so smitten by Con she barely has time for the eager, friendly Dev (Ben Stevens) who’s besotted by her.
In Stupid Fucking Bird, a title that strikes exactly the right note of sass and exasperation, is all about the absurdity of criss-crossed arrows of desire. Mat Simpson is absolutely compelling, start to finish. In fact, the play starts with Con telling us it isn’t going to start till someone says “start the fucking play.” And he waits till one of us does just that.
#You stupid sound effect how to
And he stands outside to chat with us directly, asking for pointers on how to win the love of the elusive Nina (Zoe Glassman), an up-and-coming actor in love with the idea of her own fame. Stupid Fucking Bird, in a cheeky retrofit of the Chekhov, is the world seen through Con’s eyes he’s a thwarted character in this, his own play. In fact, Con, Posner’s version of The Seagull’s Constantin - an aspiring playwright burning with frustration at the conventional in theatre - says“thwarted” over and over, in every possible permutation and combination, till the word loses all sense and becomes a goofy sound effect. And the way we never stop feeling like we’re outside looking in, thwarted at every turn. But I can’t stop thinking about its uncanny insights into our frantic quest for mutual love, human connection, sustainable happiness - in all its absurdities.
I saw the last performance Sunday of Dave Horak’s terrific Edmonton Actors Theatre production (which will sound like I’m just rubbing it in here if you missed it).
And Stupid Fucking Bird, Aaron Posner’s contemporary re-imagining of (and homage to) Chekhov’s The Seagull really has your back. Haven’t you ever watched yourself and got the vague feeling you’re a spectator in your own life instead of a participant? Or maybe a fictional character in something kind of meandering and plotless instead of something that gets you happier?Ĭhekhov is there for you, my friend. Cast of Stupid Fucking Bird, Edmonton Actors Theatre.
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