While mix tapes and vinyls might have gone largely out of style, music elitism and snobbery certainly have not. If nothing else, director Mark Selby’s High Fidelity, the musical stage adaptation of the 1995 Nick Hornby novel, certainly reminds us of that.

Rob (David Light) owns the last “real” record store in town, and has recently broken up with his girlfriend, Laura (Jamie Arfin). In Rob’s quest to win back Laura, he compiles and mulls over lists of songs and break-ups, has a one night stand with songstress Marie LaSalle (Jennifer Walls), and ably demonstrates how not to run a record store.

High Fidelity has many problems, the biggest of which lies in its characterisations. No doubt the core of the performance is built on the tried and true “couple breaks up/couple reunites” method, but while High Fidelity has no shortage of reasons for why Rob and Laura would separate, no good reason for why they would get back together is ever presented. Rob only ever appears more desirable in comparison to those in his immediate company and not in comparison to the average person. We want Laura to get back together with Rob not because he’s a truly special once in a life time catch, but because he’s undoubtedly a step up from her rebound, Ian (Jason Zinger).

However I could easily look beyond the sloppy narrative if the writing and music were more entertaining. Sadly, this isn’t the case. Characters are defined solely by their ability to rattle off bands and songs and not by their actions or aspirations, the belief being that it’s not “who you are” but “what you like” that defines a person. The leads think and speak in top fives and condescend to those who do not, which admittedly presents an easy developmental arc that (likely deliberately) isn’t capitalized upon. The only character that begins a metamorphosis is Rob’s meek lackey, Dick (Carl Swanson), who’s immediately chastised for suggesting there’s more to a person beyond their favourite bands. Rob himself doesn’t change at all by the end, and Laura could be understood to have changed for the worse.

The music is certainly a step up from the writing, but still fairly poor in its own regard. On the execution level, the band does well with the slower pieces and ballads, but begins to fall apart during the up tempo sections. On the composition level, it’s generally serviceable, but lacking any real highlight and not a single melody indelibly kept in mind.

So what’s good about High Fidelity, then? Despite all the nasty things I’ve said about the characters, the actors themselves remain appreciably enthusiastic and energetic throughout. The set design and staging are for the most part exceptional, and there are some entertaining moments in the second half (a lampoon of Neil Young in particular). It’s just a shame that you have to trudge through a swamp of inconsequential blathering to get to it. The material may work well as a novel or film, but on stage, it’s just far too saturated.

High Fidelity is showing at Hart House until January 30^th.

It’s hard not to be a little offset after hearing the words “Urinetown: The Musical”. While musicals are generally enjoyable, the notion of a vulgar musical evokes a rather bitter taste thanks to the recent “Jerry Springer: The Opera” debacle. While enough time has passed to once again be open-minded towards the concept, it’s still too soon for me to be optimistic. Imagine my surprise then when Urinetown turns out to be a completely self-aware satire that is thoroughly enjoyable yet entirely benign.

A twenty year drought has led to a terrible water shortage, which causes great concern over water consumption. As a result, a mega-corporation called Urine Good Company (UGC) steps in to regulate the bathroom habits of the population. Private lavatories are a thing of the past, and everyone must now use public amenities and pay to pee for the sake of mediating water usage. Unfortunately for the population, the UGC runs a fairly dictatorial ship, and it isn’t long before the citizen’s rebel against the UGC’s iron rule.

The rabble’s revolt is apprehensively led by charming everyman Bobby Strong, a strapping young lad whose father was hauled off to the mysterious Urinetown for breaking the seal in the middle of the street. No one knows exactly what Urinetown is, except that people who are sent there are never to be heard from again. Bobby Strong eventually falls for the beautiful Hope Cladwell, daughter of the oppressive Caldwell B. Cladwell, who is president of the UGC. Hope, on the other hand, is torn between her love for her father and her growing feelings for Bobby.

Urinetown is narrated by the combined efforts of the corrupt Officer Lockstock and street urchin Little Sally. The two admirably perform narrative duties as well as offering the audience everything from amusing asides, minor plot predictions, and even pointers on how to write effectively for the stage. They also frequently debate the direction of the plot and the merits (if any) of naming your production “Urinetown”. The production’s best moments are when the play steps out of itself to directly engage with what the audience is thinking, and often these moments belong to the banter between these two characters.

Don’t interpret this as meaning that the play itself is substandard. While admittedly the story itself isn’t anything too remarkable, save for a few novel narrative choices, the presentation more than compensates for this. Urinetown boasts some excellent song and dance pieces, notably Act One’s “Mr. Cladwell” that formerly introduces the audience to the principle antagonist. It’s this number’s light-hearted tongue in cheek self-awareness that simultaneously sets the mood for the evening and assuages any lingering doubt that you made the wrong plans.

If nothing else, the individual moments are what make Urinetown a solid performance. Between the comedic powerhouse of Officer Lockstock and Little Sally, the generally successful lampooning of mainstream Broadway, and the cynical ending that manages to retain an ecological message, Urinetown is a biting musical that rises above the sum of its parts to the tune of a jaunty piano.

“I laughed so hard I accidentally broke wind!” - A writer for the Toronto Star who probably has trouble tying his shoes, on Jerry Springer: The Opera

Perhaps my inability to laugh at any one of the many “jokes” hurled fromJerry Springer: The Opera is a symbol not of how uptight and conservative I am, but of how irreversibly jaded I’ve become. Someone says “Jerry Springer,” and what do you think of? Racism, fetishism, blasphemy, rednecks, and titty tassels no doubt. Jerry Springer: The Opera offers most of these things, and takes it a step further by putting it to music. Not operatic music, to my supreme dismay. The type of music you’d expect from Rent, or Footloose, which leads me to believe that Jerry Springer: The Musical would’ve been a better title. But why debate misnomers when there is a mountain of garbage to trudge through?

When analyzing Jerry Springer, the absence of a plot is actually a point in its favour, which is an immediate sign that you have to judge the show by a different set of standards. Actually, you have to reverse almost every single expectation of what is deemed good in order forJerry Springer: The Opera to qualify for anything remarkable. You don’t demand a plot when you watch Jerry Springer, so the fact that there is a moral to the proceedings outside of the trademark “final thought” strikes me as rather perplexing. The same can be said for the tight scripting and staging; these are things you never expect from Springer, and their presence is not welcome.

So the perpetually disaffected Jerry Springer is emceeing yet another hillbilly circus. Cheating lovers, transsexuals, men in diaper, etc. he is pretty much just going through the motions with a typical wry disposition. But curiously, in between commercial breaks a spiteful little valkyrie pops up and tries to appeal to Jerry’s better nature for absolutely no reason in particular, except maybe to alert the part of the audience that didn’t read the pre-show programme that there is something transcendental waiting in the shadows. At the end of the first half, diaper man shoots Jerry in the chest because apparently he had difficulty aiming for the glittering Ku Klux Klan members standing two feet to the left of Jerry. Curtain drops to signify intermission, and Jerry goes to hell where all the delightful blasphemy, curiously absent up until this point, makes an appearance. Turns out Satan wants Springer to mediate a special episode of biblical proportions in his fiery abode.

I’m willing to concede to the possibility that it might have been an off night for the cast, but Jerry Springer: The Opera feels fundamentally flawed in the core design of the performance. What makes an episode of Jerry Springer an amusing guilty pleasure is not present here, and this is largely due to the limitations of the theatrical medium. While the scenarios on the television show are certainly preconceived, the execution is much more visceral and immediate. Punches are thrown, clothes are torn, accidental nudity is a common phenomenon, and the cameraman (and your perspective by extension) is caught in the midst of it. In a theatre, you are resigned to a seat that is too far away from the action to be involving. This jarring distance does not make for the intended guttural reaction.

Additionally, exhausting attempts at operatic singing serves to exacerbate and not alleviate the glaring flaws in the production, if not because it makes the audience second guess the dialogue than because coarse language is not meant to be sung. Fuck, shit, cock, and other similar words are repeatedly attempted to be sung in lengthened duration while changing pitch. The curse word is a word that is linguistically brief and is designed to be short, punchy and abrasive, not held in high squeals for agonizing seconds. Combined with many a failed harmony and a mismatched pit band, it becomes a complete aural disaster.

“Controversial” seems to be a hot word for describing the show, but there’s hardly anything controversial about it. It’s crude and laden with foul language, but it doesn’t go deeper than that. To be controversial would imply that there is an idea to be challenged or a question to be posed. There is nothing of that sort, except for a single solitary line Jerry speaks at the beginning of the second act: “A broadcaster of lesser experience might feel somewhat responsible.” Coincidentally, this line marked the only time I cracked a bit of a smile. Everything else is common offense, and that’s not a very hard aspiration to meet. “I HATE NIGGERS” is an offense, or possibly a scene from a Die Hard movie, but it’s not a controversy.

I really wanted to like Jerry Springer: The Opera, but it’s just too grating and too obnoxious to be of any real entertainment.

It could be argued that in today’s ever progressive society, all manner of taboos are being shattered as if there is a high score to be achieved. It all started with those damn hippies a generation ago, and now prime-time animated irreverence is attempting to break down walls on an almost weekly basis. While socially accepting what was once a forbidden subject might seem like a step in the right direction, you have to keep in mind that a veritable well of comedic material is dried up every time the masses decide that bizarre fetish #4082 is appropriate. What’s the next taboo on the chopping block? Incest (or in this case, ‘Cousin Couples’).

Remember that scene in the last episode of the second season of Arrested Development where George Michael and his cousin passionately kiss? Well of course you don’t because no one watched the show and it ended up being cancelled. But for the few of you who do know what I’m talking about, just imagine that scene supremely exaggerated and about an hour longer, and you have a good idea of the “Don’t Look” experience.

“Don’t Look” is a refreshing incest comedy/drama conceived in part by UofT alumni Rebecca Applebaum, who also stars in the play as Ariella, a young woman with a lifelong and socially crippling crush on her cousin.

At the funeral of their late Aunt some ten years ago, adolescent cousins Daniel and Ariella decide to act on their burgeoning feelings for each other in the basement of the reception. Mistaking the sound of footsteps for their racing hearts, the two cousins are oblivious to the impending humiliation associated with knowing all too late that someone is about to walk in on you. Severely traumatized after that fateful night, the two stayed away from each other and attempted to move on with their lives while trying to come to grips with what they see as “perversions.”

There are only two actors in the play, both playing their main role as well as occasionally donning an extra bit of clothing (such as a pair of glasses or a jacket) to portray a secondary character. In the meat of the play, the design is such that one cousin will always be on stage while the other plays their current romantic interest. This arrangement is easily reversed to focus on the other half of the story, which is where the parallel narrative aspect comes into effect. This element works very well and is executed seamlessly. Not only that, it creates a tight pace and makes boredom an impossibility.

Speaking with Rebecca after the performance, she admitted that her theatre experience was rather limited while at University College. She was a member of the varsity swim team, and only pursued drama on the side, occasionally attending the odd workshop and eventually working with the drama society. There wasn’t much outside of that, although she does wish she had done more.

Her feelings towards the subject matter? “It’s all exaggerated,” she said. “None of this is based on our experiences, and it’s really interchangeable with any other taboo.” Indeed it’s not that difficult to imagine a different taboo or shameful experience standing in for a moment of incest. Since a debilitating humiliation is what ties the narrative together, to substitute kissing your cousin with being addicted to geriatric porn or picking a terribly inconvenient moment to pass wind does no real harm to the play itself.

“Don’t Look” succeeds largely on what a harmless spectacle the whole affair is. In fact it’s far more charming and benign than it could ever be perceived as vulgar or gratuitous. The enthusiasm of the actors and the sincerity of the script really engages the audience, and these considerations alone should alleviate the discomfort one might have from seeing a close relative in a romantic or sexual light. The occasional plot convenient incongruity is a minor storm to weather for some of the sharpest writing around.

“Don’t Look” is at the Factory Studio Theatre (125 Bathurst Street) on Friday January 16^th at 9:30PM, Saturday January 17^th at 5:30PM, and Sunday January 18^th at 7:30PM. A great little show that’s definitely worth checking out.

Hart House was host to a special one night only performance of Hamlet by the Classical Theatre Project on Friday, December 5th, and it was quite the treat. After over 400 years of circulation, most of the nuance of Shakespeare’s classic comes from personal interpretation of the text, and I find that the true enjoyment of the work is found by taking in as many unique angles as possible. Is Hamlet upset because his father’s dead, or is it because Claudius cut ahead of him in the monarchical succession line? Did Ophelia commit suicide, or was she murdered to keep Denmark’s body count up? Are Rosencrantz and Guildensternreally dead? These are the questions of essays, but the key question of a performance review is far simpler: was it any good? Ignoring the discrepancy between my interpretation of the play and director Charles Roy’s, the answer is a definite “yes.”

Hamlet is the son of the recently deceased King of Denmark, and his uncle Claudius takes the throne ahead of him. After a strange spirit speaks to Hamlet and asserts that the late King was murdered by Claudius’ hand, Hamlet embarks on a somewhat discontinuous quest for revenge.

The cast of this performance was very strong, projecting their lines clearly and emotively. Peter Church in particular made an excellent Polonius and Gravedigger. The only real weak link was Paul Kit as Claudius, who is unfortunately for his role naturally endowed with the sort of improbable jaw line that would make Bruce Campbell proud. This is a concern because Claudius is supposed to be a vile and cowardly creature, and that portrait is just a tad undermined when the actor portraying him could smash boulders into dust with his lower jaw. The staging was rather inventive, especially the final fencing sequence between Laertes and Hamlet that was well choreographed and performed with exceptional skill and conviction. A technically solid production all around.

However the biggest issue with this performance of Hamlet is not what was done wrong, but what was not done at all. The character Fortinbras (Prince of Norway) had been omitted entirely, in itself not an uncommon decision for the consideration of time and efficiency. But often with the elimination of this character comes the omission of Hamlet’s fourth of four major soliloquies, and this was exactly the case with this performance. The audience needs this soliloquy in order for Hamlet’s arc to be complete and believable, and its absence turns the pace of the play from brisk to rushed, and leaves a gap in the character’s development. Specifically, the fourth soliloquy inspired by Fortinbras spurs Hamlet from indecision to action. Without it, the violent conclusion doesn’t quite click.

This oversight notwithstanding, Charles Roy’s Hamlet was a very good performance. All other curiosities are merely just different opinions of the material. Some directors – Charles Roy being one of them – like to exaggerate the humourous and incestuous undertones of the play, and others prefer a simpler approach. I can appreciate either decision. Anyone fortunate enough to catch this one night only performance should not have been disappointed.