The world we live in is complicated. Turning on the news or logging into social media accounts can be upsetting, anxiety-inducing, and deeply isolating. Countries Shaped Like Stars, playing at the Backstage Theatre until February 28, not only provides a welcome reprieve from the chaos happening all around us, but also infuses warmth into the city’s recent cold snap.
If only for an hour, let Gwendolyn Magnificent (Dayna Lea Hoffmann) and Bartholomew Spectacular (Michael Watt) bring you into their enchanting world: a time when countries were shaped like stars, dragon fruit grew in abundance, and two individuals from two different peninsulas found each other and fell in love. In true Fringe fashion, simple innovations transform an otherwise empty theater into a fantastical world: a string of lights hanging from the ceiling becomes twinkling stars, and wooden boxes transform into a bustling marketplace and the site of a budding romance. But don’t let the simplicity fool you - this show accomplishes a lot with very little.
The heart of this production comes from human connection that transcends the fourth wall. The audience sits in a circle around the stage and plays an integral part in creating theatre magic. No longer passive observers, we are invited to act like tweeting birds and wriggling fish popsicles (if you know, you know), participate in tin can phone calls, sing along to Batholomew’s playful tunes, and enjoy cookies delivered by clouds. This multi-sensory experience is a powerful reminder of the importance of forming communal connections with friends and fellow theatre lovers - in this country, unbridled silliness is not only permitted, but strongly encouraged.
Whether you’re starving for a dose of humanity in a world divided or looking for an escape to a far-off land where copywriters gleefully recite poetry and play mandolins, Countries Shaped Like Stars is sure to deliver.
One of the central tensions in theatre, particularly theatre that grapples with difficult subject matter, is finding the right balance between realism and effective storytelling. Tough Guy, a new play by Hayley Moorhouse following a queer friend group coping with the aftermath of a nightclub shooting, is a sincere examination of queer grief, joy, and resilience, but sometimes struggles to land with full force.
At its core, Tough Guy explores how people grieve both as individuals and as a community, and the way these processes are sometimes in conflict. When filmmaker Emerson returns to her hometown after a year away wanting to make a film about a tragic event she wasn’t present for, it throws her friend group into disarray as they debate a host of necessary questions: What does it mean to make art about queer pain? Who has the right to tell those stories? Where is the line between art and exploitation? Autumn Strom is a delight in the role, striking the perfect note of earnest self-involvement with slightly cringy monologues that were painfully reminiscent of my own early 20s as a queer person.
One of Tough Guy’s strengths is that while the precipitating event is obviously the central trauma impacting the characters, each also deals with their own struggles in a way that makes the characters feel true to life. Queer people often juggle multiple sources of heartbreak: parental rejection, political prejudice, not to mention the thousand small disappointments every young person experiences, from friends growing apart to career uncertainties. While this is realistic, there is at times so much going on with the characters on top of the central trauma that the story risks losing focus.
Tough Guy also sometimes makes the opposite mistake, choosing practicality over realism in distracting ways. Quinn, an amateur boxer attempts to work through their grief via their sport. However, actor Jasmine Hopfe never strikes the on-set punching bag with more than a token amount of force. While it’s understandable to take safety precautions, there’s something profoundly jarring about watching a character metaphorically fight through trauma while the actor literally pulls their punches.
Despite these challenges, Tough Guy succeeds where it matters most. As Sutton, Marguerite Lawler provides some much-needed levity, simultaneously demonstrating how humour helps us cope with unimaginable pain while also occasionally causing friction with those who grieve differently. While the script could benefit from revisions and some staging choices could use refinement, Tough Guy deserves to be seen. It’s important, powerful theatre that finds the intersection of queer grief, joy and resilience.