Godot not in the details

Soheil Parsa believes in the value of simplicity.

The artistic director of Modern Times Stage Company, as well as the director of the current production of Waiting for Godot at the Young Centre for the Performing Arts, calls simplicity "an achievement."

How so?

"You start with a big idea and more props, with more elements of set," he explains, following a matinee performance, "but the process tells me, 'you don't need this prop, you don't need this costume', and I think that's what works with Beckett: to keep it simple."

Discussing the famous play in which two tramps wait for a chap who never shows up, Parsa notes that "(it's) one of the most challenging I've directed, though it doesn't look like it when you start," he smiles, "You think it's manageable - 'oh, I can do this' -and then you realize how precise Beckett is, that what works really is simplicity."

Samuel Beckett's work is a noted example of the style known as Theatre of the Absurd, in that it doesn't follow a conventional narrative, relies heavily on repetition, and has little or no momentum.

And yet Waiting for Godot is considered by many to be the finest theatrical piece of the twentieth century. Almost everyone has had to write an essay on it in high school or university, and reams of books have been devoted to deconstructing Beckett's language, characters, and the mysterious figure who never shows.

"Godot is absolutely a very intellectual piece, a philosophy piece," says Parsa firmly, "so as a director, I do my homework. But I do the intellectualization at home, and as soon as I walk into the hall, it's one-hundred-percent intuitive."

This intuitive response is part of Parsa's approach to theatre.

Born in Iran, the theatre artist came to Canada in 1984 and, upon founding Modern Times Stage Company, directed a series of well-received pieces, including avant-garde works such as The Balcony by Jean Genet, and Ionesco's The Chairs. His love of Western theatre, particularly Absurdist styles, didn't begin when he moved, however.

"I was brought up in a very Western way, before the revolution. Iran was a westernized country, and Tehran especially, was very westernized. Theatre school mixed up combinations of Western styles and Iranian styles, so when I lived in Iran, I read translations of Beckett, and studied and researched different styles and traditions -Chinese, Russian, Japanese styles of theatre, plus Beckett and Brecht."

Parsa says he doesn't feel pressure to insert culturally-specific details to his productions, "because in a way I don't have a singular identity anymore. My background is an aspect of my identity -I've been searching for the identity with others through theatre."

The name "Modern Times", he says, comes from the Charlie Chaplin film, a work and figure he cites as a primary influence.

"(Chaplin) was an exceptional artist and exceptional human being ... I am still fascinated by the film and his work. The humanist aspect of Chaplin is the main thing, but he was a comedian that transcended comedy. His sole concern was the state of humanity, in all things. He asks what happens when we are indoctrinated by technology, the indifference created, and asks what's happening to us. And his elegant style of comedy, I love too."

The multi Dora Award-winning director eagerly points out the interesting connection between the famous "Little Tramp" and the craggy Irishman who wrote Godot.

"One of the first directors (of Godot) was a friend of Beckett's, and suggested for the parts of Gogo and Didi, that the best casting would be Charlie Chaplin and Buster Keaton. Beckett said, 'You're damn right'."

It certainly doesn't take a stretch of the imagination to see the famous silent film stars slip comfortably into the clown/mime-related aspects of the work, what with the popular image of Vladmir and Estragon in bowler hats, and tramp outfits, engaged in vaudeville-style comedy.

"Although Beckett is very language-based, at the same time there's a lot of non-verbal elements in it. He was especially influenced by the genre of cinema from that time -the hats, the look, everything -and insists over and over again about the state of humanity and cruelty of life, but not necessarily in a heavy way."

Parsa says work created out of hardship need not be played on one sole sad note.

"That's what the comedian is for," he explains, "To touch on a bleak subject matter, and treat it darkly, it gets really dense, it's not interesting to watch, it's too much. The question is, how to find a lighter spirit for this type of bleak concept, because at the same time, life is funny too, it's ridiculous."

This element of the ridiculous showed itself when Parsa took two of his productions back to Iran.

"When I was doing Macbeth in Toronto and Montreal, again, many elements of the style weren't recognizable to critics and the Canadian public, and they called it 'very Persian', but when I went to Iran, everybody was asking me about the same elements, and saying, 'that's not Persian!'"

He lets out a laugh that echoes through the open concrete/wood lobby of the Young Centre.

"But that's a good sign -it means I haven't imitated or bought into that idea," he says, referring to culturally-specific works.

"I'm interested in the theatrical exploration of traditions like Persian or Japanese, but I use it as a springboard for something new."

His eagerness to explore new ground as organically and respectfully as possible still leaves room for many connections as well.

"Omar Khayyam is an interesting comparison," he notes thoughtfully, "He was a thousand years before Beckett, but is asking the same things: what are we? why are we here? There is the question of the concept of time too: what is today and tomorrow and yesterday? It's not the same for me as for you."

He sees resonance, too, in contemporary events and ones occurring at the time of Godot's inception.

"I don't see a major difference between now and fifty years ago -overall it's the same. We are still killing each other, still waiting, still creating chaos. In the mid-twentieth century, people waited for a saviour: they created Hitler. He was called a saviour by some. Look at Saddam Hussein -same thing: he ran a nation, then they took him out of a mousehole at the end. These characters are waiting for Godot -their perceived saviour -and then Lucky and Pozzo come. One day you're on top of the world, the next you are Lucky, or you're Pozzo, you're blind, and this is what it is, what the twentieth century is: an anticipation of a saviour, but at the end, there's no saviour, no hero."

All things considered, the lack of a saviour could be a good thing.

"Well Beckett didn't want one," he notes, "and it cannot be academically supported, but 'gogo-didi' becomes "Godot" for me -they're so phonetically close. So in a sense, you are your own saviour, you can't look for anyone else."

Still, Parsa sees a theme of humanity running through Beckett's work, one that is just as strong and noticeable, and crosses as many divides, as his hero Charlie Chaplin's, does.

"For me, it's the universality of (Beckett's) work -his subject matter is human beings. It's not American human beings, not Middle Eastern human beings, not those of the Far East. It's human beings everywhere."

"His concern," he says emphatically, "is the state of humanity,"

Waiting for Godot runs at the Young Centre for the Performing Arts through March 22nd.

For more information, go to www.moderntimesstage.com.

Use Your Imagination

Finding connection in the messy days of March is a challenge.

There's a dirty order to the snowbanks lining Toronto streets, exacerbating the isolation winter brings. People are packed away under layers of sweaters, riding alone in cars, subways, and streetcars; they're lost in their i-pods, glued to their Blackberries, stuck to television screens. Roads and sidewalks separate people, people separate themselves, and pretty soon one looks in the mirror to find a pale, puffy stranger in need of Greens Plus and a case of Prozac.

Yet there is an alternative to all this "in the bleak midwinter" stuff. Toronto's lively arts scene is full of inspiration and wonder, as evidenced in Soulpepper Theatre Company's current production of As You Like It.

Lest you feel tempted to emit a yuck-Shakespeare groan, be aware that this isn't a production full of big wigs, tight bodices, pointy shoes, grave tones or that most tiresome of classical performance habits, U-S-A-ing, otherwise known as Urgent-Shakespeare-Acting. Far from it.

As You Like It, now on at the Young Centre, is chock-a-block with fresh-faced members of the Soulpepper Academy -so fresh, in fact, that one wonders if they were kept in a hyperbaric chamber since July. The casting and presentation give much-needed jolts of youth, joy, and vitality to one of Shakespeare's most complex and layered works.

This is a production that is deeply satisfying in its simplicity: accessible but never patronizing, intelligent but never impenetrable.

Instead of imposing large ideas or hokey concepts, Soulpepper Artistic Director Albert Schultz directs As You Like It with a deft and knowing hand, allowing the poetry of Shakespeare's words to reveal and illuminate. He inherently understands that the Bard requires no gimmickry or interference, that characters and their dilemmas can -and do -speak for themselves.

In place of a recognizable period and locale, there is a mixed bag of visual and aural references to chew on. But far from being confusing, these elements, used in tandem with a consistent palette of colours and sound effects, combine in challenging the audience to use their own imaginations, much in the same way Shakespeare would have done with his own audience.

The story is simple enough, with Rosalind, daughter of Duke Senior, banished by her usurping uncle, and fleeing with cousin Celia to the Forest of Arden, where both meet love and life experience, and encounter a sense of community their court existence had deprived them of.

The dualism of the plot can, of course bewilder: Rosalind pretends to be a man, but then acts as a woman, in order to court her beloved Orlando, even as Rosalind, as a man, is wooed by another woman. Then there's the terrible twos: two sets of brothers share a terrible animosity, there are two (very different) fools, there are two country girls, and there are two sets of two weddings. That's a lot for any audience to keep track of, let alone one director.

Yet Schultz keeps things flowing, choosing lights, props, and staging that emphasize a sensitive balance between intimacy and openness. The stage of the Baillie Theatre is refreshingly uncluttered, and Lorenzo Savoini's clean design goes a long way to telling a story that has implications far past the mythic forest of Shakespeare's imagining.

The stark, white, geometric precision and hard angles that characterize the world of Duke Frederick are replaced with pungent, cushiony scarlets and the rich, billowing browns of forest life. Fraying red ropes hang like random umbilical cords, whispering a confirmation of sustenance and shelter. There is a natural balance to life here, which reminds the audience of the essentially dualistic nature of the play.

Thus, dualism is acknowledged, both inventively and economically. Something as simple as a cooking pot in Arden becomes an instrument of torture in the Duke's court. Bare, cold walls become soft, satiny moss. Dualism even extends to casting, with Mike Ross doubling as Oliver (angry brother to the smitten Orlando), and Amiens, the chief musician who serenades Celia (an effervescent Jennifer Villaverde) at a moment when she needs it most.

The importance -indeed, necessity -of creativity (again, between the characters, audience and performers) is underlined repeatedly. The mask of a wrestler near the play's start bares an unmistakable resemblance to Strongbad (an online cartoon character), adding a nice element of playfulness. A babbling brook (the edges and stepping stones of which are indicated with rope) that divides the stage for many of the Arden scenes acts as a reminder of what the play's characters -and perhaps audience -seek: purity, cleansing, redemption.

Music is another element that creates a sense of community between performers and audience. But instead of tinkling Elizabethan tunes or peppy modern pop, composer Mike Ross has opted for a Celtic-Appalachian sound. It's Bill-the-Quill-meets-Bron-Yr-Aur-Stomp, and it works well in complementing the clear, elegant aesthetic of the production, while never robbing it of joyful vivacity.

Making the most of this joy is Sarah Wilson, who infuses her Rosalind with youthful zeal. Despite the gravitas of being one of Shakespeare's greatest female parts, here she is presented precisely for what she is: a young woman on the edge of adulthood.

It's fascinating to watch Wilson as she explores her character's feminine identity through that of her male alias, Ganymede. Particularly charming are the scenes with Michael Blake's enthusiastically love-crazed Orlando. We see the two frequently navigate between awkwardness, openness, vulnerability, hurt and adoration, and we recognize every single moment on that bumpy road to love.

Diego Matamoros brings a wry, dry, eminently-watchable energy to the role of the famously-melancholy Jaques. Not so much melancholy here as too smart and self-aware by half, his combination of weariness, wit, and honesty is particularly effective when placed with the altogether hilarious, kinetic energy of Oliver Dennis' Touchstone. You don't have to be familiar with Soulpepper's history to sense the casting genius in having these two talented actors, in these particular roles, verbally sparring and playing off one another's energy.

Whether it's Jaques outrageously swaying to Amiens' music like a hillbilly Bob Dylan, or Touchstone wielding his staff like a badly-dressed Gandalf, there is always a constant balance being maintained, here, as in every scene of As You Like It: a balance between smart and silly, anger and forgiveness, love and indifference.

All of this is underlined in the final scene, with the four couples joined in marriage, as red leaves slowly fall around them, marking a transition both without and within, that is as natural as it is poetic.

As You Like It underlines the great need for maintaining balance within a creative environment that fosters, nurtures, and encourages growth. If that sounds complicated, it isn't. Schultz makes it clear -in the most simple and timeless of ways - that As You Like It is every bit as applicable in its call for connection in 2008 Toronto as it was in 1599 London.

This is Shakespeare presented clearly, with much imagination and love. It's a welcome respite from the dirty details of winter, and worth a trip, with toque, Totes, and TTC, down to the snowy lanes of the Distillery District.

Arden awaits.

As You Like It runs at the Young Centre for the Performing Arts through April 19th.
For more information, go to soulpepper.ca.

Odd or not...

There is nothing in the world like the feel of a blank canvas, its promise of possibility still fresh, potent and palpable.

As a painter, I enjoy bringing that sense of promise to my other passion in life: theatre.

So instead of walking into productions with preconceptions or ideas, I prefer to approach each work on its own merit, akin to a blank canvas, ready to be painted in direct relation to the dance between directors, designers, performers, and audience. It is precisely the rhythm, feel, and flow of this dance that determines what sort of painting I'm left with by evening's end.

And yet, history dictates that some plays are harder to approach as blank canvases than others.

Neil Simon's The Odd Couple, now on at The Young Centre, certainly has its share of splattered, splodgey history, what with the memorable film and later television program. It's hard walking into something that is so loaded down with cultural baggage and personal history -and yet, in this instance, my unfamiliarity with either certainly has its advantages.

Yes, I have images of Jack Lemmon/Tony Randall in an apron, and Walter Matthau/Jack Klugman in an untucked shirt -one's the neatfreak, the other a slob -that much I know. But is there more to it than that?

Director Stuart Hughes thinks so.

Written as a comedy, the piece takes a look at the lives of two men who have recently suffered separations from their family lives. The inadvertent establishment of a pseudo-domestic situation perpetuates personal issues and forces them to try to resolve them and make peace with their own faults. I was struck at how much Hughes has explored the theme of friendship, support, and human relating, particularly between men, in this production.

To use an Oscar-ism, who'da thunk it?

The opening scene, with various Friday night poker buddies crowding around a table presents us with the typical "guys playing cards, gabbing, smoking, acting like guys" tableau. And yet the absence of their regular poker buddy is cause for much concern, as they suddenly transform into awkward mother hens and readily exude the kind of energy they claim to be escaping from.

Oliver Dennis, Kevin Bundy, Derek Boyes and Michael Hanrahan are uniformly wonderful as the team of buddies, to say nothing of the play's leads. Diego Matamoros infuses the nebbish Felix Unger with a desperate humanity, even as he balances the considerable comedy in the role. Albert Schultz, the Artistic Director of Soulpepper, puts aside the leading-man-gentility and revels in the rebellious slob-dom of Oscar Madison.

The two develop an interesting pattern of co-dependency as the play progresses, with Felix demanding phone calls and Oscar manically stalking his empty apartment after he throws his friend out. The stereotypes of each character are acknowledged, but never indulged; Felix is indeed a neatfreak, but his proclivities toward tidiness are treated as an exacerbated effect, rather than a cause -a wild clutching to keep a life in order that has fallen to chaos. We see him wielding a vacuum in one scene, as if he can simply suck away the pain his separation is causing.

Oscar's lack of hygiene, past being a personal defect, is more the result of a life and man given in to chaos -the stuffed wrappers, crushed crisps and crusty dishes symbols of middle-aged rebellion against an invisible wife, and one suspects, domesticity in general. His desperate flirtations with the silly Pigeon sisters, his thundering about the apartment, and close cushion-clutching shows us a man who is ultimately terrified of being alone.

Even with Simon's addition of those "cuckoo" Pigeon sisters (played with appropriate lightness by Amy Rutherford and Krystin Pellerin), this is a play about men. Time and again, Hughes gives us a powerful symbol of the great need men have to take care of, and indeed, be taken care of.

For all of its inbuilt comedy (and there are certainly plenty of laughs), this is a production that takes the importance of friendship, bonding, and honesty (however brutal) to heart, and mixes them to create an altogether new interpretation of what many consider to be an American classic.

The fact a company like Soulpepper -known for its classical repertory -is producing a piece like The Odd Couple is a brave, ballsy choice. Yet its inclusion into the current season perfectly compliments their reputation for providing solid, intelligent productions of classic works.

As Schultz noted in his comments for choosing the 10th anniversary season, laughter is a wonderful way to celebrate; it's also the perfect way to share moments with friends, old and new, and to appreciate the many gifts of friendship.

There's a canvas I heartily applaud.

The Odd Couple runs at The Young Centre for the Performing Arts through April 19; for more information on Soulpepper Theatre Company, including how to buy tickets, go to www.soulpepper.ca.

cold woman, cool show

Music, dance, and theatre can be a tricky combination to pull off.

More often than not, one elements gets ignored, or used with either too heavy a hand, or too sparingly. Allowing elements to gel naturally, without force, requires a deft hand and a passion for the subject matter under which the elements come together.

Enter Alon Nashman. The head of Toronto theatre company Theaturtle, whose production of The Snow Queen is now in at the Young Centre for the Performing Arts in the Distillery District.

Based on the children’s story by Hans Christian Anderson, the piece uses the classic theme of the hero's journey by tracing the experiences of a little girl in her quest to find her best friend.

Come on, you know the hero’s journey. Joseph Campbell? Elements of myth?

For those who aren’t quite up on their Campbell, here’s the Coles-notes-version: there is a call to adventure, a series of trials, an achievement of the goal, then a return to the ordinary world. All of this is often accompanied by supernatural elements that both help and hinder the hero.

The hero’s journey is often deeply affecting on many levels, since many of greatest stories ever told –classical, biblical and otherwise –contain at their core its themes and structures. Human existence is, of course, the hero’s journey in action, an nearly every fairytale uses its structural outline as the basis of the tale.

And so it is in Anderson’s tale of Gerda, his hero, who is called to adventure in order to rescue Kay, who has been taken by the entirely mystical, cold Snow Queen of the title. Along the path to rescue him, she encounters a variety of supernatural creatures and scary characters, all of whom are brought to life -with great passion and virtuosity - by Nashman himself, with music, dance, and visual elements as counterpoints to the story of wintery fury and magic.

The stage of the Michael Young theatre is draped in white, and at first you'd be tempted to think it was the work of Karim Rashid, or some new-fangled designer furniture sale, but think again. Instead of literal props and spoon-fed gimmickry, Theaturtle trust their audience enough to use their imaginations, offering only subtle visual clues (by way of a projection of images -some literal, some abstract) to move the story along.

In tandem with the wonderful work of the Tokai String Quartet and the flowing, open choreography by Claudia Moore and sensually performed by dancer Kate Alton, The Snow Queen weaves a powerful, magical spell. Nashman literally takes on every character in the far-ranging and sometimes meandering tale, vanishing into the roles, the story, and the winter wonderland that's created in the marriages between sound, movement, music and words.

If you're seeking something off the sugary-sweet Christmas entertainment path, look no further then the Young Centre. You'll be taken on a journey that is both spellbinding and strangely familiar. And you’ll never look at frosted windows the same way again.

The Snow Queen runs at the Young Centre for the Performing Arts until December 16th.
Check the Young Centre website for various times.
http://www.youngcentre.ca

no good reason

Didactic art can be such a drag.

Plays are, I find, particularly trying.

All those people, working so hard, just to push through some simplistic, and frequently obvious message -without a whiff of subtlety, insight, or actual passion.
Reminds me of those mini-plays we'd put on in elementary school: SMOKING IS BAD. DON'T STEAL. HELP YOUR PARENTS.

Oh brother. I'd like to think adult audiences are a bit past the preaching, and ready for something a bit more challenging.

So would Leslie O'Dell, it turns out.

O'Dell is the director of No Good Reason, a two-man play opening at the Young Centre November 1st.

In it, two soldiers who have survived World War One recount their experiences and work to try to find a way to live with their wounds -both outer and inner.

"We're trying to resist the obvious or sentimental, or direct, striaght-forward peachy themes and go for something tougher,", she explains, "something more dangerous, and raw, where we back off of that simplistic message sort of thing, and say, 'okay, yes, war is bad, why do we as a species keep doing it?'"

From listening to the play's accompanying CD, Waiting There for Me, or examining playwright Stephen Baetz's work, it's easy to see how timely a piece No Good Reason is.

"Here we are, as Canadians, again, watching the price be paid by another generation of young people", she says with a sigh, "We call it the 'first' World War, but back then, they called it the Great War, the war to end all wars. I mean, what is it about our species that will, despite our capacity for caring and love and healing ... what is it in us that keeps us coming back to violence?"

O'Dell is certainly no stranger to examining the urge to kill in the theatre. She's been involved in productions of Henry IV (Revolt in England and Revenge in France), Henry VI -Parts One and Two, Titus Andronicus, Troilus and Cressida and Richard III (for the Stratford Festival).

While the challenge of re-creating battle scenes has always been a concern for directors, O'Dell figures her time directing some of Shakespeare's more bloody war-themed epics has actually endowed her with an appreciation for theatrical simplicity.

"We're exploring something where poetry and music sit together, where the intention is not to recreate or recapture. That's one of the marvellous things about theatre. It can do what film and TV can't. It can be unreal. Language takes on a simplicity and beauty on a stage. When an actor turns and speaks to an audience, from Shakespeare to a modern monologue, it packs a punch. And you haven't spent a penny on special effects."

What with soldiers coming back in body bags and televised news every night, it would seem war doesn't need to be dramatized anymore in order for it to be a reality. And it's not one that's going away anytime soon, unfortunately.

Still, the team behind No Good Reason needed to draw on a number of different experiences and influences to come up with a truly viable examiniation of the human instinct to war.

"We're drawing upon all of the cultural ways that we position war in our society, from World War Two films, to the heroic Rambo figure, through to the really brutal and thought-provoking historical examinations - not only Shakespeare, but as far back as the Greek world, with things like Euripides' Trojan Women."

But the play, says O'Dell, is far from being a downer.

"The ultimate statement of play is very affirming", she says, "It's about the quiet courage it takes to endure."

No Good Reason opens at the Young Centre for the Performing Arts on November 1 and runs until November 10.

For more information, go to www.youngcentre.ca or redsockscompany.com.

powerful, profound puppets

Moving, poetic, amazingly human.

Who knew puppets could do so much?

Apparently The Old Trout Puppet Workshop, that's who.

Based out of Calgary, the troupe are currently performing Famous Death Puppet Scenes at the Young Centre in the Distillery District.

Far from being a collection of eerie reenacements or a long one-note joke in the key of macabre, the production presents various scenes from famous puppet shows through the ages, using scenes from Nordo Frot's The Feverish Heart as a thread linking other more disparate elements.

For those not previously familiar with The Feverish Heart, prepare to be... uh, hammered... by hilarity. The returning theme of our feckless hero is awfully funny, (as in, awful and funny, at once) like a lot of the show. But Famous Puppet Death Scenes is much more than squishy-headed puppets meeting untimely ends.

The genius, for me, lies in the narrative and dramatic arc with which director Tim Sutherland has shaped the piece. What could have been a connection of disconnected elements lacking any cohesiveness or momentum (or heart, most importantly) becomes a fascinating musing on the nature of death -and life, in the process.

The Old Trouts are adept at dismantling any preconceptions the audience may bring concerning puppetry.

So we see strings, sticks, mechanics, masks, and the man (or men) behind the curtain. That doesn't diminish the magic, however, but rather adds to it.

The chosen piece from The Cruel Sea (by Thorvik Skarsbarg), is sparsely dramatic. Using a combination of lighting, sound, and basic special effects (one of the puppeteers blows a handful of white flakes representing snow), we see the dismantling of the "main" chartacter, piece by piece, until he is literally the core of his old self, as another puppet, female and robed, slowly passes outside the window. It's a slow poetry, a strange one, but a moving meditation on the nature of temporal in relation to the physical, mental, and spiritual.

Watching Famous Puppet Death Scenes, I was reminded of the value of surreal art, the sense that there is value in the bizarre and seeingly-random. I kept picturing Salvador Dali sitting there, twirling his moustache, a strange smile crossing his lips, with every twist of the strings and tug of the sticks.

And I kept hearing Marcel Duchamp's words: "This desire to understand everything fills me with horror".

So I stopped asking "what does it all MEAN?" and instead allowed emotions, including confusion, to surface. In so doing, I enjoyed the very essence of great theatre, noting how basic theatrical elements are utilized in service of the story being told onstage.

King Jeff the Magnificent, by William Dingo, is a perfect example. The audience is given a bird's eye view of a puppet being elevated from a building top, into space, close to the moon, then cradled, by two giant hands coming from either end of the little procenium arch stage that had been set up across the stage of the Joseph Young Theatre.

Maybe it is, as the show's skeletal narrator suggests, that "we puppets suffer on your behalf", even as they also reveal profound truths about love, life, death, and the connection that drives us in the short time we're given. Note the simple beauty of scenes like The Last Whale or Lucille Arabesque; the combination of the solitary with the surreal suggests a profound truth about interconnection and isolation within the human experience.

The silence that envelopes the theatre at the play's end, as the narrator is quietly carried off, says more than any voices or script ever could.

There's nothing else like this on in Toronto. And this isn't going to last very long.

See it.

Famous Puppet Death Scenes runs at the Young Centre for the Performing Arts to October 27th; for more information, go to www.youngcentre.ca