Two Sundays ago, as the rest of the city reveled in the sun-drenched welcoming of spring, I found myself cursing Google Maps, lost in the depths of St. Laurent. Accompanied by fellow theatre lovers, I was searching for the entrance to Infinitheatre, a bath house turned performance space. A matinee showing of Quebec playwright François Archambault’s The Leisure Society was already starting. My frantic search was starting to manifest itself in increasingly blistering glares at the boisterous summer strollers all around us when, mercifully, one member of our crew suggested we swing on to St. Dominique and look for a back entrance.
The back entrance turned out to be the front entrance, and suddenly there we were; a now-cheery group of people entering the sleek, modern living room that was the set of The Leisure Society. As we settled into our seats my neighbour turned to me and-with eyes wide-said: “I used to think Quebec theatre wasn’t controversial enough.” An hour and a half later, it was clear why she had changed her mind.
I had discovered Quebec theatre the same way I found Infinititheatre: through the back door. Switching to an English major in my second year led to unexpected exposure to people making art in a way that I had never experienced before. Their raw inspection of social norms and fresh approach at tackling old themes was different from the more famous of the 20th century pieces floating about in the public consciousness.
The Leisure Society is yet another Quebec theatre gem, exposing the dearth of meaning that can manifest itself in a Canadian upper middle class existence. In the play, a rich and powerful couple fill their lives with anything and everything except for actual, vulnerable relationships. This leads to a whirlwind of unsatisfactory sexual excursions and unsuccessful suicide attempts. The scary thing was how recognizable this onstage reflection was to a broader 21st century Canadian audience. This is becoming the stamp of a great deal of Quebec theatre; it may be conceived in this province, but it has implications for Canada as a whole.
Wajdi Mouawad’s Scorched is also causing ripples in the theatre world, echoing the cross border journey of its characters. Scenes are set in Montreal and Lebanon as cycles of violence, and the nature of identity, are tied together in ways that make Greek tragedy seem like an after-school special. And adding further to the Quebec literary canon is The Seven Streams of the River Ota by Robert Lepage, which starts with the horrific Hiroshima bombing during World War II, and threads a visually stunning story that connects people from different times and places.
These are but a few contemporary examples of something special happening in Quebec’s playhouses. Its theatre scene-only half a century ago mostly comprised of a vehement reaction against the surge of American pop culture and the iron grip of the Catholic church-has come into its own in a way that is distinctly its own.
For the non-local, it might be tricky at first to find theatre created by Quebecois artists, but believe me, finding it is worth it. Even if it means looking for the back door.
