Showing posts with label Performance. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Performance. Show all posts

Tuesday, May 26

TONY HO IN CONVERSATION WITH HENRI FABERGÉ

















Tony Ho is not one man, but three: Miguel Rivas, Roger Bainbridge and Adam Niebergall. I met them all during the workshopping phase of my Feint of Hart series, as their nuanced acting and bizarre styles emerged in different ways that truly made them stand out in the Toronto comedy scene. They have been working together as a sketch group for five years. Henri Fabergé met to chat with them about their upcoming comedy album The People Stuff (available for preorder now on iTunes) in Dufferin Grove Park, sandwiched in between a Swiss LARPing picnic and a Walmart.

HENRI FABERGÉ - What’s your collective vibe?

MIGUEL RIVAS - I think we mine our material from sadness and anxiety, and the comedy that’s in that. Gallows humour. The old saying, you know, the easiest place to make a joke is at a funeral. In a simple way, our work can be described as making the most tense, sad moments, and then you can cut in really deep with humour.

HF - I’ve seen Tony Ho as a sketch show, a theatrical fringe show, your short films, and now an album. How do you feel Tony ho fits into the larger comedy community?

ROGER BAINBRIDGE - As a counterpoint. We started doing things the way we did as a reaction, even if it wasn’t conscious. We just saw a lot of stuff that didn’t have a focus on acting, everything was very fast and very tim and ericy, which is great, but there were enough people doing that, and we wanted to try things a little different, a little slower, maybe a bit more theatrical. 

HF - Would you describe it inherently as a sketch troupe?

RB - I don't like the word troupe, but yes. 

ADAM NIEBERGALL - Sounds gross.

MR - As we’ve gone along, we’ve moved more definitively under the umbrella of sketch comedy. I think when we started it was more - not plays, but like mini one-act little things that were harder to define as sketch comedy. I think we still do that, but its been more streamlined towards sketch comedy, in the past couple years anyway. 

AN - We do more shows that are about standup because we hang out with a lot of people who do standup, so I think more than other sketch groups we do those kinds of shows.

RB - Show up on standup bills, is what you mean.

AN - Yeah.

MR - And just talk into mics.

RB - But we weren’t making plays. We were always playing at comedy clubs, we were always billed as a sketch group. 

MR - And I think we carved out a niche, at least in the local comedy scene, for doing our own thing. The saddest sketch group.

HF - You balked at the term “troupe”.

RB - I just don’t like that word.

AN - The phonetics are gross.

HF - You have the core group, the three of you, but you regularly bring in some faves like Evany Rosen and Daniel Beirne, who are featuring prominently on this new album. Why the decision to branch out?

MR - One thing is that we like to work with women, to include women. You can be Kids in The Hall and do drag, or you can just include real women…that’s not a dig at Kids in The Hall (laughs). It’s a choice we made to act with women because it brings out a different dynamic in sketch. We’re big fans of Evany’s work, and Kayla Lorette’s work.

RB - The thing with Kids in the Hall is, you can’t escape that part of the joke is that these are men in dresses. No matter how sympathetic they might make those characters. A lot of times, there are scenes we do where the drama is, you have to act it straight, act it straight, act it straight, and then the joke comes. And it’s really hard if not impossible to pull off if a guy’s in drag.

AN - Also, we have a point of view, and when we bring in someone like Kayla or Evany or Dan, it always gets better with another eye on it.

MR - There’s just a different dynamic or chemistry when you bring in someone else. Not that it gets stagnant or anything, but we’ve already been a troupe for five years. 

HF - You said it. 

MR - Shit. We’ve already been a collective…group…

RB - We’ve always been a thought organization…

MR - We’re a think tank, basically.

HF - Why did you keep this (indicates to the three) as Tony Ho, featuring other people?

MR - Part of it is commitment to the think tank. The people we bring in, we want to work with them and they want to work with us, but it’s not their thing specifically, and they don’t have to be beholden to growing the brand, or changing it, or what’s next for this thing, whereas with the three of us, that is our focus.

RB - I know for myself, a big thing I wanted when we started, if you saw the name Tony Ho anywhere, I wanted people to think more about a style of comedy rather than three dudes. How many dude sketch groups are there already? You know the tone of comedy you’re going to get, rather than just: this person, this person and this person. 

MR - That’s why we called it Tone-y Ho. 

AN - Yikes. 

 HF - I have seen shows where one of you is missing. Which surprised me at first, because you wouldn't see a band that just swaps out the bass player. How did this initial configuration come about, that you three were going to work together?

RB - Happenstance.

MR - A long time ago, before Tony Ho started, I had overbooked myself to show up on a lot of shows. And I didn’t really have anyone to perform with. I was in another sketch group Frenzy at the time, and it had dissolved at that point, everyone was doing their own thing. But I had booked a million shows and I asked these guys if they would come and do them with me, we didn’t really have a name or anything. We started performing regularly, and thought, “we should name this and be a thing now, because we’re doing it all the time.”

AN - Initially we were just called Frenzy.

MR - That’s what I had booked the shows for.

RB - I had stopped doing comedy for a while. Miguel was always getting on me about getting back into comedy.

MR - We actually started doing improv shows. 

RB - And Adam I knew from high school, he had just moved to Toronto. We were actually going to start a band. We were going to do music, but Miguel was like, let’s do comedy…

MR - I was like, “your band sucks.”

AN - I honestly forgot about that.

MR - That’s for the best.

RB - We were doing a show called the Short Notice Show run by Kayla Lorette, Matt Folliot, Alana Johnston, Mae Martin, Alex Tindal…one day we were going out to do skits and thought, “we can't keep calling ourselves Frenzy.” That’s when we changed the name, and all of a sudden we were a group. 

HF - And…why Tony Ho?

RB - (laughs) Real answer, or fun answer?

HF - Tell me both, but don’t tell me which is which.

MR - Short form for Anthony Hopkins.

RB - And we started reading a lot of newspaper articles and saw that name show up when really bad things were happening. If you search Tony Ho, there are articles like “man thrown out window,” just horrible stuff.

HF - Wait, why did you initially google Tony Ho?

RB - I think someone made the joke about it being the short form for Anthony Hopkins.

AN - I think it was (frequent collaborator) Tim Moore. It sounds like a Tim Moore joke.

MR - These guys also made a character in NHL ‘08 called Tony Ho before the troupe was named that.

HF - Initially you had a weird caricature of Anthony Hopkins as your avatar, but you moved away from that aesthetic. At a certain point you disassociated yourselves from that reference, because it was irrelevant?

MR - It made sense at the time. 

RB - Everyone was always like, “where does that name come from?” And when you told them, they would always get the most profound look of disappointment. 

MR - But I like to think, imagine Anthony Hopkins as a sketch group, that’s sort of what we’re like. 

AN - The name would be so much better if people would stop trying to ask for an answer about it. Because it’s just nice and confusing and stupid. 

RB - We’d be lying, though, if we didn’t say that part of us wanted, every time you saw the name you thought “oh, it’s going to be an Asian dude doing standup.”

HF - You’re billing it like it’s a type of comedy, but when you look at the name, it seems like you are specifically just going to see one guy up there.

AN - Another name we thought of was Two and a Half Whites.

HF - Which is accurate. How did this evolve from filling space on comedy shows, to high-concept-high-production-value-exhausting-to-make short films, to a comedy album?

MR - I always wanted to make movies. I love live comedy, it’s my life, but what I’ve always wanted to do is write movies, direct movies, be in movies. Even before Tony Ho, I was always dreaming of turning comedy into film somehow. I think that was something we agreed on early on. As soon as we had a little bevy of material, we wanted to turn it into films.

AN - Again, it was a reaction to what was happening at the time. Now, it seems like a really popular thing to have high production value, but back then it wasn’t really the case. 

RB - And it didn’t really need to be. We weren’t saying “this is how it needs to be done!” People were focusing on the funny, they didn’t care so much about whether or not it’s the glossiest cameras. And I love that do-it-yourself aesthetic. But we thought, what would it be like if the Coen Brothers shot a sketch? We took that on as a personal challenge. Not as some great “fire a shot” kind of thing. As far as the album, we just lucked into it. Ben Miner at SiriusXM, awesome champion of all things Canadian comedy, he set up a thing with the Toronto Sketch Comedy Festival, whoever wins this thing gets to record an album with them. And we had been wanting to do an album. We had organized stuff that had fallen through, and they took on the nuts and bolts of organizing that. Every medium we look at, we try to embrace and play to that particular medium, whether it’s film, a live audience, and we like the challenges that each of those brings.

HF - Just going back to your film work, how do you feel about your canon or work so far? Where are you taking it from here?

MR - I think it’s really impressive, actually. (They all laugh) Let me finish, let me finish! The amount of material we’ve made at that level, with no money. If you go to our website, it’s over 75 minutes of material, it’s basically a feature length film in terms of running time. With high production value, made for no money. I think that’s a great accomplishment. Andrew Bush from Picnicface, a long time ago he gave a talk about comedy, he said “if you’re not putting at least half your effort into sustainable media, you’re wasting your time.” Comedy is great, be funny, but you have to leave proof and expand yourself. With live stuff, it just disappears. The Tony Ho movies are a record of us existing. 

RB - It’s addictive. Once you’ve made one, you just want to go and make another one. Even if it’s kicks your ass making it.

HF - Which movie most nails the Tony Ho tone?

RB - ‘Time’ is really good. 

AN - I really really like ‘Valentine.’

MR - ‘Valentine’ is the best executed movie we made, but it’s intentionally the least funny. Not that it’s not funny, it’s just different, it’s a really sad movie. That’s probably the best execution we’ve done from start to finish.

RB - If I were to sit people down and say “these are the ones you need to watch”, I’d say ‘Time, ‘Valentine’ and ‘Japan.’ And they’re successful for different reasons. With ‘Valentine’ people are like, “I’m laughing at this, and holy shit maybe I’m tearing up a little bit here.” I’ve had people watch it tell me, “I’ve gone through this exact situation and it devastated me.” Not to pat myself on the back. No, they’ve said “I felt alone in this, I thought I was alone in this, and now we’re not alone in this.” And ‘Japan’ is good because we were trying to make a fast-paced, joke-a-minute thing, because we felt like people were saying “yeah yeah, they’re artsy, but can they make jokes?”

MR - I think ‘Japan’ was definitely reactionary.




RB - With ‘Time’, I sat down and wrote it in one go. And Miguel knew exactly how to shoot it.

MR - It’s all about location (laughs).

AN - Near Miguel’s house. 

MR - Looking out the window, “yeah, right there looks good.”

HF - That was a great sketch too, I saw it live. You produce so much content, I saw quite a few shows in a row without seeing much repeated, you were trying a lot of material. Actually, in the coffee shop while we were waiting, the barista told Miguel “I loved that sketch about baseball, like eight years ago,” and Miguel was like “how could I possibly remember that?” But she remembered it, which was interesting. How do you parse through your live sketches and decide, “yes, this one needs to live on as sustainable media”?

RB - I think you can tell pretty quickly. We’ll do something live once, and when we come off stage and check in with each other, you can just sense it. Some things, you can tell “this is meant to be theatrical, but it doesn’t lend itself to film. We felt that with ‘Time.’

MR - Yeah, some ideas just lend themselves to the medium of film.

RB - Usually those were the ones with a good story. Not just joke joke joke.

MR - And after we made a movie were like “let’s pick a sketch and start making a new movie now” (laughs). We would just pick the most ready one. Most of the sketches we chose were doing well for us already. We actually have never really written to film.

RB - Well, I think we did get to a point where were doing sketches live to vet them, to get them to a point where we could film them. I definitely started thinking about them in those terms. 

   MR - For a time I always thought of film as the end product. We’re writing them, to rehearse them, to make them into movies.

HF - Have you had any sketches that you pored a lot of energy into, that you wanted to make into movies, that just didn’t pan out?

RB - ‘Library’ we’ve tried to make a few times, but it just didn’t happen. That’s just because it’s hard to get a library.

MR - Libraries in Toronto are nervous of any sort of commentary that could be politicized, I guess.

RB - It was back in the middle of that Ford brothers bullshit, like “fuck Margaret Atwood!” and all that jazz. So the libraries had their backs up.

MR - On the record, we don’t like the Ford brothers.

HF - But you love libraries.

AN - On the record as well, fuck Margaret Atwood. 

MR - No, no. That was Adam’s view only.

RB - That was a weird Norwegian guy walking past. 

HF - Are you releasing anything else soon?

MR - We just finished our most recent short, which has been in the works for about a year. We had to rescue some of the audio.

RB - We also had to get some music scored, done by the amazing Dan Miller. It added a whole other level. 

AN - It’s the ‘Dissection’ sketch. We are all standing around a table ready to dissect a body, and the professor played by Miguel is explaining that we all have to share a secret with the body out of respect. 

HF - Where did you film it?

MR - At U of T, in one of the lecture halls. 

RB - If you want to get into one of those places, just say you’re a film student. We showed up and they were like, “film students, huh?”

MR - We’re continuing education students! (Laughs)

HF - Over five years, you’ve made the equivalent of a feature film on your own. Some artists would look at that process, taking a live sketch, evolving it, shooting it over almost a year, as an insane investment of time. But in this landscape of comedy, so many people so hungry for so few resources…you recently got money to work on a more conventional series, which seems like things are progressing. Can you talk about that?

 MR - It’s a little bit under wraps, because it’s nothing specific yet.

RB - There’s a lot of people got deals like we got going, and most of them come to nothing. We’re optimistic, we’d love to make something happen, but…

MR - Our film canon, I think, is a huge reason why we’ve been trusted with that kind of deal. 

RB - Even if we do get a chance to do something else, which would be a million to one shot, that’s the stuff that speaks for itself. We got to control everything, warts and all, we made all those decisions. Anything that goes a level beyond that, there’s going to be interference, there’s going to be compromise. It’s not going to be unadulterated. 

MR - But it is about growing it. That’s something we’ve tried to do with our films, we’ve tried to big it up each time. Bigger production value, learning…

RB - (laughs) How do you move a camera?

MR - How do you move a camera around, efficiently, is a real thing. It’s about expanding into TV eventually, for sure. If nothing else, the films were a great way to learn.

RB - Film school.

MR - You think about so many actors who are sitting around for months at a time doing nothing, auditioning maybe, waiting for a role, waiting for a role, then when they book a gig and get on set, they haven’t acted in half of a year! They’re not ready to go.

RB - A lot of people say, “well I can’t make a short film, I haven’t gotten a grant yet!” It’s like, who the fuck says you should be getting money? Just do your thing! You’ll get paid when someone decides you should get paid. 

MR - There is a kind of “no excuse” thing today with technology, where you can easily make something.

RB - Just hustle, go out of pocket, and if you stick around, and you’re making something worthwhile, you’ll get money. All these people applying for money before they even know what project they’re doing, that just makes me gag. It’s like, you don’t actually like doing this, then.

HF - You can definitely sense that you care about the work. Obviously you care about money, but you’re going to make your work regardless.

RB - We’ve always said this, people who want to do things are going to do them. People who want to talk about doing things, talk.

MR - We’re a gang. We don’t like people just talkin’ that talk. 

RB - A lot of people do that. If you have a really good idea, don’t talk about it, because you’re letting the air out of the balloon. 

HF - And people will steal your ideas.

AN - And it’s never as good as if you have the idea and you just do it immediately. If you revisit it, some part of it goes away.

RB - If you tell someone about it, you’re also getting the excitement of making that thing out of you. In a way, if you tell the story about it…

MR - I talk about everything all the time. This all just sounds idealistic to me. 

RB - Well, you’re a little different. 

MR - I’m like a cup that’s spilling all the time. 

HF - It’s surprising in the comedy scene to see some humility in a way. (They all laugh) Hear me out…an acquiescence of ego, if you will. Tony Ho, as I understood it, was you three, featuring other people. But it’s always exciting and refreshing to see a film like ‘Valentine’, which Roger isn’t even in. You’re getting credit for directing it, but some of these films, one of you is just not involved at all…

RB - Everyone is involved in some way.

MR - One film I’m not involved in at all, because I was in Brazil, was Giordano. 

HF - Did it take any discussion, to be like “I understand that Dan Beirne should be the guy.”

RB - With ‘Valentine’, I thought at the time, Dan is more sympathetic as an actor than me. He can really bring a likability to it that I hadn’t figured out yet. Also, I just straight-up wanted to focus on the directing. I don’t want to be switching hats, I cared a lot about that one. I think it’s some of the best acting that these two have done, that I’ve seen Dan do, I got to work closely with Tim Moore to make it look the way I wanted. That’s the one that is most close to how I imagined it in my head, to a finished product.

MR - I think a big part of our comedy, particularly in sketch…we have ridiculous elements, sure, but we always want to keep it incredibly realistic, or grounded in reality, so that we can make out twist or comment out of that. We have less characters like “ ooooh, how are yoooou” (fakey British accent)…

RB - (laughs) How are you going to type that one? You know, those “how are you?” characters…

MR - The scenario may be ridiculous, but the characters inside of that are real and recognizable. In doing that, something like ‘Time’, that I’m not in, about a man and his dad…I can put on a moustache and put white hair in, and look kind of ridiculous, which is fine…

RB - You can get away with that on stage at a sketch show, but if you’re trying to sell it as a movie, people will be like “eh, no dice, this is just silly, I can’t go along with this.” Because in the first minute of that scene…what we do, is we fill the tank with a lot of tension, a lot of awkwardness and maybe some real emotion, and then the catharsis and the laughter comes with the ridiculous thing that blows that up. It’s like, oh this guy’s dad was in jail, and he seems really broken up by this, and then it’s like, oh, maybe this is actually a Slaughterhouse Five situation. Is the guy time travelling? Or is this kid just punishing his father?

MR - So anyway, we cast Rob Baker in the role, because he looks more appropriate, and he’s a great actor. And I think Roger and I specifically always wanted to direct. We realized very early on that it’s hard to act and direct at the same time. It’s too split of a focus. So we take turns directing only.

AN - That’s mostly how we did it at first, right, you two would take turns directing it while we were shooting.




HF - So, you had Rob Baker as a believable dad in ‘Time.’ But then, Adam as the dad in ‘Western’ was totally ridiculous.

RB - That was a lesson learned, because that to me was one of the jokes. Everything else was so specific, and stylistically on point. Hanna Puley did an amazing job making everything look like a sweaty, dirty Western. To me, Adam is the most ridiculous part of the scene, both in acting style and the jokes he makes, I wanted to represent that visually by making him look like a piece of shit sketch character. People fucking hate it. Everyone’s always asking, “why the fuck did you fuck up your movie by making Adam look like that?” And I say, “well, uh, it was a comment…”

AN - We didn’t do enough with it, though. They’re not wrong. We just needed to make it more so.

RB - I will say that it was deliberate, it wasn’t a mistake. I mean, how can you watch the whole thing, and go “this all looks great, but you really dropped the ball there.” Clearly it was considered, whether or not you like it is another thing.

MR - I think, looking back…I’m sure everyone says this about their work, but I would probably change something about every movie we’ve made.

AN - We might cut half of that ‘Western’ movie. 

MR - Yeah, ‘Western’ is like 70% execution. 

RB - I’m pretty sure it’s like 17 minutes long. I remember going back and going, “oh god, what was I thinking?”

MR - We could just cut off the first three minutes.

RB - Which I think (editor) Morgan Waters wanted us to do, and we said (in jokey dumb voice) “I don’t know Morgan, we’re trying something different.”

HF - I really like it, but I think if people discovered you through that video, they would obviously have a very different interpretation that me, who has experienced Tony Ho live, and seen your other films. But it was a pleasure to see Adam revelling in that ridiculousness. 

RB - On set he was killing it, and I still think it’s very funny in the movie. It’s just how we visually represented it. We’d love to go back and redo it. But no, we’re moving forward.

HF - You don’t think it’s worth revisiting this, to make a version that will be discovered by new viewers in the way you’d like?

MR - I think you could just do that indefinitely, forever. We could make a cut now, and in three years we’d do it again. You hear the early tapes of your favourite bands, you always enjoy that, right? 

HF - You very specifically don’t put any of your live sketches online. How did you feel about releasing this comedy album, with a live audience, and as with a lot of your live shows…a lot of the comedy doesn’t result in laughter until certain points. You can sense the tension, you can sense people in the room are cringing and feeling that comedic energy even in the awkward moments. Listening to it as a comedy album, you think “wow, there are very few moments when people are laughing out loud.” 

MR - That’s just sort of where we live.

RB - But they do laugh. I don’t think it’s about people laughing out loud throughout. I think it’s about calculated moments where they will laugh, and you’ll get a big laugh here that’s a big payoff. A lot of our sketches will get laughs in the last couple minutes of the scene. We do a lot of heavy lifting at the beginning, then when we get to the end we can speed bag the jokes and then get out. 

MR - I think in a very technical way of speaking about our comedy, I think a way we differ in our approach is that our humour is narrative-based a lot of the time. The humour comes out of the narrative situation and the events that build from one to another, as opposed to wacky characters or joke-a-minute, you know, beating a premise to death. That is a conscious approach we take. We certainly do those things sometimes, and in other groups, but this has a heavy narrative focus. And that’s our payoff. 

RB - I find it much more rewarding to do play a scene, and you don’t get a laugh for the first few minutes, but then you get a huge laugh at the three-minute mark, because we’ve kept them with us, because we’re telling them a story, and I find that those tend to be the scenes that are a lot more memorable than a game of the scene. Rather than, wacky premise, hit it, hit hit, hit it, leave. People laugh the whole time, but if you ask them the next day what their favourite sketch was, they’ll say “uh, I remember a guy yelled at one point?”

AN - With the album, what I think we achieved is building a nuanced world. A point of view to immerse yourself in, you know. It’s just sort of a lot of ideas and perspectives floating by you and around you, and that’s a really enjoyable experience I think. Like, if I was driving somewhere, I would love to listen to this kind of this, because you can allow yourself to stop paying attention and just pick up on ideas as you go along.

HF - I do feel like you pulled off narratives that are enjoyable in just hearing them. Was the live audience there because it was part of the SiriusXM thing, or did you feel like it added to the recording, or would you have been happy to have done it without that audience there?

RB - They gave us the option to go and use their studios. But I think you can get a little insular, and fussy, if you work on it that way. I had listened to the Mitchell and Webb radio show, and they do it live with an audience. You really don’t hear that much, a sketch thing with a live audience. You want people to feel like they’re there, like they’re immersed in it, you can sense the cringe and the squirm, you can hear it. That to me was a gut feeling of the way to go.

HF - It’s interesting to me that the only other artists that you’ve mentioned as touchstones or possible influences are the Coen Brothers, and Mitchell and Webb. They both really put themselves out there making work that didn’t really fit within the systems they were working in, and then people loved it and it caught on. That seems to be happening with you, the lives shows regularly draw solid audiences, your film work is gaining more recognition. Do you still feel like outsiders?

MR - I do feel like we’ve arrived in the Toronto comedy scene. We are established in a way. 

RB - With that comes the realization that it doesn’t really mean anything (laughs).

MR - I think it’s about expanding beyond that local bubble. That’s the next step for us, it’s on our minds.

RB - That’s the danger, as soon as people get to know you, they are instantly getting on forgetting you. They’re like, “okay, Tony Ho, sad, dark, not a lot of jokes, got it. Who else is here now?” Before you age out, you have to find a way to keep shifting it, you gotta Bowie it. 

AN - It’s like, if you are an older gentleman and you have a young girlfriend…

RB - (laughs) And you have to regularly swap.

AN - You have to get cornrows, or you have to get an earring, you know.

RB - You gotta hustle to keep her interested. 

MR - We’re doing it for the kids.

Tuesday, December 9

CRISIS AT CAMPBELL HOUSE


Henri Fabergé and his gang are at it again.  They're preparing Crisis at St. Creskins, the second festive special to follow Henri's antics at Boyce Academy. Part play, part cabaret, often bawdy and never boring, the performance will be sure to kindle your holiday spirit this coming weekend. Toronto's historic Campbell House Museum has bravely agreed to host the cast of characters and during rehearsal I stopped by to see inside the elegant Georgian home incongruously situated at Queen and University.

Campbell House has been a museum since 1972 but was originally built in 1822 by Upper Canada's chief justice Sir William Campbell and his wife Hannah.  It is the oldest house remaining from the Town of York and is a wonderful example of Palladian architecture.  Passing from the Campbell family in 1844, the place remained a private residence until 1890.  The building then became commercial office and factory space for companies selling horseshoe nail, elevators and finally Hallmark greeting cards.  In 1972, with demolition looming to make way for Hallmark's parking lot, the building was offered to anyone who could move it.  The Advocates Society took up the challenge and the building was moved 1.5 km from Adelaide street to its current home where the Queen Mother herself was on hand to cut the ribbon on Campbell House Museum.  


The phrase "well appointed room" comes to mind while admiring the open spaces and dramatically low window casings of the house. There is no fussy Victoriana about but rather a special collection of early 19th century furniture and household articles.  The portrait of Sir Campbell looked on sternly as the actors went about their antics, with wardrobe racks and coffee cups disrupting the calm repose of a by-gone era.  To be sure, these old walls have never seen such sights as the weekend will bring.

Crisis at St Creskins runs December 13-15 with two shows per night at 7pm and 9:30 pm.Visit the Campbell House Museum website for ticket information.


















Wednesday, June 4

BRIDGET MOSER IN CONVERSATION WITH HENRI FABERGÉ


Bridget Moser is hard to define, a performance artist incorporating dance, monologue, video and prop comedy. She spins sentence structures around subtle gestures, stripping language only to rebuild it and conjure new notions. A regular performer at the monthly performance/art event Doored,  Bridget was my art-neighbour in sequential timeslots at the Rhubarb Festival. Each night I marvelled at her zen-like repose while waiting breathlessly in the wings for her turn to show and tell a story. We chatted via internet from opposite sides of the world.

HENRI FABERGÉ: Was there a performer - actor, dancer, singer - who you remember seeing and thinking for the first time, "Yes. I want to perform."

BRIDGET MOSER: When I was really little I wanted to dance, for sure. That is absolutely the first time I was really very interested in performing. And that was probably just because my sister got to go to dance classes. But I was more like, "no I got this shit on lock, solo performances only."

HF: Did you have an awareness of a performer-audience relationship, or were you dancing in more of a mental bubble?

BM: Oh no, it was for sure all about performing. The very first dance competition I was in as a three year old had a weird stage set up where the judges were on one side and a small audience was on another side. I think you were supposed to perform for the judges, but I technically did the whole thing sideways and performed it for the audience.


HF: Amazing. Did you continue with dance into the awkward teen years, or did some other medium capture your imagination?

BM: No, I took it the limit. Probably past the limit. Definitely into the awkward teen years, very embarrassing song choices.

HF: What style of dance did you pursue?

BM: When I was 13 I did an interpretive contemporary solo to the main piano piece from "Eyes Wide Shut," because I was very into the soundtrack at the time.

HF: Oh my god.

BM: Full black bodysuit like a speedskater, kabuki makeup.

HF: Did you have a supportive dance teacher in that regard? Or did you just do what you wanted?

BM: Really supportive dance teachers all around, actually. Which was very lucky. I grew up in a suburban town, so a kid showing up with a musical selection from a Stanley Kubrick orgy movie was probably a little out of the ordinary. But I did it all. Tap, jazz, ballet, lyrical.

HF: Was there any irony in your early choices like that? Or is the humour inherent in that situation only in hindsight? Was it coming purely from an honest or naive place?

BM: The most honest, absolutely. Especially by the time I was in my teens and probably coming to the realization that I had hit my peak as a child and was aging out of the system, all of my musical choices were extremely close to me. I think I had a lot of big ideas about artistic and emotional expression since those were the things I could excel at, instead of the more technical or physically challenging aspects of dance. Like, I have flat feet and weak muscles, but I can feel the shit out of this Elliott Smith song for you.
I probably still feel that way about most of the music I work with, though I worry the choices come off as ironic.


HF: You certainly seem to incorporate musical elements into your recent work with a humourous intention.

BM: Yeah, I think in a lot of cases I want that to be one possible facet of it. But I also want there to be other things going on as well. Some choices are more successful than others in that regard, but I don't really want to do something only because it's funny.
HF:  Of course. Sorry, back to dance...you still incorporate dance into your work; have you retained that idea of movement as a pure expression? Or do you have a different relationship to it now that you're older?

BM: Yeah I think I have a very different relationship to it now. I'm not even sure how I started bringing it back in, I guess maybe as a solution to get from one idea or position to another in a performance. Or sometimes it's just a more intuitive process where it's possible to get away from words but still be working through the same ideas. Sometimes it's just about moving in a way that "feels right", whatever that even means, or sometimes it's like "oh this is a movement that communicates this idea, to me."

HF: Okay, back to the past. Were there other artistic outlets you discovered and explored as a teeny tween teen?

BM: Oh yeah, all the high school hits. Community theatre featuring the deep shame of teen improv, drawing, painting, sculpture stuff. I think the older I got the more I wanted to stop performing, though.

HF: So you were a Renaissance teen. Why did you want to stop, how did your relationship with performance change at that time?

BM: I think that I always kind of felt like I just wasn't that good at it. But bless high school improv for teaching me how to live with that terrible feeling of standing on a stage, knowing how it feels to be doing something absolutely terrible, and finding a way to make it through the next 3 minutes of my life anyhow. I guess it really taught me to sit with embarrassment in a way that nothing else did. And then eventually I think I just figured my identity was more artist teen instead of renaissance teen, and at that time art was very clearly drawing and painting and had nothing to do with performing.

HF: Was there a specific catalyst that reenergized your desire to perform, towards the type of work you do now?

BM: I was doing a residency at The Banff Centre led by Michael Portnoy where we all had to create a 5-minute performance every week and do it for the group on Friday night. That was probably the first time I really thought it was what I actually should have been doing all this time.


HF: Back up a bit, how did you end up at the Banff centre? Were you in art school before that?

BM: I had graduated from art school, where I did Studio Arts. Actually my first year of school was all drawing and painting and it took maybe two months to realize that was not what I wanted to do. And then four years of trying to figure out what I wanted to do. When I left I was doing mostly installation and video things. I guess I was in a lot of the videos and so by necessity still performing in a lot of ways. And I did performance, but it was durational, being in a room, doing a thing for a long time. There wasn't that kind of clear relationship between audience and performer the way there is now, or the way there was when I was a kid.

HF: What was the Banff residency about, and what led you to apply to it?

BM: I had been working an office job for about three years, still making work but feeling kind of frustrated. Then there was a posting about the residency, which was focused on the idea of experimental comedy. And it was led by Michael Portnoy, who is probably most famous in a pop culture sense for the time that he interrupted Bob Dylan's Grammy performance in 1998 by emerging from a group of dancers with the words "SOY BOMB" written across his naked torso. Then he did this kind of excellent convulsive dancing right next to Bob Dylan until security took him away. I remember watching that live when it first aired and feeling so bewildered by it.


HF: Had you already started making work for the Doored shows at that time? Tell me a bit about that (Doored is a monthly performance/comedy night in Toronto; Bridget is a regular performer).

BM: Oh no, Doored comes out of this. This is where Doored is born!

HF: Oh really?

BM: Let me tell you a tale...

HF: Please do!

BM: So I knew who Michael Portnoy was because of that, and also because he's a tremendous artist. Then it turned out Reggie Watts was going to be a guest faculty member, and I had seen him do a comedy set at Just For Laughs and it was probably the funniest thing I had ever seen in real life. And I felt kind of like this had to be the residency for me. When I found out I got in, I sort of had this feeling like, "this is where things change for Bridget Moser!"

HF: Seriously! It sounds amazing.

BM: And then it turned out, yes, very true, because while I was there this relationship I had been in for almost a third of my life ended. I quit my job over email and decided to move to Toronto. So I was kind of having this emotional breakdown, but having to perform every week, and working with Michael and his partner Ieva Misevičiūtė, she was also a faculty member, who gave me probably the most constructive and useful feedback I've ever had. They were really good teachers. All of these things were kind of a perfect storm and I started to really take this kind of performing, I guess the way I do it now, very seriously.

HF: what's something you learned from Michael and Ieva that still resonates strongly with you?
BM: Probably that it's very valuable to work intuitively and to try to do everything you wanted to do in the space of one performance. Or just to have that as a starting point. That you can have a lot of complicated overlapping ideas and you don't have to justify them or pare them down.


HF: Does the tale continue?

BM: Certainly. So, Life of a Craphead (a performance project by Amy Lam & Jon McCurley) were also at that residency, which is where I got to know them. And they kind of have this superhuman level of initiative where if they want something to exist in the world and realize that it doesn't exist yet, they'll just do it. I think they realized that the kind of performing we were doing there wasn't being done a lot of other places, or that there wasn't really room for it anywhere else that we knew of. To solve that, they created Doored. The residency ended at the end of October, and Doored started at the beginning of December. And I mean, without that I don't know if I could have kept doing so many performances.

HF: So, Doored extended this impetus to continue creating new work and to put yourself out there that resonated with you during the residency.

BM: Definitely. There was also something about the work I was doing at the residency that was just working in a way that nothing I had done before did. But it also relied on being in a room with an audience for it to really work, too. Doored was so amazing because it was a venue to present new work, but it also happened so regularly I had to keep creating new things and developing and refining what I was doing.

HF: i seem to remember checking out the residency call, it was labeled as "experimental comedy" or some such thing, is that right? Do you consider your art practice to be within the realm of "comedy", or does it just incorporate humour into some other less defined thing?

BM: Yes, experimental comedy was the residency. I think of what I do as performance art absolutely, but that it uses strategies from all kinds of different performance modes, like dance, or theatre, or prop comedy.


HF: Have you ever performed on a more conventionally "comedy" bill? Or do you generally stick to unconventional programmes like Doored, with your toe dipped into the the contemporary art sea?

BM: We did some open mic nights at a local bar when we were in Banff but that didn't go over too well. I feel like conventional comedy is maybe not the right place for it. I'm still not sure if a theatre is the right place for it, either. I think Doored is a good place for it because it's still presenting work as performance art, but all of the work there tends to defy fairly conventional expectations of what "performance art" looks like. But I also think a gallery is a good place for it because of the same way performance art is a loaded idea in that space. I think it's more interesting to play against those kinds of expectations vs. the expectations someone has when they're going to see a more conventional comedy bill.

HF: Can you tell me about your working process - how you find your starting point, and how you develop your piece from there?

BM: Well I always have a workbook going of notes, things I'm thinking about, general writing, any kind of ideas I don't want to forget even if they're very small or dumb. From there it kind of depends on the performance. For longer performances, sometimes I work out a structure of how I want to organize ideas. I might already have objects in mind, but if I don't then I go to Honest Ed's. I'm going to be crushed when that place is gone. Sometimes I know what I'm looking for, or sometimes I find a really perfect object that I just have a feeling about. Then from there it's kind of a brainstorming and editing process. I have a very clear idea in my head of what it is I'm thinking about or working through, and then it's kind of about organizing all these fragments in a way that makes sense to me. I think sometimes people think I'm doing something because it's arbitrarily weird and therefore I'm just trying to be funny. But it's actually part of this system in my mind that makes sense. I generally assume that people's minds will do some inadvertent work for them and draw associations even if what they're watching doesn't seem to completely make sense. But you never know how someone else will see it.


HF: Do you have a sense of where your practice will develop from here? Or is it a slowly evolving process you're just allowing to grow one performance at a time?

BM: I mostly just want to keep making more work all of the time. I want to keep doing longer and longer things, too, just to kind of test out the reasonable limits. It's kind of the same thing with video work. I don't know where it's going, but the best way to figure that out is to just do it. It might be nice to work with other people someday!



Wednesday, September 25

DIANE BORSATO


Diane Borsato is the new Artist in Residence at the Art Gallery of Ontario and her upcoming piece Your Temper, My Weather will be featured at the AGO for Nuit Blanche this October 5.  Recruiting over 100 beekeepers, Borsato's performance examines the effect of collective meditation while drawing attention to the plight of bee populations.

Working in installation, performance, intervention and photography, Borsato challenges our place within our environment, and forces a second look at seemingly mundane realities.  Reviewing her catalogue of past projects I'm struck by the humour, sensitivity and seemingly innate ability to skim the profound from daily life.

You can visit Diane at the Artist in Residency studio until November 8, 2013.

Photo credit : Craig Boyko