As you have no doubt already heard, Postmedia, having purchased SUN Media some time ago, has taken the not entirely unexpected step of merging newsrooms in several cities where it operates more than one print daily. We saw this coming when they moved, for example, the Ottawa SUN into the same building as the Ottawa Citizen (or maybe we saw it coming when the internet rendered print media all but obsolete?). Instead of folding papers, Postmedia has assured us that the same stories will just be re-edited for the respective audiences of the respective papers, saving an immense amount of money.  I am sure someone somewhere has prepared a spreadsheet showing how much money is saved cutting people (still the only resource that can produce content) but not, you know, ceasing to print tons of paper editions that are good for a day before they go straight into the recycling, garbage, or bird cage.  I am also sure this person prepared it on parchment with a quill pen.

I’m not sure, however, that there are enough people left at Postmedia to put together a style guide that will help their remaining editor(s?) gear generically-written articles to each of the three audiences they must address.  So I thought I’d take some of the pressure off!  Here are some common terms and phrases and how they should be modified to reach SUN readers, Citizen (or whatever the not-SUN paper is in any given city; as Paul Godfrey would probably tell you, all newspapers are pretty much the same anyways) readers, and National Post readers.

This takes, as one might imagine, a great deal of co-ordination.

This daunting task—of making sure actors are where they’re supposed to be when they’re supposed to be, that a light is on them (so that everyone can see that they are, indeed, where they are supposed to be), and that their entrance is accompanied by the appropriate swell of music and requisite burst of kerosene fog—is overseen by the shadowy figure known as the stage manager.

There aren’t that many stage managers to go around, compared to the other, more visible, theatre disciplines.  Anyone with a pen, paper, and sufficient self-confidence not to burn their first draft can claim to be a playwright.  Actors, too, are rarely in short supply; everyone who wants to be seen on stage is an actor until someone informs them otherwise, and even that doesn’t stop some people.  All a director really needs to do is communicate their vision, however nebulous it might be, to the cast, a set designer, lighting designer, sound designer, costume designer—and the stage manager will take care of the rest.

A stage manager needs to know a little of every job, and be a master of most of them.  It takes a particular personality (organized, calm, firm, agreeable) to be a stage manager.  You may never discover that you are not an actor, but you will find out in short order if you are not a stage manager.

The oft-invisible crew is the AV club of the theatre community, which means that nobody’s going to throw them a party unless they do it themselves.  Otherwise, who would even be able to organize it?

Thus, the Ottawa Stage Manager Battle, conceived and organized by (stage manager, naturally) Christine Hecker.  Three local theatre companies were each invited to create a short (twenty-minute) play with heavy technical requirements.  After a brief rehearsal period, they handed over their prompt book—the script marked up with all the technical cues for lighting and sound—prepared by their rehearsal stage manager (if indeed they had a rehearsal stage manager) to one of each of three competing stage managers (Anna Lindgren, Ashley Proulx, and Jessica Preece), an hour before the competition.  The shows were then staged one after the other, each with its appointed stage manager in the tech booth calling the shots.  Their performances were scrutinized by an intimidating panel of veteran theatre professionals—Natalie Joy Quesnel, Tania Levy, and Kevin Waghorn.

The three shows (Guard Duty by Glassiano Productions, Strips by Slattery Theatre, and Les Animaux by May Can Theatre) were obviously designed primarily to test the stage managers, with a borderline ridiculous number of technical cues.  They were entertaining for just this reason, and although Guard Duty won its share of laughs and Strips was pleasantly campy and visually interesting, only Les Animaux would be a complete, coherent play outside of the context of the event.  But that wasn’t the point.  These weren’t meant to be plays for a general audience (although with one or two modifications the Ottawa Stage Manager Battle could definitely be made to appeal to the public).  The point—with convoluted cues, hieroglyphic prompt books, and performer/creators liable to improvise liberally—was to give the stage managers a real challenge.

The trouble is, almost anyone can spt a typo, but it’s much harder to pick up on a missed cue.  Although it was quite obvious when certain cues were missed, even seasoned theatre professionals in the audience had a hard time catching all of them.  The judges were in a better position to, well, judge: Kevin Waghorn got to sit in the booth (arguably the best seat in the house) throughout the competition, and the entire panel was provided with the prompt books—freshly decorated with highlighter and Post-It notes—for their deliberations.

How serious was this competition?  Each of the plays presented significant challenges, but the specific challenges were so different that I don’t know if it’s entirely fair to compare one to the other.  In any case it was fun, and put the contestants through their paces.

There are, again, not that many stage managers to go around.  It may not, then, come as a surprise that the trophy—a hand grasping an assortment of writing utensils rising out of a base of rolls of tape—Jess Preece took home was one she had crafted herself.

• I’m not the biggest fan of outdoor theatre, mainly because my lumbar region likes a seat with a back, and I’m not fond of bees, wasps, or falling leaves that might be bees or wasps.  However, in Ottawa we’re blessed with two theatre companies that produce such perennially good work that it’s worth a bit of private discomfort to always catch their productions.  A Company of Fools toured their production of Shakespeare’s Henry V through parks in the region this summer, complete with tennis balls and a fabulous cast (including, but certainly not limited to, Margo MacDonald in the title role).  I was impressed with their ability to make a historical play—it may contain one of Shakespeare’s most moving speeches, but it’s a historical play—engaging not only for the regular theatregoer but for everyone, and especially for children.  I caught the production one of the evenings it was in Hintonburg Park, the former monastery site behind the exquisite St. Françoise D’Assise church, which was an excellent setting.  Speaking of excellent settings, Odyssey Theatre‘s permanent location on the banks of the Rideau River in Stratchona Park is one of the most breathtaking spots in Ottawa, especially at night.  I quite enjoyed this year’s production, A Game of Love and Chance; there are still a few opportunities to take it in (until the 26th) and if you are in the mood for some light entertainment I highly recommend it.  Masque is very liberating; even those performers whose styles I’m not familiar with seemed particularly uninhibited.  The performances dwarf the text, but who wants a heavy, ponderous, complicated story in the middle of the summer?
• Nancy Kenny wrote and performed a great (Prix Rideau Award–winning) one-person show called Roller Derby Saved My Soul a couple of years ago, under the direction of Tania Levy.  If you’ve seen the show, or if you’d like to see the show, Ms. Kenny has an Indiegogo campaign to finance a 2013 cross-country tour of the show that is in its final week.  I consider both Nancy and Tania my friends (I hope it’s mutual!), but I wouldn’t be letting you know you could bankroll their project unless I thought it had artistic and entertainment merit, which this does.
• Speaking of Tania Levy, I hear the latest Fringe show she directed, Vernus Says SURPRISE! (written and performed by Ken Godmere) is doing quite well out west.  I’m not, er, surprised.  It’s a simple yet intricate piece of mime—although it’s”just” Ken on stage, there are about two dozen Ottawa voice actors credited in the program—that’s heartwarming and family-appropriate.
• Each year for the past couple of years, thanks to the Ottawa Arts Court Foundation and the Downtown Rideau Business Improvement Area, we’ve been treated to remounts of local Fringe favourites as part of the Summer Fling festival.  I had a feeling (and I’m sure I said or tweeted it somewhere) that one of these two shows would be it this year: Alien Predator: The Musical or Space Mystery… From Outer Space!  I was wrong.  Instead, it’s both.  It is an honest-to-goodness science fiction double feature: a zany musical take-off on 80s science-fiction action thrillers, and an equally (yet differently) zany take-off on 50s science-fiction with a film-noir flavour.  Is it “high art”?  Hell, no.  But it’s entertaining, and you get to see both shows for only $12, which is more than worth it.  This will be a short run, from August 30th to September 2nd, at Arts Court; shows start at 8:00 and run for 60 minutes each with a half-hour intermission between them (not indicated on the press release, but I asked).
• September 2nd is, coincidentally, the day the Ottawa Arts Court Foundation’s operation of the performance spaces in Arts Court ends.  What happens next?  Apartment 613 will be covering the latest developments in that story over the next couple of weeks.
• The Gladstone Theatre just officially launched its 2012–13 season (although the lineup’s been public for some time now).  I’ll tackle the launch and the season itself in greater detail elsewhere (i.e. Apartment 613) but I want to let you know about a party.  John P. Kelly, the Artistic Director of SevenThirty Productions, is best-known in Ottawa as a director who specializes in Irish theatre (although that’s not all he does; I’m especially looking forward to seeing how he tackles Mamet this year).  This season he’s directing Stones in His Pockets at the Gladstone, which will feature Richard Gélinas and Zach Counsil (who were a dream duo in The 39 Steps last season).  He’s also directing Fly Me To The Moon later this autumn at the Great Canadian Theatre Company, which will feature Margo MacDonald and Mary Ellis (that’s a pair that promises to be at least as entertaining).  Both of these plays were written by Irish playwright Marie Jones.  Not only, therefore, are the GCTC and Gladstone/SevenThirty offering a special price for a package to both shows, but there will be a party at the Irving Greenberg Theatre Centre (at Wellington and Holland in historic Hintonburg) on Tuesday, August 28th from 5 to 7pm (5-à-7s are the most wonderful kind of party) featuring a “script-off” between the members of both casts.  There will, of course, be Irish beer, food, and music to go with the Irish theatre.

That about brings me up to date.  If you think I’ve missed something, feel free to leave a comment.

*This is partly due to my having been finishing up the contract I’ve been working on for the past year.  If you’re interested in education and literacy, especially as a parent or an educator, have a look at Wordly Wise 3000, the product I was working on, and the other excellent educational software put out by School Specialty.  No, I’m not being paid to say that; I just really liked the software (and there’s plenty of evidence that it’s effective).

While investigators gear up to play a grisly game of Sesame Street Mix and Match, Twitter and certain sectors of the print media have taken to rather macabre humour.  Most of it consists of puns, and I wish someone had taken the trouble to Storify it (or hope that someone has?).  Because it’s fascinating.

But is it funny?  There’s a foot and a hand and they came from someone.  They didn’t grow in a vat.  Someone is likely (at this writing) dead, or at least maimed, and that can’t possibly be funny, can it?

Well, it certainly seems to be, to some people.  Or at least it’s fuel for comedy.  But for how long?  How far is too far?*  Leaving aside the hocus-pocus of “coping mechanisms” and such efforts to analyze, and thereby desiccate, human glee and mirth, when does the ha-ha run out?

I found this gem excerpted from J. Berg Esenwein’s Writing for the Magazines, in Writing for the Photoplay, which he co-wrote with Arthur Leeds.  I think it is germane to the discussion:

“Good sense is at once the basis of and the limit to all humor. He who lacks a fine perception of ‘the difference between what things are and what they ought to be,’ as the always-to-be-quoted Hazlitt expressed it, can never write humor. All the way through we shall find that mirth is a matter of relationships, of shift, of rigidity trying to be flexible, of something shocked into something else.

“Let us think of a circle on which four points have been marked:

“Beginning with a serious idea, we may swiftly step from point to point until we return to the serious, with only slight variations from the original conception. Take the perennial comedy-theme of the impish collar, and visualize the scenes:

“1. A man starts to button his collar. Nothing is less comical, as long as the operation proceeds normally.

“2. But the button is too large and his efforts begin to exasperate him, with the result that his expression and movements become incongruous. We see, and laugh—though he does not.

“3. He begins to hop around in a mad attempt to button the unbuttonable, and soon rips off the collar, addressing it in unparliamentary language. He is ludicrous, ridiculous, absurd.

“4. In his rage he violently kicks a pet dog that comes wagging up to him. Our laughter subsides, for the fellow is more contemptible than amusing—a deeper feeling has been born in us.

“5. The little dog limps off with a broken leg—we are no longer amused, we are indignant. What is more, not only have we gotten back to the serious, but there is no amusement left in any of the previous scenes.

“Still applying the test of the extent of the variation from the normal as shown in the effects, we conclude that serious consequences kill humor. The mere idea of such consequences, when we know that in the circumstances they are really impossible, may convulse us with merriment, as when we see a comedian jab a long finger into the mouth of his teammate and the latter chews it savagely. In real life this might sicken us with disgust—I say ‘might,’ because we can easily conceive of such a situation’s exciting laughter if the victim were well deserving of the punishment. It is human for us to laugh when the biter is bit; indeed, variations on this theme are endless in humorous writing.

“Sympathy also kills humor. The moment we begin to pity the victim of a joke—for humor has much to do with victims—our laughter dies away. Therefore the subject of the joke must not be one for whose distress we feel strong sympathy. The thing that happens to a fop is quite different in effect from that which affects a sweet old lady. True, we often laugh at those—or at those ideas—with whom or with which we are in sympathy, but in such an instance the ludicrous for the moment overwhelms our sympathy—and sometimes even destroys it.”

(Ha ha, those poor fops.  They certainly got the short end of the stick at the beginning of the twentieth century.)

Given the dual tests of “serious consequences” and “sympathy,” I would advance that no capacity for humour remains once we know whose parts they are.

Or was it never funny in the first place because the parts had always belonged to someone?

What do you think?

* Measured in feet, of course. And this is a footnote.

But I don’t think it’s the most exciting thing going on theatrically in Ottawa right now.

Actually, there isn’t a most exciting thing going on theatrically in Ottawa right now.

There are two.

Taoists will be unsurprised.

Another show I was waiting for since it was announced was New Theatre of Ottawa‘s Extremely Short Play Festival. It’s hard not to get excited about something when (NTO artistic director) John Koensgen is talking about it; his eyes genuinely light up whenever he talks about a project he believes in. I even briefly considered submitting an extremely short play (defined here as under ten minutes in length) myself; I quickly discovered what a challenge the short form really is when you’re not just writing a one-gag sketch. I wondered what level of quality the submissions would have.

Now, I didn’t get out to see this until the second week, which I sort of regret since it far exceeded my expectations both as to the quality of the writing and the quality of the production itself. There were plays from known A-list playwrights like Pierre Brault and Lawrence Aronovitch (whose Late made me both glad I had abandoned one particular piece I was working on and eager to pick it up and rework it), as well as those known primarily for other genres of writing or acting, Dan O’Meara (yes, of Ottawa’s celebrated Manx Pub) and Geoff McBride, and emerging writers (Jessica E. Anderson, Kelley Tish Baker, Andrea Connell, Adam Pierre, Tina Prud’homme and Kevin and James Smith) with considerable potential. Then, the actors interpreting the work were top-notch: Kristina Watt’s effortless versatility, Brian Stewart’s arresting stage presence, Kate Hurman’s comic grace, and Adam Pierre’s freshness and energy infused the characters and situations with life. I was impressed with the lighting, the sound, and John Koensgen’s direction. I was also glad that on the soggy, stormy night on which I went, the house was well over half-full.

So there is hope for traditional playwriting; there are established writers who continually turn out interesting work, there’s a wave of new writers cutting their teeth, and Ottawa is the place they all come home.

Then, there’s the other kind of theatre: that writ not in a chair, but wrought from thin air.

Just down the street (Daly Avenue) from NTO’s home at Arts Court Theatre is a church at the corner of Cumberland that Ottawa theatre faithful will recognize as Mi Casa Theatre’s near-regular off-the-beaten-track venue, St. Paul’s Eastern United Church.

Usually Mi Casa rents out the basement, and puts on a show or throws a party (the distinction is debatable). This time, not only Mi Casa but seven other theatre companies are spread throughout the church—the basement, yes, but also the kitchen, the wheelchair elevator, the sanctuary chapel with its majestic pipe organ and towering stained-glass windows that face the setting sun, and a few nooks and crannies besides.

The event is called subDevision. It’s a crime that tickets are only $20, and a sheer act of treason that it’s only on for three nights, one of which is now in the past.

SubDevision is not a typo, but a clever portmanteau: the venue is subdivided into multiple performance areas, and the works are all devised works, created collaboratively within and inspired by the space. The event itself was inspired by Vancouver’s HiVE co-creation space, and its genesis took place in the same fertile ground that gave us the undercurrents Festival two years ago: a Backyard BBQ attended by the Ottawa theatre community’s core creative elite.

Site-specific devised theatre isn’t an entirely foreign concept to Ottawa, although so far it’s been on a smaller scale. Six: At Home, for example, was wildly successful at the 2010 Ottawa Fringe Festival, despite being located at Laurier House—a long, hot summer’s trek away from the main venues. It’s no surprise that several of the performer/creators who were involved in that production are also members of companies taking part in subDevision.

From a logistical perspective (i.e. how to see which show when) subDevision is a bit confusing at first glance. The performers seem to have been given pretty much free rein with their timing, so not everything fits neatly into a schedule grid. Some shows take eight minutes, some take thirteen, some take twenty, one takes eleven, but they let one person in every eight minutes—and then things start selling out. Then, of the two shows in the sanctuary, one is only before dark and the other only afterward. So there’s a little arithmetic and planning involved; even more than at the Fringe, and with greater urgency.

Attendees can pick and choose performances, and there’s an incredible variety on offer. From women in slips adoring the sun from atop church pews, to a multilingual acrobatic wake, to intimate cocktails in an elevator, to revolutionary yoga, to physically philosophical comedy on the steps outside… the whole defies description (rather, I don’t want to give any of it away) and must be experienced. [Visitorium has done us all the favour of staying up until three in the morning to write his useful take on subDevision. Give it a go.]

There is some overlap between the performance spaces, giving a dreamlike quality to the experience: as you are led up a staircase by a robed figure holding a lantern, you are implored by performers splayed on the steps to join the party in the other room. At times, however, sounds from an adjacent performance intrude on the one you are in (the Bluesfest effect).

When I spoke with the organizers last week, they mentioned with pride the skill-sharing sessions that have been a part of the subDevision creative process, where the members of the different companies share their methods and tactics for overcoming blocks in collaborative creation. There’s definitely been some creative cross-pollination as a result; I noticed May Can Theatre, perhaps unwittingly, use a technique that I recognized from both The Missoula Oblongata’s The Daughter of the Father of Time Motion Study and Mi Casa Theatre’s Live from the Belly of a Whale. I don’t think it goes as far as being derivative, and it’s not a cliché—yet. It does serve to highlight the way in which a particular aesthetic or set of techniques develops organically in such an environment.

Analysis aside, it’s a bloody party.

There are, as always, theatre productions going on—there’s Lear, and there’s Death and the Maiden at the Gladstone Theatre, and next week the Great Canadian Theatre Company will wrap up its season with Circle Mirror Transformation. There are others. They’re each a worthwhile night out. And none of them would exist without some combination of the two kinds of creative process showcased by the Extremely Short Play Festival and subDevision.

Anyway, you don’t have much time left to see them, and you ought to. Theatre, like life itself, is evanescent. The best and most satisfying art often has the shortest shelf life of all.

(with apologies to Elton John, Bernie Taupin, several perfectly good bands, and the good folks who do all the hard work for Bluesfest)

I sure hope so.  But it is a unique pleasure; at least half of the fun of these things is agreeing or disagreeing with nominations, the rationale of the categories, and guessing who’s going to win for what—and for what reason.

Although I didn’t get to attend this year’s Prix Rideau Awards nomination announcements—not because they were in Gatineau, but because I was working a little too late to have any hope of getting there on time—I did follow along on Twitter.

(Okay, I took a nap on the bus and then caught up with the feed afterwards.  Close enough.)

A quick look over the nominations confirms three things: everyone and everything that was nominated deserved to be, I still don’t see enough French theatre (remarkably, I did see Retour à Pripyat at the 2011 Ottawa Fringe Festival, and I’m glad it got a nod) so I can’t comment intelligently on the French categories, and I really should have seen Under Milk Wood.

I’m not entirely sure what will win, although I have my ideas as to what I’d like to see win (which I will keep mostly to myself, as I intend to continue to be welcome at parties).  I’m glad to see Roller Derby Saved My Soul nominated in several categories; I had a few glimpses into the creative process along the way so I know it was a difficult baby to birth.  I also know it was well worth it; even the most critical of critics approved and said glowing candid things.  Then there’s Sounds from the Turtle Shell, which I added to my (packed) Fringe schedule on the strong recommendation of Catriona Leger.  I don’t regret it.  Then there’s glitch… which I thoroughly enjoyed—maybe as much as I enjoyed Bifurcate Me.  I did miss the other two Fringe nominees, but it’s mathematically impossible to see everything and the beer tent is so convenient and social and tastes of apricot.  It’s good to see The Shadow Cutter get the recognition it deserves, too.  Andy Massingham has the lion’s share of the love this year; perhaps it’s partly due to his dancing at last year’s awards gala afterparty?  I kid.

I think the Prix Rideau Awards need a name for the award.  Prix Rideau Award is just too cumbersome to say, or to type.  I mean, the Academy gives out Oscars, there are Grammys and Emmys and Tonys so there should be some equivalent familiar term for the Prix Rideau Award.  I’m sure someone can think of a suitable bilingual name.  I mean, I guess we could call it a “Rideau” but that seems too easy, somehow.  Let us not follow the lead of the Junos and call it the “Rido.”  Please, no.

The award gala will be held at the Shenkman Arts Centre this year.  I’m still embarrassed that this will be my first time visiting Shenkman (I really, really should have gone to see Under Milk Wood), but it’s just so far away, living as I do sensibly close to the NAC and what I consider the basic necessities of civilization (an Herb & Spice, a Staples, and The Manx).  Then again, I understand it’s convenient by bus at all hours.  I still wouldn’t want to be making my way back to Gatineau or the west end afterwards.  Then again, they’re holding the Junos at Scotiabank Place, which is practically in Bancroft, so what do I know?

Enough nitpicking.  The Prix Rideau Awards gala is the best party in town, hands down.  It’s a theatrical event in and of itself, promotes dialogue between the English and French theatre communities, and keeps people thinking and talking about the productions they’ve seen.

Besides, when else can you win at theatre?

Oh, alright.  Everybody always wins at theatre.

I went to the theatre for pleasure.

Okay, so maybe that’s a bit facetious.  I always go to the theatre for pleasure, but usually I’m also reviewing, so it’s not purely for pleasure.  There is a distinct difference between going to the theatre as a regular paying audience member for entertainment and going with a secondary objective in mind.  As much as I try to minimize that difference (I believe the kids call this “keeping it real”), it does exist.

What we went to see, and I am compelled to recommend, is l’Opéra de quat’sous.  I keep promising myself and the world at large that I will get out to see more French theatre.  It has, generally, an aesthetic flavour entirely different to most English-language theatre, and I happen to love it.  Honestly, though, I have wanted to see Brecht’s Threepenny Opera so badly that I would have gone whatever language it was in.  Then again, I’m happy that I was able to understand it.  This is a new, contemporary Québec French translation and it’s entirely appropriate for the material.  It seems closer to the spirit of the original than the Blitzstein English version, but that’s based on my very scant knowledge of basic German.  In any case, despite clocking in at two hours and thirty minutes with no intermission, it’s a wonderful show.  Did  I buy a poster?  Maybe.  I also bought a copy of the chantier dramaturgique, which provides fascinating insight into the process behind the development of this production.  I’m excited that director Brigitte Haentjens is  succeed Wajdi Mouawad as AD of the NAC French Theatre, not least because she’s such a fan of Henrich Müller.  Maybe we’ll get to see Médée-Matériau?  A man can dream.

Speaking of shows I desperately want to see, Sock ‘n’ Buskin Theatre is opening their production of Company, directed by Dave Dawson, on March 15.  As a bit of a Sondheim fanatic, I’m both looking forward to this and preparing to scrutinize it intensely.  Word is, they’ve hit a bit of a snag, and are looking for a number of competent musicians on very short notice.  I can only speculate as to the circumstances, but if you are an Ottawa (or Ottawa-convenient) musician, or you know one, you should get in touch with Sock ‘n’ Buskin pronto.

Dave Dawson is just about the busiest man in Ottawa theatre this month.  Not only has his production company Black Sheep Theatre brought Bremner Duthie’s ’33 (a Kabarett) (reviewed here) to the Gladstone this month, but also three other productions as part of a “Black Box Set.”  These late-night shows (with a curtain time of 10:00 pm), each about an hour long with ultra-short weekend runs, are frequently talked-about darlings of the Fringe circuit.  We have Jayson McDonald’s Giant Invisible Robot and Paul Hutcheson’s Third Time Lucky to look forward to in coming weeks, but this weekend (that’s tonight and tomorrow only, folks) you can catch The Last Goddamned Performance Piece.  Given the very real risk that my review will not go up before the show closes, and they could easily fit another hundred people in the theatre, I’m taking the time to recommend it.  I saw a previous incarnation (and reviewed it) a couple of years ago; it’s improved since then and is right at home on the Gladstone stage.  Also written by Jayson McDonald, it’s performed by Ben Meuser and Celine Filion.  Go see it.  (I still regret the fact that I never got to see either Nancy Kenny or Jodi Morden in the role Filion plays; but one can’t see everything, right?)

Also in attendance at The Last Goddamned Performance piece was 2011 Prix Rideau Award nominee Katie Bunting, which gave me the chance to congratulate her in person.  Now I just have to get to everyone else.  I’m still working on my detailed reaction and analysis of the nominations that were announced on Monday; I promise to speculate wildly on who might win, at least in the English categories.

Let’s hope it doesn’t get me uninvited from any parties.

Last week, the Ottawa Public Health Twitter account posted a link to information about the health risks of shisha.  As shisha (also known by a whole lot of other names) is basically molasses-soaked tobacco smoked through a communal water-pipe (known sometimes as a hookah), this is no surprise.  It is accepted wisdom that smoke inhalation carries with it certain inherent health risks.

Smoking in public places, such as shopping malls, has been banned in Ottawa since about 1995.  It’s been against the by-laws to smoke in bars and restaurants for a few years now; I think the last over-21 cigar lounge closed shop a few years ago (to be replaced with Yet Another Uns-Uns Bar).  Smoking is still permitted on unenclosed patios, but that’s being gradually phased out too.  You can’t smoke within spitting distance of a bus stop, a government building entrance (which could be anywhere in Ottawa), or a healthcare facility.  Within the year, it’ll be illegal in public parks as well.

In short, in Ottawa smoking—let alone smoking indoors—is officially frowned upon.

You may imagine my surprise, then, when I first visited Garlic Corner (at the corner of York and Dalhousie in Ottawa’s historic Byward Market) and found that, in addition to being licensed, this shawarma spot offered free shisha to its customers.  They just bring out a big ol’ hookah, put it on your table, light your choice of flavoured shisha, and you and your friends sit there puffing away on the damn thing.  It’s not a secret—in fact the large, full-colour sign advertising this free perk is as prominent as their sign advertising vegan breakfast.  (I used to live two blocks away.  I still don’t think I went there often enough.)

I had visions of sitting in the place, enjoying a Large (because their Really Large is actually Ridiculously Huge) falafel sandwich, when all of a sudden a team of by-law officers bursts in through the windows, wrestles a table of short-short–wearing Lebanese girls to the ground, and fines everyone for Conspiracy to Smoke Tobacco Indoors.

I figured it was only a matter of time.

On Saturday, my friend Jean-Pierre and I were kicking around in the downtown heat, looking for refreshment.  At my urging, we bypassed Dunn’s Deli in favour of Garlic Corner.  While he bought himself an iced tea and got us a seat with a view, I got in line to order a sandwich.

Behind two by-law officers.

Probably these gentlemen got the impression I thought they were cute, the way I kept sneaking sideways glances at them.  I was dimly aware that outside on the (enclosed) patio, a couple was smoking cigarettes at their table.  At any moment one of the officers would notice, and the other one would turn around and see the sign offering Free Flagrant Flaunting of Ottawa’s Anti-Smoking By-Laws.  Great, I thought, I’m not going to get my falafel sandwich because they’re going to shut the place down.  One of the officers leaned in closer to his partner.

“They have shots,” he said, pointing at a sign advertising the availability of cheap, colourful shooters in what looked like test tubes on a desert island.  The guy behind the counter was slicing off chicken for their sandwiches.

“Hey,” the other officer asked, “has your beer always been this cheap?”  He pointed at another sign.  “How do the bars around here compete?”  I looked directly at them, and I’m sure my mouth was open.

“We probably shouldn’t have one,” said the first officer.  I was about to say no, you’re in uniform, when my eyes re-focused on the table between and behind the officers, where the waitress had just set down a hookah for a couple.

Here we go, I thought, the moment of truth.

Then: I’m not going to get my bloody sandwich.

However, the two by-law officers did not appear interested in the slightest.  There’s no way they could have missed the shisha—on the table, the whole contraption comes up to about eye-level, oh and it emits smoke.  But there wasn’t even a raised eyebrow.  They simply paid for their sandwiches and left.

So.

Either there’s a loophole in the by-law you could blow smoke rings through (which, as an inveterate pipe smoker and proponent of civil disobedience, fills me with hopeful optimism) or these guys are rather openly on the take.

I suppose I’ll have to read through the by-laws to find out.

In the meantime, I shall continue to enjoy the anomaly.

Fret not!  Ottawa Theatre Confidential is far from defunct.  Tania (Levy), Heather Marie (Connors), and me (myself) are still very good friends and have not had more than the usual artistic differences (without which the podcast would be boring).  In this case, there are simply life situations that require the attention we would normally devote to putting together the podcast.  However, we have plans to resume producing regular episodes in September(ish).

To make up for the lacuna, we have a couple of improvements up our collective sleeve.  For one thing, we are in the process of moving the podcast to a more suitable host (there have been some persistent problems with billing; my bank has made an awful lot of incidental money off of this podcast but I’m not bitter).  This will likely be transparent to our loyal fans and subscribers (you do use iTunes, right?) but it will ensure that we can reliably and consistently deliver you a product worth listening to.

On that note, we’ve had various issues with sound quality in the past, seemingly intractable despite Heather Marie’s practical common sense suggestions and my efforts to correct recording issues with a barrage of digital effects.  Having had the recent opportunity to observe operations in a professional sound studio while recording voice-overs (I get all the cool jobs), I think I have a more solid idea of how to produce the best quality sound product we can with the equipment we have.  Will it work?  I guess we’ll all find out.

So, while you’re waiting for the next exciting episode of Ottawa Theatre Confidential to come down the pipe, why not catch some theatre?  Odyssey Theatre is celebrating its 25th Anniversary Season with their production of The Fan until August 21, A Company of Fools continues to present Antony and Cleopatra in parks across the city until August 20, or if it’s not quite a sit-in-the-park day, the Ottawa Little Theatre production of The Patrick Pearse Motel opens on August 16.

Plenty to keep you occupied.