The Black Comedy - Spoiler Alert !!

The Black Comedy is a one act play written by Peter Shaffer. It's currently a production of the Arts Club Theatre Company and is being put on at the Stanley Industrial Stage. I must say, this was one of the best plays that I have seen in years. I was completely blown away by the artistic elements, the lighting, the acting, directing, sound, and the stage set.

Lets start with the lighting. The actors come on stage, the audience goes quiet, we can see the silhouettes of the set. The actors begin speaking – no light – the actors talk some more, still no light. We hear them moving around, and it feels like they talk forever and I wonder: is this a mistake? Do the people in the tech booth not realize the play has started? I cannot imagine what kind of brilliance will justify the first ten minutes of the play being conducted in darkness. And then it happens, the lights go on and I understand and it is perfectly justified and fantastic. I thought the title was referring to the type of comedy in the play, it did not occur to me that it had two meanings, the second of which referred to the fact that the events of the play were actually taking place in the dark. And of course the only way for this to work would be to have the actors pretend it was dark when it was light, and vice versa. What a great plan. So the lighting was a huge element in this play and it was carried out with a master's care. Within a few moments the audience was aware of the ground rules: when the lights are on the actors are in a black out, when the lights go out the actors can see, when someone has a match or a lighter or a flash light the lighting on stage is a soft bluish halo.

Of course the lighting could have been perfect and it would make no difference if the actors could not pull it off, but they could and they did. When the lights were on, the actors had their roles down pat and still managed to be funny, extremely evocative and truthful in their performances. Their eyes were popped open as if trying to find their way in a pitch black room. When saying their lines they often had to look in directions other than where the actor they were talking to was. They had to walk around the stage in the light as if it was darkness and the only way they could pull this off was by never looking directly at what they were doing, or where they were going, or who they were talking to. Rather for most of the play, they felt their way around the room as if they had lost one of their senses. And it never fell through.

Of course, the lighting and acting alone would not be able to carry this play. The directing was integral. Each tiny little movement had to be staged to perfection and mapped out exactly so that when Brindsley was busy trying to move the furniture he had stolen from Harold Gorringe back to Gorringe's apartment, and his foot was one inch away from Gorringe and his arm one inch away from Miss Furnival, not a thing could go wrong. There was so much physical comedy written right into the script that every actor's action had to be memorized to the inch, and still performed in a way that seemed new and fresh.

Finally the set design. The set design was so intricate I felt like it was actually a real apartment. There was a whole living room space on the lower floor as well as a working studio. The bedroom was on the second level. Newspapers were used as wall paper. Through the door of the apartment you could see the open door of Gorringe's apartment. This was really important to the play as for a lot of it, Brindsley was going back and forth between his own and Gorringe's apartment, so we had to believe there was another apartment. And there was a fully built hallway between Gorringe's and Brindsley's apartment.

The Arts Club Theatre's performance of the Black Comedy was worth every second and every penny of the price of the ticket! Although the Arts Club's execution of the play was very impressive, I was surprised to learn that so much had actually been written into the script itself. After the play ended, the actors held a 'talk back' session in which they answered questions from the audience. They revealed that a lot of what I thought had been amazing directing and set and lighting design was actually written directly into the script. At one point Brindsley struggles with the cord of a lamp on stage left, while Gorringe and Miss Furnival have a conversation on stage right. The script directions actually tell the actors not to be concerned if the audience laughter and Brindsley's actions overshadow their dialogue. Seeing this play made me think a lot about the intricacy of weaving together a good piece of work for the stage. There are so many more things I'd love to say about Black Comedy, but I'll leave it at this, if you have not seen it, go!

Best Shawarma in Town

It's another amazing day of a Vancouver summer that none will soon forget - the bees are buzzing in heat that drips sweat down every crevice of my body, the sun hasn't been covered by clouds in over a week, not a waft of wind to be bought - and I meander the downtown streets in search of some nourishment that will settle the bagpipe notes jumping around in my stomach.

Robson sidewalks are thumping with tourists spilling over into the street. I bypass one, two, three hot dog vendors all proclaiming to have the best smoky in town. Chapters windows boast a new collection of Chapters bags, pens, cups, napkin holders - all things you expect to purchase in a book store - and I try hard not to get enticed by one of their mass productions when I'm so pleasantly distracted by the wonderful smell of roasted chicken and garlic. Warm smells of your mother's kitchen aka the shawarma place on Robson and Granville.

I wonder towards it, hoping maybe the lineup wont be too bad anymore... it is after 2pm, the lunch crowd has come and gone. But I'm not surprised when I see the line still reaches three deep outside the tiny shop doors. Should I wait in line? The smell is too enticing, I can't forgo.

As always, I'm in the shop before I've even noticed a wait, that's how fast they are. Two men stand behind the counter that takes up the entire length of the room, and look at us - four of us squeezed inside like squashed marshmallows - in anticipation of our order.

Like good ducks we each list of our orders; chicken, beef, chicken, chicken, followed by one of the men echoing almost in unison; one chicken, one beef, one chicken, one chicken as he simultaneously peels one half of each pita bread from the other, prepares its aluminum foil plate underneath, and slides it over across the counter.

What follows is an art form of assembly lines; tabouli? (yes, no, yes, yes) peppers? (no, yes, no, yes) mayo? (yes, yes, yes, yes) - the man behind the counter dresses each pita half before the customer is even finished his monosyllabic answer until: hot sauce? yes, yes, yes - he's gotten ahead of himself, taken on more predictive skills then he can vouch for - NO - but it 's too late, my chicken shawarma is drenched in spicy red liquid the constancy of water and suddenly the whole room goes quiet.

Both the men behind the counter pop their heads up for the first time. One still holds the hot sauce bottle, the other holds his index finger above key on the cash register. The assembly line has halted in it's entirety. Not only that, they are all staring at me in terrified silence their eyes asking: what will she do? Do we have to start again? Will the whole thing fall apart? How long must I wait for my shawarma?

And finally, the whole room breaks into a ruckus laughter - the men behind the counter slap each other's backs, when I declare: Ah! What's a little spice! I got napkins! I pull a wad of napkins out of my bag.

Ha! One of the men exclaims in genuine appreciation. You come prepared! I can see them mentally wipe the sweat off their brows in relief and then all the cogs fall back into place; chicken, chicken, beef - one chicken, one chicken, one beef - tabouli? yes, yes, yes!

I walk out of there, my prized shawarma in my hands, the smell of roasted chicken dipped in tabouli and mayonnaise following we me out into the street, all the way to the Art Gallery steps where I enjoy my feat, each bite better than the next.