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Rather than a "review," each post features a collection of observations, intended primarily for people who've already seen the play. Check out the introduction post for more context.
The Flick
by Annie Baker
October 26, 2019
FULL DISCLOSURE: For my first job, I worked at a movie theatre for six years, from the end of grade 8 until the end of OAC (grade 13). And not just any kind of movie theatre, but a DRIVE–IN — which amplifies the experience of working at a movie theatre by a factor of 10! Based on my experiences, I can confirm that The Flick accurately depicts three essential truths about movie theatre employment. (1) Despite the frenzied crowds for blockbuster movies, most of the job involves tedious actions completed in semi-solitude. (2) Tension exists between the “first teenage job” crew and the “this is my life” group. (3) Everyone wants to be a projectionist. Side note: in the 1990s, projectionists at Canada’s two national chains — Cineplex and Famous Players — anticipated the potential job losses that would result when theatres shifted from 35mm (which required technical skills) to digital systems (which anyone could operate). Projectionists formed unions and experienced acrimonious labour disputes.
Amy Keating and Durae McFarlane. Photo by Dahlia Katz. Set and Lighting by Nick Blais. Costumes by Anahita Dehbonehie.
According to Outside the March’s website, the company creates “immersive encounters.” As even infrequent theatregoers can attest, many performances (or “installations” or “experiences”…) have described their work as “immersive” (or “site-specific” or “found spaces”…). Has theatre reached (or even passed) “peak immersivity”? Many critics believe so, as demonstrated by the ubiquitous comments that condemn and/or ridicule the practice of producing “theatre outside a normal theatre” (see here, here, and here, as well as every pub where artsy crowds congregate). My two cents? Many of these productions either (1) emphasize Instagram style over emotional substance (*cough* Sleep No More), or (2) wallow in their own pretentiousness (see: Nuit Blanche). Outside the March, though, has managed to develop an artistic sensibility that welcomes, rather than intimidates, their audience. Theatre lobby >> old-school concession stand. Theatre playbill >> rep cinema program. Theatre ushers >> movie ushers (there IS a difference)! For the Outside the March and Crow’s Theatre production of The Flick, these elements (and many others) aren’t just superficial re-workings of the environment. Instead, these imaginative touches evoked a palpable sense of joy among audience members. If theatres want to lure people away from Netflix, they should reflect upon the following question: “does our work acknowledge, value, and celebrate the in-person presence of our audience?” (For The Flick, the answer is yes, yes, and yes). (Anahita Dehbonehie – Costume and Lobby Design; Nick Blais – Set and Lighting Design)
On a related note, every production of The Flick requires copious amounts of popcorn to “appear” between scenes. For most of the performance, I was greatly confused how they managed the feat. When I finally clued into their secret, a giant smile appeared on my face. Whimsical theatricality trumps grandiose spectacle every time.
Best. Poster. Ever.
Graphic design by Kinnon Elliott. Photo by Dahlia Katz.
Among 21st century playwrights, Annie Baker unloads the most amazing zingers. (see: Avery’s use of Woody Allen references during his farewell conversation with Sam). Bonus: the three primary cast members (Colin Doyle, Durae McFarlane, and Amy Keating) deliver comic lines with natural ease.
Silence, Part I. Annie Baker holds a reputation as a “provocative playwright” for her use of “oppressive pauses.” The premiere production of The Flick — at Off-Broadway company Playwrights Horizons — gained notoriety for audiences walking out in droves and the artistic director’s emergency email to subscribers. My opinion: I call bullshit. The capacity of Playwrights Horizons is 198 seats. Their subscriber base is 3000 people (for context, Mirvish has 47,000). In other words, no angry mob ever stormed the palace gates at Playwrights Horizons. So, what’s the deal? I’m sure some people walked out of The Flick. Just like some audience members left during the (first!) intermission of Our Town’s 1938 Broadway premiere because there weren’t any set pieces or props. Just like some woman in a fur coat stood up during a performance of The Crackwalker and yelled to her husband, “Call the driver, we’re leaving.” Maybe these things happened. Or, more likely, some version of these things happened. And then the myths began. And theatres love myths…
Silence, Part II. What really happens during silence on stage? I know that many actors say things like “I don’t perform actions on stage. I do the actions.” I appreciate the philosophical commitment to the craft of acting, but I don’t believe the issue is quite so simple. For one thing, humans behave differently when being watched. No amount of actor training can (totally) bypass our neurological processes. Moreover, people watch plays (and television shows and movies) with the subconscious understanding that every single moment must mean something. Otherwise, why would the moment appear in the play, show, or movie? Neither Annie Baker nor any productions of her work can flip a magic switch in audience members’ brains, making them suddenly able to differentiate between “fake” sweeping of popcorn and “real” sweeping of popcorn. Side note: in Keith Johnstone’s book Impro, he shares some interesting ideas about “doing nothing” on stage. Also, check out Uta Hagen’s advice about dealing with stage business: (starts at 2:18)
I grew up in a working-class part of Nova Scotia. As a result, I cringe when theatre productions rely on dialects as a cheap shortcut for highlighting the distinctions between characters. By dropping the New England accents, the OtM/Crow’s production might have dulled Baker’s critique of class divisions in America — a central theme of her playwriting. That said, anyone can hear the differences between vocal patterns, but it usually requires lived experiences within those communities to feel what it means to be from the “wrong” place. I doubt Toronto audiences could comprehend the Worcester/Boston dynamic with any more clarity than Bay Staters could appreciate why people from Oakville are definitely not from Burlington. Plus, the script provides ample evidence about how geographic disparities shaped the lives of these characters. Bottom line: I am delighted that the Toronto production spared us from three hours of Ben Affleck impersonations.
Although the script never explicitly mentions autism, the elements are clear in Avery’s characterization: the obsessive passions, the social struggles, the physical and vocal rigidity. Plus, Sam describes Avery’s ability to recall niche details as “a disability or something.” After spending many summers at a camp for young people with autism, I’m (very) sensitive about depictions of disability on stage and on screen. Annie Baker takes an interesting approach: her writing about disabilities is never saccharine (Sam’s brother is labelled with the R-word). Moreover, she cleverly plays with stereotypical associations between “disability” and “morality” (especially through the narrative arc of “dinner money”). While many actors “perform” disabilities with an Oscar-bait level of enthusiasm, Durae McFarlane exudes a softness that presents Avery as a young adult in search of his own identity — not his disability.
The contract for professional stage actors includes a section on “Extraordinary risks” (it’s usually reserved for stunts, etc.). I hope that Colin Doyle received hazard pay for that haircut!
-Nick Hanson
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