It's an interesting problem to be a theatre creator having grown up in the age of irony.

We started work today on "Act II." Which is the act that we are terrified of (at least three of us - completely seperately - have used the word "terrified" or "terrifying" to describe this stage of the project). We have a phenomenal set of scenes and ideas to set up HSIBJ. But holy shit, do things get fuzzy for the second half. It really crystallizes what it was about the first version of the show that was unclear.

So after some serious hemming and hawing, we started off into unknown territory tonight. We tried a batch of the Ker Wells-type exercizes. We start with images, recreate them with our bodies, then we add unrelated text to that series of images.

Here's where it's hard being a big believer in irony.

The fact is, an unbelievable number of odd and beautiful and serendipitous things occur when you work this way. But you have to get yourself beyond fighting your own fears. Anything like this, and "theatre school" alarm bells go off: This is Pretentious. This is Precious. This is Ridiculous and Not Quite Sane. What if My Dad Saw Me Doing This.

Etc.

What is wonderful is that a room full of like-minded skeptics can, in fact, get beyond this. And realize that creation is a bit embarrassing. And that you will never create something wonderful if you don't allow yourself to look like a total asshead in the process of trying to nail it.

Well, tonight was a good one. We tried new and strange things and I feel that we injected new life into a project that has been hard to know how to approach. it was a good night. Yes. It was.

And we might have enjoyed some wine. But I SWEAR that has nothing to do with it.

c.

Hey. Here's something:

andrea is an angel.
"anyone else would have done the same thing."
"but no one else did."
"thanks."

the bald, old man gets his watch taken while he is soothed by lies and food.

how many strangers' do you look at in a day? look directly in the eyes?

and - for the record - michelle looks good in a tuque.

c.

I'll start with this: Head-Smashed-In Buffalo Jump is probably my favourite UnSpun project. But it's also one of the most frustrating.

In 2005, when we mounted the first version of the show, we got off to a galloping start with the creation. It was full of risk and off-the-wall-ness and charm and fun. And it retained a lot of that initial vibe. But as we went along, a series of small explosions rocked the UnSpun foundations during the creation of HSIBJ - some forseen, some unforseen. And in the end, what amazed us all was that we managed to get a very, very good show to come together. A very good show. But not a GREAT show. Not yet. Not quite the show we envisioned, not quite the show we set out to create. (Ah, the eternal howl of the theatre artist.) However - the seeds of a kickass show were planted, and we knew we wanted to return to the piece and develop it for a new production.

Which brings us to HSIBJ Version 2. A couple of weeks ago we did a week-long creation workshop with Ker Wells (Number 11 Theatre, Primus). We really want to explore the physicality of the show, and Ker is, in my opinion, among the country's most exciting creators of evocative physical theatre. His work is often weird and beutiful and alarming in the same intangeable way of a great David Lynch film. He introduced us to a strict physical training, and every day we ran full out until we were DRENCHED in sweat. We did handstands and sommersaults and strage little flips. And then we took that energy and invested it in these beautiful theatrical pieces that glimmerred with meaning under the surface.

Hanratty and I talked about what this creation process was like afterward: we felt like we'd been let in on a secret.

So. Now we take the first version of the show, and we strip it down to ONLY that which we felt worked best - script stripped to the bone. We take some ideas from Ker's methodology. And we start pounding away at a new version of HSIBJ with a new constellation of UnSpunners. Tonight we dive in headlong.

headsmashedinnedly yours,
c.