REVIEW: New play is a potent tale
In Click Bush Train Bug, a talented local ensemble presents an intriguing fable set among Hamilton high school students at the end of the last millennium.
Specificity in theatre is everything. A gesture or a line of dialogue that follows precision instead of vague abstractions is always a rewarding experience for audiences. It’s just one of the reasons to see the recent production of Camille Intson’s play Click Bush Train Bug: A Fable for Twelve, playing this weekend at McMaster’s LIVELab by Big Hearts Little Theatre.
Set in Hamilton, at the end of the millennium, Click Bush Train Bug follows a large clique of teens as they navigate high school, wrestling questions of identity, sexuality, and futureshock anxiety. At the centre is Hayley, a mercurial girl whose disappearance continues to haunt them all. Like Intson’s We All Got Lost (getting a remount this summer), the play makes use of characters narrating the past through the hazy lens of memory. This time, the friends aren’t part of a preparatory school but graduates of Hamilton’s own Westdale.
This specificity immediately sets the story in place, as each of the characters struggle with what it means to identify as a Hamiltonian. The metaphorical and literal weight of this city is a current that runs throughout the play, and Intson’s refusal to generalize the setting lends the play a real urgency despite the late ’90s timeframe. Admittedly, that timeframe does date the story somewhat, possibly because so many scenes refer back to the year 1999.
But they also serve to highlight Intson’s strength as a playwright: choral narration of setting and characterization by each cast member onstage simultaneously. It’s a technique she also used in We All Got Lost, wherein characters recount a shared history while each being an unreliable narrator. In Click Bush Train Bug, with a cast of 12, it’s more like watching a poetry slam than a linear plot. That said, the number of characters is a challenge as there’s not much time to know them with real depth.
Intent on keeping the mystery, Intson gives the audience few clues upfront as to who we should pay attention to. After Hayley leaves the story, we’re able to better focus on those who knew (or thought they knew) her best, and the play gains urgency. Here, Intson gives the remaining characters a monologue or two to draw us in, offering some moving snapshots of lives in turbulence with several standout performances.
One of these is Claude Spadafora, who gives an intimate portrayal of Hayley’s younger sister Jo. Awkward and distant from the rest of the circle, Jo eventually taps into her online alter ego as a fanfic writer, and Spadafora has fun exploring the transformation. Another highlight is Olivia “Margo” Prunean as Lex, a wounded girl deeply conflicted by her memories of Hayley. Sometimes affecting the mask of practised cool, other times lashing out in anger, Prunean takes a lot of risks as one of the show’s more powerful performers.
There are others who also find purchase in the script’s poignancy. Tristan Martin effectively plays Sebastian, a young man caught in an ambiguous relationship with Cass (Zoe Hek) who comes into his own after leaving overseas. Kindrey Krol is a commanding Noah, a high-strung scholar eager to leave a city they increasingly see as an anchor on their life. And Raquell Randall’s Kylie, who taps into her passions away from the clique as a DJ at Mohawk College, revels in finding her voice.
As Hayley, Catherine Allen gives an intriguing yet steady performance. But the script doesn’t give much rationale behind her manipulative behaviour. It's a frustrating deficit, especially with the character’s sudden shift halfway through the play, where she moves into a liminal space and meets a strange figure named Train (Michael Hannigan). A mainstay of local theatre, Hannigan plays Train as a puckish being on the story’s fringe. And it would be easy to lean into the character’s menace, yet Hannigan remains empathetic, making his scenes with Allen both grounded and moving.
The script doesn’t do as much with the two adjacent and symbolic characters of Cootes Paradise (Tracey Hek) and a dog named River (Brynlee Zwolak). Literally and figuratively set to the side, neither adds weight to the story despite the performers’ talents. It’s unfortunate because their respective narrations on the city’s rural vs urban divide are some of Intson’s more poetic reflections. Ultimately, I wondered if their material would be better served coming from some in the clique, thereby adding depth to an already packed ensemble.
Director Erin Newton brings her experience working with young artists to crafting Intson’s script in all the right ways. She has a clear eye for how to balance the action of the young cast, as well as how to keep the pace moving from voice to voice. But Newton also knows how to settle things down, bringing stillness to the solitary moments. The result is a show that shifts nimbly from scene to scene, without sacrificing its intimacy.
Newton’s use of the LIVELab is effective in heightening the story’s metaphysical aspects, too. Wisely, she doesn’t use the large backwall screen solely for static projections but depicts animated, dynamic images. But she could have gone even further, integrating the screen as a complicit character of the story. There are hints of this when budding filmmaker Jeremy (Osten Derosier) interrogates the encroachment of technology, all while shooting camcorder footage ominously projected in real time behind him.
Tackling big ideas with a sizable cast, Click Bush Train Bug is a potent play still finding its feet. And that’s not a bad thing. Development of new plays takes time and needs audiences to help them grow. The more Hamiltonians who see shows like this, produced by indie companies like Big Hearts Little Theatre, the more opportunities there are for promising scripts to see productions on our stages.
NEED TO KNOW
Click Bush Train Bug: A Fable for Twelve
Big Hearts Little Theatre
May 15-16 , 7 p.m.
McMaster LiveLab
1280 Main St. W., Hamilton
905-746-0414
Tickets are here
