As an arts critic, there are many shows that I see and soon forget. The middling ones in particular — of which there are many — wash over me like dull memories of yesterday’s breakfast. (It’s why I have a diary to keep track of the shows and concerts I’ve seen.)
But, for better or worse, I’ve never forgotten my firsts: my first play, my first musical, my first opera, my first concert.
I was reminded about the joy, the excitement and — occasionally — the disappointment associated with these first experiences at a series of recent shows I attended with children in attendance, many of whom had never seen a live performance.
Writing a show or programming a concert for young audiences is among the most difficult things an artist can do. Succeed and you’ll have these impressionable minds hooked on the art form, and with memories to last a lifetime. Or stumble and you could leave them disillusioned or, worse yet, repulsed and vowing never to return.
That’s no exaggeration.
In fact, I often wonder whether I’d be the theatre fanatic that I am today if not for my first theatrical experience. I was 11 years old, still in elementary school, when my mother bought tickets for us to see the Canadian premiere of “War Horse,” based on Michael Morpurgo’s children’s novel of the same name.
To this day, I still remember those staggering, life-sized puppets; the stage magic of Marianne Elliott’s production; and that gripping story, which left me, in the upper nosebleeds of the Princess of Wales Theatre, with my mouth agape, equally exhilarated and stupefied about the power of live theatre.
Those two-and-a-half hours in the theatre made me a patron for life. And even if, in the subsequent years, I saw more than a handful of disappointing productions, I always held those memories of “War Horse” close, and the potential of what the performing arts could be, at its best.
Many of my peers, however, weren’t so fortunate. In Grade 10, I went with my English class to see the Stratford Festival’s 2016 revival of “As You Like It” (not necessarily a children’s show but definitely marketed for students). It was a confounding production set in 1980s Newfoundland and stuffed with copious amounts of audience participation. (We were handed “loot bags” with twigs, which we were supposed to wave in the air to represent the Forest of Arden.)
Critics were divided. But among my friends, it was pans across the board. For many, that production marked their first and last time ever stepping foot in a theatre.
Or take my first time going to the opera: it was for a 2013 production of “La Clemenza di Tito” at the Canadian Opera Company. While beautifully sung, Christopher Alden’s staging felt at complete odds with the material to a point that was almost insulting to both the audience and Mozart.
More than a decade later, I’ve yet to hear a chorus of jeers as loud as those from that opening night audience, who were probably ready to hurl rotten food at the stage if armed with produce. My father walked out at intermission. (My mom endured the rest of it with me.) It ultimately took me three years before I dared to step back into the Four Seasons Centre for the Performing Arts. Thank goodness I was one of the only children in that audience.
But experiences like those are why, as a reviewer, I tend to be less forgiving of bad children’s shows that I feel will also disappoint young audiences, who can be some of the most difficult critics to please. If I have to hoist a red flag, I will.
Good children’s shows, by contrast, are exceedingly rare. But every one of these works has several key characteristics: it’s accessible yet never insults the intelligence of its audience; it’s bold and captivating from the outset; and it doesn’t sacrifice compelling storytelling for cheap gimmicks in a desperate attempt to hold its audience’s attention.
I was surprised how well Sandra Laronde, founder and artistic director of Red Sky Performance, did all that with “Adizokan,” her genre-blending children’s concert that she created with the Toronto Symphony Orchestra. The hour-long production at Roy Thomson Hall, which ran earlier this month, combined the familiar with the unfamiliar.
Perhaps the students in attendance were familiar with beatboxing. But I doubt they’ve ever heard a performer like Nelson Tagoona, who melds beatboxing with Inuit throat singing. And while many students could identify the show’s Indigenous themes and some of the traditional dances employed, they probably haven’t seen them presented with the backing of a full symphonic orchestra, conducted by TSO resident conductor Trevor Wilson with verve.
I was even more impressed last month with the Mirvish presentation of “Cat Kid Comic Club: The Musical,” a stage adaptation of the children’s novel by Dav Pilkey. Written by Brad Alexander and Kevin Del Aguila, the show wasn’t afraid to pander to young children with toilet-style humour galore. But at its core, it was a musical built on a foundation of strong storytelling, with an exceptionally tuneful score and a book packed with as much heart as humour.
Writing this column on the Tuesday after Mother’s Day, I can’t help but be grateful for how my mom passed along her love of the arts to me. It wasn’t just her bringing me to the theatre. It was also her selecting the perfect array of shows that would fill an 11-year-old kid with wonder and astonishment. That’s no easy feat in a world of children’s entertainment filled with mediocrity. So my message for other theatre-loving parents out there: I tip my hat to you.
