Unity 1918

Our little town’s arts council has been extremely fortunate to have drawn the interest of some brilliant young folk. They wanted to do drama. Dinner theatre, they said. We were excited, they were excited…

The play they chose to put on is Kevin Kerr’s Unity 1918, about a small town (in this case, Unity, Saskatchewan) in the days and weeks leading up to the end of the First World War. I thought it was a daring choice for dinner theatre, whose patrons often expect slapstick. Comedy. Maybe, if you’ve got the chops for it, satire. Silliness and happy resolutions.

But the symbols most recognised for theatre – comedy and tragedy – they’re cohorts for a reason.

Because Unity 1918 isn’t that play. Kerr’s work here is technically challenging, with actors speaking over one another, arguments, romance, and a healthy dose of existential dread. It’s big. Dark. Joyful. Silly. Heavy. It deals with themes of war, fear, death, and the 1918 pandemic. Timely, when you think about it.

The director leaned hard into the metaphors of darkness and light that Kerr weaves through the work. A minimalist set allowed the characters a latitude of expression as they themselves were at once player and prop. Themes of motion and stillness were well captured, not only with the use of narration embedded in cut scenes and vice versa, but also through clever blocking. At once stark but also rich, the pared-down set design truly put the spotlight on a gripping narrative.

With a cast ranging in age from high school students to rather longer in the tooth, the directors (not long out of high school themselves) had a daunting task ahead of them – to put on a production with ten cast members, working around their own schedules (night classes, day classes, work), their cast members’ schedules, the weather (at least one rehearsal had to be done online because of a blizzard), and the schedules of performance venue availability (the town hall, which is often booked solid). They had two months to rehearse.

But they did it. And they did it *well*.

Was it perfect? Of course not. No production will ever be perfect. The usual suspects raised their heads: backstage madness, costume changes, errant lines…no performance escapes unscathed. But these folks were GOOD.

They held the audience in the palms of their hands. Like putty, we were. They drew tears and laughter. They told the story of boys returning home and boys who never made it back, of harvests ruined and loves lost. They played at innocence, at ribaldry, and through it all, a sustained note: this is ours. We did this.

Sure and I’m biased because this is our community. These are our kids (literally!). Our neighbours, our friends, and our stories. Each and every one involved should be proud.

Coupled with a delicious meal prepared by local caterers from the Retro Food Bar (seriously if you need caterers these folks are amazing), stunning art from the Lumsden Arts Council as door prizes, this was a community event that truly brought the community together.

In spite of the hiccoughs, perhaps even because of them, this group of talented, passionate people did what so many of us seem to have forgotten we need to do: they brought us together. And holy shit did they put on a show.

You just know it’s going to be a banger when the director introduces the evening by pointing out the fire exits and muster point.

To the cast and crew of the Lumsden Arts Council Dinner Theatre: BRAVO! I look forward to many, many more productions. And for tomorrow’s performance (sold out, sorry!), break a leg!