
Talking to the moon
She's been doing it professionally since 2009, but personally speaking? The admittedly introverted playwright has drifted off into daydreams for as long as she could string together a sentence or a friendship bracelet.
'I went off and played by myself. I'd pretend I was an animal and sometimes that was with other kids, but then it would shift to going off to do it by myself at home. I told myself stories a lot. I would mutter to myself and walk, which sounds really insane,' she says.
Leif Norman photo
Kris Cahatol (left) as Billie and Toby Hughes as Counsellor Rickie in Billie and the Moon
'I was very embarrassed about it, actually. It's weird to be saying it out loud now, but that's what kids do: we do kid things and we imagine.'
Brian never stopped: in her newest work, Billie and the Moon, opening today at the Manitoba Theatre for Young People, the titular character is just beginning to consider their place in the universe.
Billie (played by Kris Cahatol) is a first-time summer camper, paired by the buddy system with a campsite veteran (Megan Fry) to provide assistance navigating the microcosmic lakeside community.
Written without a specific gender identity in mind, Billie the kid is challenged by everyday concerns, such as anxiety, frustration and the fear of missing out, a struggle so commonplace that its acronym, FOMO, has an entry in the Oxford English Dictionary.
Raised in Whitehorse, Yukon, trained at the University of Winnipeg and now based in Scotland, Brian thoroughly understands Billie's out-of-place predicament.
'That all fed into Billie's experience,' says Brian, 34, a winner in 2017 of the Harry S. Rintoul Prize at the Winnipeg Fringe Festival.
Billie needed a bit of summertime solace in nature, but instead entered a noisy environment with its own set of rules and expectations.
Seeking companionship and understanding, Billie looks to the sky, where the funny man in the moon (Toby Hughes) does more than stare back: he talks.
Brian began writing the story for Billie in 2017 as a member of the Sandbox, MTYP's playwright's unit, under the direction of Andraea Sartison and Rick Chafe.
'Dora Carroll and I — Dora's now the assistant director — were paired together and we improvised a scene of a child looking at the moon, speaking to the moon, and the moon answering,' recalls Brian.
A three-page treatment followed and then, during a cacophonous presentation at the Carol Shields Festival, came the idea to set the story at a summer camp.
'Why did Billie want to go to the moon? Maybe they were seeking that quiet night,' says Brian.
Supplied
Playwright Wren Brian says she needs solitude in order to reflect.
During her third year in the Sandbox, Brian dug into Billie full-time rather than generating more ideas for children's shows.
Brian herself never attended summer camp, but was an ardent Girl Guide. Drawing on that experience, she built out Billie's camp world, which includes the responsible Counsellor Andy (Rhea Rodych-Rasidescu) and the chaos agent Counsellor Rickie (Hughes).
But the similarities between Billie and the glowing satellite are the play's central celestial connection. The moon, Brian says, is required by nature to come out and play every night, but does it always want to?
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It was easy to project Billie's inner life onto the lunar surface, but perhaps more rewarding to consider the other side of the reflection.
'It's the moon's nature to be alone,' says Brian, who says she often needs regenerative periods of solitude to be less prickly and more present.
'Taking moments of quiet solitude help me to be a better functioning person.'
Outside, alone, away from the stresses of the world is often where imagination flourishes.
ben.waldman@winnipegfreepress.com
Ben WaldmanReporter
Ben Waldman is a National Newspaper Award-nominated reporter on the Arts & Life desk at the Free Press. Born and raised in Winnipeg, Ben completed three internships with the Free Press while earning his degree at Ryerson University's (now Toronto Metropolitan University's) School of Journalism before joining the newsroom full-time in 2019. Read more about Ben.
Every piece of reporting Ben produces is reviewed by an editing team before it is posted online or published in print — part of the Free Press's tradition, since 1872, of producing reliable independent journalism. Read more about Free Press's history and mandate, and learn how our newsroom operates.
Our newsroom depends on a growing audience of readers to power our journalism. If you are not a paid reader, please consider becoming a subscriber.
Our newsroom depends on its audience of readers to power our journalism. Thank you for your support.
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Winnipeg Free Press
26-07-2025
- Winnipeg Free Press
Fringe at its gut-clutching best when it layers on the cringe
I have just laughed as hard as I have at the Winnipeg Fringe Festival in 20 years. Prodded in the gut until air escaped me in the most embarrassing way. The offending object was a play by Winnipeg performer Donnie Baxter called Shit: The Musical, which has its last show at 8:45 p.m. tonight. Supplied Shit: The Musical possesses a kind of gonzo spirit. My bright, witty peer Jeffrey Vallis gave it a one-star review in the Free Press last week. '(It) feels like a '90s after-school show gone horribly wrong — like if Barney sang about bowel movements instead of friendship,' he writes. 'Set in a university lecture hall, Dr. Eaton Fartmore teaches a class on the semantics of poop through stories and off-key songs that drag on like a bad bout of constipation.' All of this is essentially true — in fact, the play's narrative is perhaps even flimsier than this. But there's little accounting for taste — or for the tasteless things we savour. I will endeavour all the same. Imagine you are at the beautifully modern Theatre Cercle Moliere, named after France's most renowned satirist of its classical theatre. It's 11 p.m. on a Wednesday and there's a senior citizen singing tunelessly, 'Farts, farts, farts, always stink, don't you think? It's a shame, this awful name.' The awful name in question is his own, Dr. Fartmore, and this professor of linguists is riffing on Shakespeare's line about roses smelling as sweet by any other name. Groan? The audience of 30 assembled isn't laughing. Not yet. The fact they are not, only makes me laugh harder. It's as though we've all been ensnared in one of Ionesco's or Artaud's glorious trolls on audiences in their mid-century absurdist experiments. But for this to be funny for a few, seemingly it has to stink for many — including obviously Vallis, who does have a good sense of humour. I'm sure his bad review wasn't happily received by performer-playwright Baxter because at the end of the day, bad reviews are usually bad business. Fringe performers sink thousands of dollars and countless hours — staking not just their savings, but their reputations — on the chance to entertain us and hopefully break even. And they do it at a time when live theatre is said to be more endangered than ever, dulled by the narcotic pull of screen media: TikTok and Instagram memes, Netflix and the ever-churning algorithm. Believe it or not, we reviewers — as much as some may curse our names in the fringe beer tent — try to bear this in mind. But as Orwell's old adage goes, oddly fitting for the high politics of local theatre: 'Journalism is printing what someone else does not want printed: everything else is public relations.' All to say: Vallis's pointed, funny reaction to Shit: The Musical is as valid as the myriad bad, middling and good reviews we've issued through this festival. Still, in ultimately relenting to Baxter's routine I felt I was exorcising something. A resistance that reviewers like me can develop to a certain spirit of fringe that stubbornly eludes the star system. A gonzo spirit shared by another DIY artform supposedly destroying live art like theatre: internet memes. I mean especially those associated online humour styles that go by names like post-irony, shitposting, layered cringe. This is absurdist, often lowbrow humour that echoes older comedians such as Andy Kauffman, Tom Green, Eric Andre and Tim Heidecker. But otherwise, it's distinctly Gen Z — mocking those Millennials whose humour is still stuck in the era of YouTube, Vines and Jim Carrey movies when comedy meant straightforward skits, polished punchlines and mugging for the camera. Maybe it also owes something to a certain stubborn set of ideas still circulating in universities. Most liberal arts students, sooner or later, encounter the work of another French oddball who came after Ionesco and Artaud: Jean-François Lyotard, with his theory of postmodernity. This theory (stick with me) says we now live in a postmodern era — an age where 'grand narratives' have collapsed. Big, sweeping explanations such as Marxism or Christianity no longer hold sway. Instead, knowledge loops back on itself: science, ethics and meaning justify themselves by referencing other systems, not some fixed reality. Lyotard knew this would leave us ironic, skeptical, suspicious of truth claims — and he seemed basically fine with that. His critics weren't. They called it nihilism and accused him of corrupting young minds with moral relativism. Right or wrong about knowledge or modernity, Lyotard was strangely ahead of his time when it comes to understanding humour. So much of online youth humour feels postmodern today. It disdains narrative. Conventional storytelling jokes, unless ironically dumb, are old hat. Humour now is 'irony-poisoned,' as the phrase goes — self-referential, looping endlessly through layers of memes. But in being 'poisoned,' it's also frequently amoral, cruel even. This humour delights in mocking 'theatre kids' and older generations — people who crack earnest, dorky jokes and wear their sincerity a little too openly. Their guileless enthusiasm gets labelled 'cringe,' then enjoyed and recreated ironically for laughs. I am, despite these misgivings and my elder Millennial status, addicted to absurd Gen Z humour. Which leads me to wonder: is it possible I enjoyed the plotless Shit: The Musical and other one-star fare this year for unkind reasons? Was I laughing at Baxter, this 'theatre kid' in his 60s with juvenile but sincere humour who can't carry a tune to save his life, instead of with him? Maybe at first. But Baxter was also clearly laughing at us — trolling us like Eric Andre or an online shitposter, figures he may know nothing about, to test our prudish reflexes. Our lack of whimsy. And a certain point, about halfway through the play, it worked. The audience started giggling, going along with Baxter. Then roaring. So many fringe shows reach melodramatically for the universal in the most sublime and tragic things. Heaven and hell. Baxter's awkward, taboo stories about embarrassing trips to the bathroom on first dates and his surprisingly enlightening explanation of healthy stool shapes felt oddly more honest. I've had a lovely fringe festival this year. And reflecting back, I think the shows that have stayed with me weren't always the tight, touring shows I may have felt obligated to award high stars to. They weren't the shows with wham-bam, but ultimately safe, humour delivered with the finesse of new Simpsons or old Johnny Carson episodes. They were the ones that really took chances, lowbrow and highbrow. Shows that had at something at stake creatively, not just financially, even if they were messy. Especially plays such as Debbie Loves Bumblebee, The Apricot Tree, Brainstorm, Parasocial and Baxter's bonkers production. Most of which, for me, point in one way or another to throughlines between the wild theatre of modernism and the fringe and the chaotic DIY culture that proliferates online today. Shows that might also help to bridge the generational gap where live theatre is concerned, drawing in more young people to a festival that, let's be honest, skews towards an older audience. There's a couple of days left of the festival, and I hope more audiences take chances on the fringiest of Fringe shows — especially if me or my colleagues have panned them. — Conrad SweatmanReporter Conrad Sweatman is an arts reporter and feature writer. Before joining the Free Press full-time in 2024, he worked in the U.K. and Canadian cultural sectors, freelanced for outlets including The Walrus, VICE and Prairie Fire. Read more about Conrad. Our newsroom depends on a growing audience of readers to power our journalism. If you are not a paid reader, please consider becoming a subscriber. Our newsroom depends on its audience of readers to power our journalism. Thank you for your support.


Winnipeg Free Press
20-07-2025
- Winnipeg Free Press
New U of W project a crash course in classic and contemporary works
The University of Winnipeg is launching a first-of-its-kind course that will introduce undergraduate students to classics, religion and Indigenous studies all at once. Four academics will co-teach Introduction to the Humanities — an experimental project that's been five years in the making — this fall. 'This is pretty unique and special, and I think it has the potential to grow into quite the feather in U of W's cap,' said Alyson Brickey, an assistant professor in the department of English. The University of Winnipeg (Ruth Bonneville / Free Press files) Brickey, alongside colleagues in the faculty of arts — associate dean Brandon Christopher, associate professor Melissa Funke and professor Carlos Colorado — designed it together. They plan to take turns assigning famous texts in their respective research areas and delivering lectures to an inaugural cohort of 36. A variety of scholars with other areas of expertise are scheduled to make guest appearances to round out the comprehensive intro to the social sciences. The co-creators took inspiration from Halifax-based University of King's College. Students enrolled in its foundation year program on the East Coast spend all of their time reading and analyzing influential historic books, such as the Bible, Frankenstein and The Communist Manifesto. King's teaches this content in chronological order, but U of W will group lesson plans by theme: beginnings; self and community; love and desire; and endings. 'This might look like a 'great books' course — but in so far as it does, the four of us have been actively thinking about how the traditional canon has excluded important voices who have an awful lot to contribute to the study of big ideas,' said Colorado, a scholar of religion, politics and identity. Romeo and Juliet by William Shakespeare and Frederick Douglass's famous speech, What to the Slave is the Fourth of July? are on the 2025-26 syllabus. It also features contemporary works, such as North End Love Songs, a 2011 collection from Winnipeg poet Katharena Vermette, and Kendrick Lamar's 2015 Pulitzer Prize-winning album, To Pimp a Butterfly. The associate dean of arts said the setup will require students to both think critically about the lasting influence of historical texts and how modern-day interpretation changes their meaning. For Christopher, who researches Renaissance literature, what's most exciting about the new course is the opportunity to learn from his colleagues on a regular basis. It's rare to be able to sit in on a colleague's lecture, let alone teach alongside them, he noted. 'The way we teach things is often siloed, but nothing happens in a vacuum,' he said, adding that the interdisciplinary nature of the course will allow students to make connections between texts and disciplines, from rhetoric to philosophy. Brickey echoed those comments. She said their goal is to encourage more 'cross-pollination' among professors and students as they consider big questions about the history of human thought. Introduction to the Humanities was designed to be a first-year course spanning two semesters (MULT-1301 and MULT-1302) for a total of 12 credits. Registration is underway. As is standard in foundational humanities classes, there will be an emphasis on essay writing 101 and group presentations. Much of the allotted time will be spent in intimate tutorial settings. Tuesdays A weekly look at politics close to home and around the world. Funke called it 'the ultra U of W experience.' Students are going to get to know each other and four professors 'very well,' in addition to becoming anchored in the community on campus, said the researcher who is interested in Greek literature and gender and sexuality. There are 1,422 courses scheduled to run in 2025-26. Last year, four in 10 students at U of W were working towards an arts major of some kind. Roughly half of all pupils were in an arts classroom on the downtown campus at some point. Maggie MacintoshEducation reporter Maggie Macintosh reports on education for the Free Press. Originally from Hamilton, Ont., she first reported for the Free Press in 2017. Read more about Maggie. Funding for the Free Press education reporter comes from the Government of Canada through the Local Journalism Initiative. Every piece of reporting Maggie produces is reviewed by an editing team before it is posted online or published in print — part of the Free Press's tradition, since 1872, of producing reliable independent journalism. Read more about Free Press's history and mandate, and learn how our newsroom operates. Our newsroom depends on a growing audience of readers to power our journalism. If you are not a paid reader, please consider becoming a subscriber. Our newsroom depends on its audience of readers to power our journalism. Thank you for your support.


CTV News
17-07-2025
- CTV News
‘Embrace the Fringe': Winnipeg Fringe Festival officially kicks off
The annual Winnipeg Fringe Festival has officially kicked off, with nearly 150 acts expected to take place in and around downtown.