Fringe Festival Web Report #6
Tuesday, July 10th

By JON KAPLAN

Sitting in Trey Anthony's 'Da Kink In My Hair, I wondered where all these fabulous women I was watching had been all my (theatrical) life.

'Da Kink is actor/writer/director Anthony's tribute to black women, a sextet of monologues in which each character opens up while she's sitting at the hairdresser's. The stories are tied together by Novlette, the owner of the beauty salon, played by Anthony herself as a Caribbean commentator on the vicissitudes of life, on women who "come in lookin' like a Mack truck and want to go out lookin' like Janet Jackson," and on the fact that "hopes and disappointments are all stored in the hair."

The stories cover everything from police shootings of black teens to the black guy who professes love but leaves the speaker for a blond white woman, from a tragic businesswoman who must be Supergirl for family and boss to a molested youngster.

If there's a problem with some of the scripting, it's that the material becomes predictable early on. I'd rather some unexpected twists in the narratives, and sometimes Anthony gives them to us. And I wouldn't mind some thoughts from an older woman, someone who bridges the generations the way the younger characters can't.

Best of the lot are pieces from a black lesbian who suffers both racism from whites and homophobia from her black sisters, and a gorgeous yet chilling piece about a woman who's second-best in her mother's eyes because her preferred sister isn't as dark-skinned as she is.

That last speech is performed by Ngozi Paul, the only one of the performers I've ever seen onstage before - she's been at Stratford in minor roles, and was in last year's workshop of Djanet Sears' The Adventures Of A Black Girl In Search Of God. It's a sizzling piece of acting, but each of the actors - Keda, Diane Daniel, Miranda Edwards, Rachael-Lea Rickards [[ stet spelling ]], debbie young and Paul - dives down into herself and delivers to the audience a piece of her soul.

So why haven't I seen these women before? Because they're not cast by those in power with excuses like not enough experience, not right for the role, viewers won't accept an actor of colour in such-and-such a part. And that's not only a shame for them but for audiences as well.

I hope that every time I go into the theatre, I see onstage and in the audience the same mix of people that I encounter every time I step into a subway car. That's when we know we're a well-integrated society.

Back at the Fringe, it's worth a trip to the Glen Morris Studio not just for the performances there but also for the several houses just east of the venue. Two or three of them have beautiful gardens, full of day lilies in yellows and purples and other blooms in shades of mauve, white and orange. On a sunny day it's as much a show as what's in the theatre.

Speaking of the Glen Morris, this year the Fringe has air conditioned the traditionally sweaty space. It's a positive gesture, but two room air conditioners do not a cool space make. They can be pretty noisy if you sit next to them - you might not hear some of the performance, in fact - and while they do some dehumidifying, they don't really cool things down. They can't - not with a ceiling that high. And I'm wondering if that power outage at the Glen Morris last Friday had something to do with the air conditioners cycling on just as a technician brought up the stage lights to full for a curtain call.