One of the coolest things about Leaky Heaven is their connection to East Vancouver, specifically to the Strathcona and Grandview neighbourhoods. This connection was in full evidence at the third edition of Blink at a packed Russian Hall on December 13th.

At times, Vancouver can feel like a rootless city: it’s a place people come to, not a place people come from. It is also an over-planned and over-managed environment where spontaneity and organic expression are not encouraged (but being in bed by 10:00 pm is). There are some glorious exceptions and Leaky Heaven is one of them. No matter how wacky the concept, their shows have a sense of being rooted in a specific artistic community, creating work at a specific time. If someone asked me to show them something that represented Vancouver as a unique, cultural centre, Leaky Heaven would be at the top of my list.

Marta and Andrew making up after their fight? No, Todd Talbot and Jennifer Lines in It’s a Wonderful Life; photo: David CooperYour Plank Panel, filled with seasonal cheer:

Andrew Templeton who thinks life is wonderful and is a sucker for movies with angels in them
Marta Baranowska, the non-movie watching wonder, who likes to claim: “If it’s a good movie, chances are I haven’t seen it, but I will review the play!”

The play: The Arts Club second go at It’s a Wonderful Life at the Granville Island Stage

Andrew: For the second night in a row, I’ve witnessed a theatrical adaption of a movie on an Arts Club stage. Last night it was Beauty and the Beast, tonight it was It’s a Wonderful Life. Interestingly enough, I had no blocks with Beauty and the Beast; I was able to accept it as a stage creation in its own right. Perhaps this is due to the original Disney film having borrowed so heavily from musical theatre in the first place and also my having only seen the movie once 17 years ago. It’s a Wonderful Life, on the other hand, I’ve seen countless times.

This probably won’t do my creditability as a serious playwright any favours but It’s a Wonderful Life is my favourite film. Alas, it’s not Bicycle Thieves or Citizen Kane but Frank Capra’s schmaltzy ode to the impact one person can have on the lives of others that would go with me to a desert island. No matter how many times I see it, I still get misty eyed when Mr Gowar hits young George and then begs for forgiveness and bawl like a baby when the community comes together to help out our hero.

Julia Carr shows what she can do in twelve minutes maxYour quick thinking Plank Panel:

Ashleigh Dalton: writer and community development worker who can teach you to tango in twelve minutes.
Rachel Scott: writer and theatre gal who can make and drink a martini in twelve minutes.

Who are reviewing Twelve Minutes Max XXXVI, Co-presented by The Dance Centre and Firehall Arts Centre

Ashleigh: The only thing you can be certain about in 12 Minutes Max, an annual dance performance program, is that each piece will be kept to a twelve minute limit. The 36th edition, curated by Tanya Marquardt and Joyce Rosario, featured six short works by dance and interdisciplinary performers.

Rachel: Before this evening, I had no idea that a dance presentation like this was curated. I didn’t realize that these six pieces had been selected so specifically.

Ashleigh: I really appreciated that the curators came out and talked to the audience about the format, the purpose and why the pieces we were about to see were chosen to be included. Marquardt described the show as “performance dramaturgy” and put emphasis on the role of the structure in facilitating experimentation. 12 Minutes Max was designed as an outlet for emerging and established performers to take risks and test out new material and ranges.

Rachel: I loved that they were encouraging artists to explore new frontiers. For some, this risk manifested in unexpected ways. The first piece, Farewell Laminaria by Julia Carr was a surprisingly quiet.

Sweetest Swing in Baseball: what if mike is a figment of gilman’s imagination?
By Michael John Unger

The best way I can describe it is, sometime in 1986, I was 8 years old and I awoke from a vivid dream and it was all laid out in front of me: Baseball, specifically the New York Mets. But even more importantly was one player in particular: Darryl Strawberry. There was no other outside influence that I can remember, my dad was only a casual baseball fan and I’m from Vancouver where it’s hockey and football first. That’s where the obsession started for me and continued into my creative life with my first screenplay which is still undergoing many drafts called Darryl Strawberry, You’re Our Only Hope. It’s semi-autobiographical tale of a young boy and his daydreams of the aforementioned ballplayer. Then along comes Rebecca Gilman’s play, The Sweetest Swing, a tale of a struggling and depressed artist that is checked into a psychiatric hospital and decides to extend her stay by taking on the persona of Darryl Strawberry.

You can understand my curiosity when the Evolving Arts Collective announced that it would be mounting The Sweetest Swing on the Beaumont Stage.