This Is Cancer

Co-author / performer Bruce Horak personifies cancer in this performance, which sounds peculiar but is quite straightforward.   "Do you hate me?," he asks and some of the spectators join in the spirit of the work and reply by shouting "Yes."   "Imagine what it's like for me," he asks, "to be bombarded daily with chemo, radiation and prayer."

Horak's grotesque outfit goes with a grotesque characterization.   Accompanied by a drummer and two guitarists (oddity piled on oddity), Horak sings and dances, makes forays into the audience, rushes out of the exit while continuing speaking (he's soon back, but difficult to see).   His assistant, in a short black dress, has little to do but carry on a chair and blow bubbles.   For no apparent reason, some on the front row receive M & Ms, and one is handed a cocktail.

We laugh, then Horak directs us to write our own obituaries and asks us to call out the names of people we know who died of cancer, in case his show has not already touched us.   He silences us by reading 'Jack Layton' from his book of recent deaths.

The program note (a rarity, a Fringe show with a program) states "Every performance of this show angers someone."  Yet I see Horak as warning of the unpredictability of cancer, and by familiarizing us with it reducing fear.

This is Cancer is a kind of strange, audacious, fearless cabaret turn.   Horak sings joyfully "It's terminal," while finally affirming life, which is almost feel-good after a lot of feel uneasy.  Don't let the title put you off: you have never seen anything like this before.