thefaultliner

[thefaultliner]

The Knickerbocker scale

~ On January 28, 1922, the Knickerbocker Theatre in Washington, D.C. suffered a catastrophic roof collapse during a film screening, killing 98 people and injuring over 130. The disaster was caused by a heavy snowstorm and poor architectural planning, but it quickly became a symbol of theatrical hubris and institutional oversight. The theatre was an ornate venue built to impress, brought down by nature and negligence. I’ve named my rating system The Knickerbocker Scale in its honour. This is not meant to trivialize the tragedy, but to draw a line between spectacle and stability. Some shows are built strong. Others crumble under pressure. Either way, the tremors are felt. ~

Low scores = a stable performance. High scores = duck and cover.

1.0 – Rock Solid - Performances were grounded. Direction clear. No structural damage detected. A rare, stable theatrical plate.

2.0 – Minor Tremor - Slight accent slippage. One shaky scene change. Felt mostly in the back row. Not show-threatening.

3.0 – Noticeable Shift - Some cracks forming in the blocking. Emotional aftershocks. The lighting board may have wept.

4.0 – Moderate Quake - Dialogue tremors. Character motivations liquefying. Some audience members already reaching for their coats.

5.0 – Structural Collapse - One or more cast members are miming like their lives depend on it. The ghost is mouthing everyone’s lines. Stage left is now a sinkhole.

6.0 – Full Meltdown - Show imploded. Emotional carnage. Audience texting during the final monologue. Even the standing ovation felt like a hostage situation.

7.0+ – Extinction Event - This wasn’t theatre. This was ritual humiliation in two acts. The director’s notes were written in crayon. We are all changed.

~ That's Your Fault Line?

[thefaultliner]

The Ballad of Maria Marten – A Song Sung Flat in Two Acts 

bal·lad /ˈbaləd/

noun

1. A slow sentimental or romantic song.

2. A poem or song narrating a story in short stanzas. Traditionally passed on orally through generations.

Since this production was neither sentimental, romantic, nor particularly melodic (though certainly slow) it’s safe to assume the intention was the latter. A passed-down tale with meaning, weight, and purpose.

And on that front, The Ballad of Maria Marten does offer something worth preserving. The text itself is potent, its themes timely. The story of a woman silenced, erased, and buried (both literally and figuratively) is still alarmingly relevant. When the writing is allowed to speak for itself, the blade cuts deep. Unfortunately, this is also where the sweetness ends and the tragedy of the Leduc Drama Society’s staging begins.

Let’s begin with the high notes, because yes…there were a few.

The standout of the night was undoubtedly the Character of Anne. Her presence was focused and grounded, her accent (blessedly) consistent, and her performance lived quietly and confidently in the world. She brought nuance, intention, emotional weight, and restraint that only highlighted the chaos around her.

Next, the alive Maria, played by a younger actor with strength and sincerity. She carried the role well, even as she battled through awkward blocking, an overly literal ghost, and costumes that did her no favours. Her work was clean and emotionally available (a difficult feat while being actively upstaged by her own afterlife.)

Now… let’s talk about the ghost.

In what can only be described as a baffling directorial choice, Maria was double cast - alive and dead. Rather than use the stylized transitions meant to move between narration and flashback, the role was split, physically, into two bodies. This would be fine if those bodies even remotely resembled each other. They did not. One was youthful and alive with energy. The other was… louder.

The ghost, wrapped in blazing clean white (certainly too clean and too white for a dead woman who had been brutally murdered in men’s clothing) and nearly always onstage, not only shadowed her living counterpart, but upstaged her at every turn. She even took to mouthing her lines, gesturing dramatically, and making bizarre, fourth-wall-breaking eye contact with the audience. At one point, she crossed downstage mid-scene to remove a prop, winking at the crowd and pulling all focus away from an important scene. At another, she hovered like a Walmart banshee during a moment of quiet grief.

To be clear: this was not a haunting. This was heckling - from within the cast.

Worse still, the performance was marred by a truly spectacular accent carousel. In one monologue, we were treated to Cockney, Irish, Newfie, and a smattering of rural Albertan. It was like watching a ghost possessed by the entire Commonwealth.

And if that weren’t enough, in Act Two we’re introduced to a new love interest - played by the same actor as the first, but now wearing a black mesh veil and a cloak like he wandered in from a high school production of Phantom of the Opera. Whether this was an artistic choice or just a lack of available men, the effect was comical. Particularly as he attempted a love scene in full funeral garb, opposite a ghost and a woman clearly trying to exit the moment with her dignity intact.

The music, though ever-present, did little to support the production. Aiming for folksy and haunting, it instead felt like elevator muzak softly underscoring the show’s descent, not into tragedy, but into theatrical purgatory. The kind of underscore that quietly asks, “Have you tried turning it off and back on again?”

And the accents. Oh lord, the accents. No unified dialect coach, no consistent world. Just a mess of attempts that clashed scene to scene, character to character. At times, it was difficult to know where we were. England? Canada? Narnia?

But perhaps the most jarring misstep came in the opening scene, where the ensemble of adult women are meant to portray ten-year-old girls. No costumes, no vocal work, no physicality to suggest youth. We were treated to grown women delivering lines about being children. It wasn’t until the dialogue revealed their supposed age that the audience could even begin to adjust.

To the ensemble’s credit, some moments together had exuberant chemistry, especially in the lighter/comical group scene. When the production allowed them to connect, to be, it was enjoyable. But those moments were buried beneath the rubble of concept, poor casting, and a directorial vision that prioritized “ideas” over execution.

The show received a standing ovation, but only from those willing to rise for the effort, not the execution. Half the audience remained seated, perhaps in solidarity with the ghost of the real Maria Marten, rolling in her shallow grave.

In the end, this ballad didn’t sing. It rambled. As the audience checked their watch and phones for the time, and in the echo chamber of clashing choices, the truth of Maria’s story - the one that should have cut straight to the heart - was upstaged by the ghost of a production that could have been.

4.6 on the Knickerbocker scale - moderate quake.