Something to love about anyone?
BLIND DATE's problematic limitations on love |
| Arts Club Blind Date promotional banner: Tess Degenstein; Photo by Little Blue Lemon Photography |
Attending Rebecca Northan's wildly popular Canadian improv show Blind Date was often more uncomfortable than it was fun. A comedy act benefiting from long-employed tropes on romance and dating, Blind Date knows the formula for turning awkward circumstances into laugh-along 'hilarity'. Originally created in 2007, and touring ever since, Northan's show has maintained one integral philosophy: "everyone is lovable."¹ My own viewing illustrated this logic exactly, as the audience found itself loving Charlie Sigvardsen: 88 year old business owner of Charlie's Chocolate Factory. Despite attracting an audience with its appealing premise (trained improv actor on a 90 minute blind date with an eligible member of the audience), Blind Date's limitless potential to find something to love about anyone, instead finds itself perpetuating a very narrow model of love and dating.
The show begins in the lobby during a faux-cocktail hour where members of production get to know potential love-matches, one of whom they call upon in the first act after lead character Mimi (portrayed by Ali Froggat) is 'stood-up' and seeking a new eligible bachelor. With a high stakes premise that relies on an untrained audience member to lead alongside Mimi for 90 minutes in improvised comedy, this vetting process is a clever technique that establishes the parameters of audience eligibility, and relaxes any audience anticipation towards being selected.
My first impression of the attending audience was judgmental, as it was almost entirely seniors, like Charlie. This originally led me to relate the content to the viewership, and more aggressively isolate the gendered problematics as a generational appeasement, as if this show is for an audience incapable of my elite millennial "wokeness". But this generalization and equally problematic dismissal of elderly perspectives didn't account for my persistently complicated perception of Northan's show. Further, the show boasts a different experience every night, and both the audiences and the chosen bachelors seem to vary in demographics. Performing Arts critic Mark Robbins describes his own viewing starring "a thirty-something newlywed who works in construction management."²
One likeness between Robbins' viewing and my own is the use of a married audience member. Charlie's wife of over 50 years was in attendance and played a pivotal role in the show's humour script, and it is with intention that I describe the humour this way. For a creation based predominantly off improvisation, Blind Date has essentially confined itself to uphold a familiar scenario using commonly portrayed and thus, predictable dating mechanics which are difficult to criticize given the unpredictability of the audience participant. By functioning according to the rules of heteronormative, and gender specific dating values, the show demonstrates a Western romantic episteme that has existed for centuries. Despite occasionally acknowledging modern notions of consent, (as Mimi asks for permission before suggesting they kiss) Mimi is constrained by improv's unwritten rule of consent: the "yes, and..." which prohibits her from denying, protesting, or correcting the behaviour of her stage partner Charlie, for fear of 'blocking,' or causing the scene to self destruct. This improv inequality—as Charlie is untrained and undisciplined in the principle of "yes and"—effectively reproduces an uncomfortable date situation. Sociologist Ellen Lamont has surveyed the topic of dating mechanics in her study concerning queer challenges to heteronormative relationships. She summarizes queer views on gender stereotypes in dating as "too rigid … seen as sexist in that they were more disadvantageous and obligatory for women than men."³ This element of sexism resides heavily in the show's demonstration of gender as a role, in which Mimi's autonomy becomes predetermined by a script upon which her date may choose to act.
Throughout the show Mimi maintained a distinctly affirmative attitude. I initially assumed that this was typical for improv; her frequent "wow"s and "great"s that followed every action spoken or performed by Charlie seemed harmless enough, as they encouraged and comforted him as he grew accustomed to his role. As the evening progressed however, this incessant affirmation was all too familiar. Another work of entertainment dedicated to the exaltation of a straight man, performing outdated heteronormative actions. When a stage extra brought out the 'cheque', Mimi was flattered and impressed by Charlie for paying it. Later, during a dancing segment, despite his threateningly low hand placement he received further praise and commemoration of his gentlemanliness.
Blind Date creator, Northan has devised only one defense from this precedent of culturally supported gender inequality and complicated trap of "yes and..." confirmations: her red clown nose. Froggatt wears the nose to establish a boundary that characterizes her as not entirely available—only playing at availability. However, it seems her character is designed to compensate for this boundary in her sexually-coded costuming: a bright red dress and fishnet stockings. Unfortunately, other than her French nationality, this is the only character design quality defining Mimi. As the lead playing Mimi is presented as interchangeable (currently alternating between 4 actors) and the objective of the show is to celebrate the individuality of her date, Blind Date has dictated a script that seriously harms its opportunities at representing women. Lamont describes a skirting of critique seen in Blind Date's "emphasizing [of] intention over impact, an attitude that allows anyone to perpetuate systemic gender inequality as long as they aren’t what they think of as a sexist person."⁴
Intention is of fundamental importance for Northan. She has described how Blind Date is motivated to find something to love about anyone. As an idea, this sincere approach of revealing a truth not immediately perceived in a person's character is touching. And Charlie appeared a lovable guy. However, for a show as phenomenally popular as this, there is a neglect of modern inclusivity. Northan's "something to love about anyone" doesn't even celebrate Mimi as a unique person, let alone recognize the limitless others who don't find themselves identifying with yet another heroic, heteronormative male. So long as Northan's show perpetuates a non-egalitarian script of romance it will remain unimaginative, riding the seriously dated curtails of familiarity.
My first impression of the attending audience was judgmental, as it was almost entirely seniors, like Charlie. This originally led me to relate the content to the viewership, and more aggressively isolate the gendered problematics as a generational appeasement, as if this show is for an audience incapable of my elite millennial "wokeness". But this generalization and equally problematic dismissal of elderly perspectives didn't account for my persistently complicated perception of Northan's show. Further, the show boasts a different experience every night, and both the audiences and the chosen bachelors seem to vary in demographics. Performing Arts critic Mark Robbins describes his own viewing starring "a thirty-something newlywed who works in construction management."²
One likeness between Robbins' viewing and my own is the use of a married audience member. Charlie's wife of over 50 years was in attendance and played a pivotal role in the show's humour script, and it is with intention that I describe the humour this way. For a creation based predominantly off improvisation, Blind Date has essentially confined itself to uphold a familiar scenario using commonly portrayed and thus, predictable dating mechanics which are difficult to criticize given the unpredictability of the audience participant. By functioning according to the rules of heteronormative, and gender specific dating values, the show demonstrates a Western romantic episteme that has existed for centuries. Despite occasionally acknowledging modern notions of consent, (as Mimi asks for permission before suggesting they kiss) Mimi is constrained by improv's unwritten rule of consent: the "yes, and..." which prohibits her from denying, protesting, or correcting the behaviour of her stage partner Charlie, for fear of 'blocking,' or causing the scene to self destruct. This improv inequality—as Charlie is untrained and undisciplined in the principle of "yes and"—effectively reproduces an uncomfortable date situation. Sociologist Ellen Lamont has surveyed the topic of dating mechanics in her study concerning queer challenges to heteronormative relationships. She summarizes queer views on gender stereotypes in dating as "too rigid … seen as sexist in that they were more disadvantageous and obligatory for women than men."³ This element of sexism resides heavily in the show's demonstration of gender as a role, in which Mimi's autonomy becomes predetermined by a script upon which her date may choose to act.
 |
| Author's rendition of Sigvardsen and Froggatt : Blind Date |
Blind Date creator, Northan has devised only one defense from this precedent of culturally supported gender inequality and complicated trap of "yes and..." confirmations: her red clown nose. Froggatt wears the nose to establish a boundary that characterizes her as not entirely available—only playing at availability. However, it seems her character is designed to compensate for this boundary in her sexually-coded costuming: a bright red dress and fishnet stockings. Unfortunately, other than her French nationality, this is the only character design quality defining Mimi. As the lead playing Mimi is presented as interchangeable (currently alternating between 4 actors) and the objective of the show is to celebrate the individuality of her date, Blind Date has dictated a script that seriously harms its opportunities at representing women. Lamont describes a skirting of critique seen in Blind Date's "emphasizing [of] intention over impact, an attitude that allows anyone to perpetuate systemic gender inequality as long as they aren’t what they think of as a sexist person."⁴
Intention is of fundamental importance for Northan. She has described how Blind Date is motivated to find something to love about anyone. As an idea, this sincere approach of revealing a truth not immediately perceived in a person's character is touching. And Charlie appeared a lovable guy. However, for a show as phenomenally popular as this, there is a neglect of modern inclusivity. Northan's "something to love about anyone" doesn't even celebrate Mimi as a unique person, let alone recognize the limitless others who don't find themselves identifying with yet another heroic, heteronormative male. So long as Northan's show perpetuates a non-egalitarian script of romance it will remain unimaginative, riding the seriously dated curtails of familiarity.
And don't get me started on the bad, fake, French accent.
_____________________
1. Julianne Hazlewood, "Blind Date's Rebecca Northan wants you to fall in love with a stranger," CBC, February 17 2018, https://www.cbc.ca/news/canada/london/blind-date-rebecca-northan-love-1.4538727
2. Mark Robins, "Theatre review: the awkwardness of Blind Date is part of its charm," Vancouver Presents, November 29 2018, https://www.vancouverpresents.com/theatre/theatre-review-the-awkwardness-of-blind-date-is-part-of-its-charm/
3. Ellen Lamont, "'We can write the scripts ourselves': queer challenges to heteronormative courtship practices," Gender & Society 31, no. 5 (2017): 632.
4. Lamont, 637.
_____________________
1. Julianne Hazlewood, "Blind Date's Rebecca Northan wants you to fall in love with a stranger," CBC, February 17 2018, https://www.cbc.ca/news/canada/london/blind-date-rebecca-northan-love-1.4538727
2. Mark Robins, "Theatre review: the awkwardness of Blind Date is part of its charm," Vancouver Presents, November 29 2018, https://www.vancouverpresents.com/theatre/theatre-review-the-awkwardness-of-blind-date-is-part-of-its-charm/
3. Ellen Lamont, "'We can write the scripts ourselves': queer challenges to heteronormative courtship practices," Gender & Society 31, no. 5 (2017): 632.
4. Lamont, 637.
Comments
Post a Comment