Julia Mackey in Jake’s Gift: theatre with a national conscience

The Obligation of Memory

For the vast majority of audiences, the Fringe Festival is all about having a zany night out, a fast romp in the theatrical hay with some fresh young talent—a few good belly-laughs, a touch of insight, maybe a bit of gratuitous nudity and a chance to finally see that hit show everybody’s been talking about. And that’s fine, as far as it goes; but sometimes a hit show will give you a little more than you bargained for—like a sense of history, and our shared obligation to carry certain memories forward before they’re forever transformed by Hollywood exports and good old-fashioned victorious revisionism.

Surprisingly, amongst the laughs and sighs and yawns and tears currently swirling around the Fringe’s 12 venues and 50 shows, you’ll also find more than one glimpse into a past currently in danger of being consumed by reality television, political opportunism, shifting priorities and, sadly, simple general disinterest. From the plight—and fight—of Depression-era union workers (I Ain’t Dead Yet) and one B.C. town’s own prosperity during that same period (The Fred Wells Show) to a pair of different views from either side of the Second World War (The Face of Jizo and the superb Jake’s Gift) and a timely reminder of the price of unjustified American militarism (Swimming to Cambodia)—to name but a few—a rash of memory has broken out across the city and there’s only one cure: it’s up to us, individually, to keep these stories alive until they can be passed along to the next generation of listeners, of audiences.

Consider Julia Mackey’s sublime and unquestionably important Jake’s Gift, which recounts the meeting of a 10-year-old French girl and an aging Canadian WWII veteran on a beach once called Juno. Deservedly fêted for both Mackey’s performance and script, I would argue that, in the year it has been touring since its debut at last year’s Fringe, Jake’s Gift has done more to keep the memory of Canada’s role in D-Day alive than a score of cenotaphs. And in a century where fewer and fewer veterans are left to gather each November, the importance of theatre in maintaining this bit of national pride should be obvious—something the federal Conservatives should keep in mind whenever they consider cutting arts funding. (Forget about screening controversial movies for disinterested MPs; Ottawa should book a mandatory performance of Jake’s Gift for the House of Commons.)

There are those who still claim the arts don’t matter; ironically, these are often the same people who decry the lack of a sense of history in today’s youth. The Fringe Festival—and the talented writers, directors and performers who use it as a stage for new ideas and old memories—stands as a successful refutation of that outdated and simply ignorant idea. Live theatre, living history . . . this is how our shared stories live on. M

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