The Toronto Theatre Review: Coal Mine Theatre’s Prophecy Fog

By Ross

For as long as I can remember, I would scan whichever beach I was walking upon looking for that one stone that would, basically, leap out at me, asking to be taken home and cherished. It could only be one, I would tell myself, so I really had to pay attention to which one called out to me the loudest. And once I had it firmly in hand, I would hold it tight as I continued on my way. It was a warming idea, yet I wasn’t really sure why I started doing this, or when. I have more stones than I can count though, scattered around all the places I currently call home, and even more at the house I grew up in. I felt their importance, somehow, intuitively. Maybe it had something to do with my indigenous heritage; being half Mohawk, or something about memory, but I knew I had no real logical connection to it. It was purely emotional. Or something close to it.

So something clicked when I went in and took my place to join Prophecy Fog‘s sacred circle, created with beauty and authenticity by the multidisciplinary artist of Métis ancestry, Jani Lauzon (Soulpepper/Native Earth’s Where The Blood Mixes) at the Coal Mine Theatre, Toronto. The energy and humanity that vibrated in the room were palpable as Prophecy Fog got underway. Directed with care by Franco Boni (The Theatre Centre’s Sea Sick), the piece, as enveloped by a gentle circle of clouds and sky courtesy of environmental designer Melissa Joakim (Outside the March’s No Save Points), begins its falling, down, down through layers of ancestral memory like star-woman’s descent to the turtle. Lauzon turns round and around; a white figure rotating inside a knit sun, reaching out and moving to the hypnotic sounds of stones and rock. It’s a no-shoes sacred space, that somehow rattles my New York sensibilities while also connecting to my inner indigenous soul. She chants and sings out, filling the air and space with her warm gentle glow, drawing us in, even if our sensibilities make us want to lean out. So I just sat upright. Somewhere in between, looking to get pulled forward into the sun.

She pours out her soul and her stones, unpacking a shimmering stone thesis with an openness that is somehow infectious. Each stone has a story, a history that, if warmed will reveal itself, she informs us. Stones are the skin of the earth and if you touch that skin, it will touch you back, giving great tales that will sometimes make you chuckle, and sometimes it might make you weep. She encircles us with her stones to drum beats and unique projections of a vast horizon, guiding us into all the short and long stories that these rocks have collected. It’s a calming rattle, as she pours over stories scattered in the circle around that sun. One that embraced me, somehow, but not completely.

She tells us a creation story of Turtle Island and the star-woman who fell down when leaning over too far; a story I was quite familiar with and lovingly embraced. In a way, this was what I wanted from my adventure at Coal Mine; to lean forward so much that I fell into her unpacking with full abandonment. But I can’t say I ever really lost my balance and freely dove down into Lauzon’s realm. She’s a compelling performer, authentic and honest, deliberate and aware, but even as I wished for her embrace, I never fully felt it take over. The connective tissues weren’t there for me. The stories felt random, like a stream of consciousness, without the arc that makes a theatrical piece fully encompassing. Maybe I wanted a tidier bow on that rock, but that’s not what this piece is.

There was, in actuality, a somewhat real reason that we found ourselves gathered together in that circle, and it was to uncover a complicated answer to a complex question. Lauzon, as part of The Theatre Centre’s Tracy Wright Global Archive, went on a journey, traveling to a spiritual place in the middle of a desert to ask questions to the universe, and seek some answers. It was part of a program that “inspired artists to explore a burning question and contemplate a new direction in their work by engaging deeply with communities and locations across the globe, seeking answers to their questions and inspiring new directions in their practice.” It was a compelling and profound agenda to carry forth, and Lauzon, with her daughter in tow (who we get to meet via video), found their way to the powerful and impactful Giant Rock in the Mojave Desert, ready to ask the question, “can a site still be sacred if it has been desecrated?”

I’m not sure a clear answer was ever really discovered in that exploration, and in a way, the answer is almost beside the point. But love was felt in its embrace. Was that the answer we were looking for? “Truth or fog?” we are asked, and in the big rock scheme of things, I can’t quite say, other than to say that I did feel Lauzon and her daughter’s authentic presence in this circle. It seems they really did embrace the rock’s big energy as the two attempted to understand and share its significance, both historical and cultural with us. With the help of dramaturg Brian Quirt (Why We Are Here!) and Lauzon’s cultural advisors; Sam Osawamick, Pauline Shirt, and Sadie Buck, Prophecy Fog lets us in on the journey, and attempts to make us feel the power of that big rock, and all the unladylike stories those scattered pebbles had to tell. Her mother’s voice echoes through, reminding us all that we “will manage” as the Giant Rock stories give out so much love into the universe. Even if, as a piece of theatre, it never really found its way through a telling arc that attached itself to my heart or soul. But the stories were engaging, if haphazard, and spoke of stars and galaxies that shine all around us, dancing and singing their light-filled tales like star-woman on a turtle’s back.