Urbanvessel’s ‘Voice-Box’ scores knockout

The feminist collective urbanvessel has a zany imagination that blurs the lines between opera, dance and theatre. Their approach to any topic is filled with the unusual, the unpredictable and the provocative. Often it’s what they don’t say that is more important than what they say.

Their latest show, with the clever title Voice-Box, focuses on the fine line between violence and aggression using the metaphor of boxing.

If you have a cynical turn of mind, you will see within the disturbing subtext that women are by nature more cruel and conniving than men. A sunnier personality will find the show to be a clever and amusing look at why boxing should be encouraged among women as an outlet for aggression.

From a melancholy point of view, the crucible scene in this collection of episodes is the tea party. Vilma “The Vilminator” Vitols and Neema “Stealth Bomber” Bickersteth are garbed in many layers of ultra-feminine crinolines over their boxing outfits. Between bouts of sitting down to drink polite cups of tea from china cups, they partake in a boxing match.

They begin with girlish giggles as they jab at each other in cautious fashion. The tea party timeouts become increasingly hostile after Vitols lands a sucker punch at Bickersteth’s stomach. By the end, Vitols is slamming her opponent into the ground and spitting tea into Bickersteth’s cup.

When Bickersteth wins the vicious name-calling match by coming up with more cutting appellations, Vitols walks out. The scene has an enigmatic ending as Savoy “Kapow” Howe comes in to train Bickersteth to presumably become a more effective boxer. Is this so that Bickersteth can sublimate her aggression, or is it so she can beat Vitols to a pulp at their next encounter?

In some way, all of the episodes in Voice-Box have this duality. If these were men fighting, we’d all accept that there is nothing personal going on – just macho competition. But with women, and sadly so, the ideal of sisterhood seems to drain away in a bitter sea of catty, bitchy and mean. For example, the women’s skipping ropes are also scary whip cords that whine in the air.

Urbanvessel’s claim to fame is how they integrate the arts, and this show abounds in visual and aural delights. No two boxing matches look the same, but all speak volumes. The show begins with Howe pummelling her pumpkin (“Ghost Rider”) opponent into submission, her victory culminating in holding her victim aloft, boxing glove embedded in the fleshy pulp.

Another droll match is a dance pas de trois. Julia “The Referee” Aplin is the supple, Svengali-like éminence gris who orchestrates the conflict tango between Howe and Christine “Trouble Clef” Duncan. At another point, Howe gets trapped between the punches of Vitols, Duncan and Bickersteth, the latter all singing Carmen’s Habanera aria from Bizet’s opera. Now that’s a statement if there ever was one.

Harbourfront’s Brigantine Room has been converted into theatre in the round. There is no boxing ring per se. Rather, designer Teresa Przybylski has fashioned a large red square floor outlined in black where the action takes place. The intimacy ensures that the performers are rendered completely vulnerable.

Juliet “The Announcer” Palmer’s atmospheric background music is both live and taped, ranging from a catchy sports theme to an electronic suspense drone. Her opera segments cunningly fuse a cappella singing and animal noises. Anna “The Card Girl” Chatterton’s sly lyrics are delicious plays on words, such as the trio that extols boxing as a “sweet science,” a “slug fest” and not a “brawl” or a “spat.”

The greatness of urbanvessel is their ability to convey mixed messages. No two people are going to experience this show the same way, but everyone is going to argue about its meaning.

Voice-Box