The Toronto Theatre Review: Bealtaine Theatre Festival’s The Libravian
By Ross
She rolls out with childlike energy and a kick. A high head of yellow hair that defies description, squeaking and accentuating the positive, as Lynn, the lovable, bookish librarian, or as she prefers to call herself, The Libravian, embarks on a nervously engaging journey through the loving connection to literature, books, writing, and reading. Lynn, as portrayed most hilariously by the very agile James Riordan, finds enormous pleasure in the world of books, but she’d rather remain in the background of the library, happily minding her own business, reshelving books and dreaming of the next tale that she will herself write.
Now, I must admit that I was walking in, maybe in a similar way that Lynn feels, not especially wanting to spend a lovely Saturday afternoon in Toronto at the Helen Gardiner Phelan Playhouse (79 St. George Street, Toronto) as the nervous sun peaks out from behind a viel of persistent clouds that seem to have moved in to the skies above my hometown. But I had agreed to see the final show, The Libravian, at the inaugural Bealtaine Theatre Festival presented by the Canada Ireland Foundation. I had seen another one of their presentations, Tom Moran is a Big Fat Filthy Disgusting Liar at Theatre Passe Muraille, and had the best of times, so in a sign of theatrical support for this inaugural festival, I said “yes” to their invite. That is before I had seen the tag line: “Perfect for young audiences of eight to eleven and their families“. Now, I have nothing against theatre aimed at that age range, but I can’t say that I generally find them that entertaining.
But I was quite wrong in that early assessment. Riordan delivers. Making me laugh and smile, maybe more than the roomful of kids I found myself surrounded by. He was funny, silly, smart, and engaging, reading from numerous books that, I am told, are all written by Irish authors, who dutifully explore themes around bravery and honor. He delights in Wordsmith pep talks, surprising us with a teacup book and a much too short list of allowed words. He, as Lynn, unpacks stories of adventurous cats and murderous bats that live inside her head, waiting to be jotted down, pencil to paper, by an audacious child itching to become a writer herself, against the wishes of her animalistic family of circus performers.
Yes, you got that right, and Riordan expertly leads us through, using the best of medicines: i.e. hilariously physical shenanigen-theatrics inside a delightfully unique performance with colorful, playful costumes and an intricate sound design – to stand up to a strangling, hairy-fisted bully and a family who doesn’t want to see or encourage her to become the future author Lynn Bindleberg really, truly is, deep inside. But with a drumroll of encouragement by an old lady frog-like seamstress named Mitzi, she fights against all of her own fears, mainly of telling her stories to a roomful of people, and delivers the tale of all Bindleberg tales, and we couldn’t be more delighted than a blue ballooned elephant throwing delicious, dusty support into the air. The Libravian is a tremendously lovely way to encourage the act of reading and writing to a room full of kids, using care and creativity, forced out by fate and the illness of the other tour guide. Words don’t bring trouble, Lynn tells us. They enlighten and engage, and we definitely need far more than five hundred to bring about this wondrous adventure.
Click here for information and tickets for this joyously silly, wonderful celebration of books, courage, creativity, and the magic of imagination. If you can get in to see it before this Libravian library closes, you’ll be one lucky, entertained soul.
