Upon entering the hall of the Duceppe theatre, during the premiere, we felt that it would not be a show quite like the others. A festive, free atmosphere emanated from the stage — transformed into a gymnasium by Xavier Mary — where certain performers, already in place, happily challenged the Aboriginal members of the public. Manikanetish, it is also a meeting. The eventful nature, for the fifty-year-old company, of this essential creation, carried by a dozen performers belonging to the Innu and Micmac nations, is undeniable.
The play transposes Naomi Fontaine’s sensitive novel, in which an Innu — inspired by the author — recounts her return to the Uashat reserve, on the North Shore, to teach French in a secondary school. His stories of relationships between teacher and students, such a founding bond, often have a strong emotional charge. Here, the pedagogue also learns from her pupils.
Seeking to belong in a community she no longer knows, Yammie must tame her class of older teenagers. She — and us too — gradually discovers the difficulties that cross their existence. And their resilience, despite the heartbreaking bereavements and the specific challenges they face (lack of resources, racism, etc.). And even if the interpreters are not all equally natural – some are in their first professional experience – the particular voices of these endearing characters emerge on stage. Note the bold playing of Marc-Olivier Gingras.
voices heard
As with the collectivity of Uashat, Yammie is here both inside and outside the narrative, which she sometimes narrates. Except that it is, curiously, split. Because it “missed the perspective of its author, the one who plunges into her memories”, writes the director Jean-Simon Traversy, Naomi Fontaine having herself added, late, to the distribution. We end up understanding that one lives the story in the present (sensitive Sharon Fontaine-Ishpatao), while the other, further back, has the benefit of hindsight. This is where the inner voice of the novelist perhaps emerges more.
Manikanetish ends with a theatrical performance, a mise en abyme illustrating the force of communion of the scene, while the class goes up… The Cid. If it seems strange – and the funny side is assumed – that the affirmation of the students passes through this distant work which confines them to the cliché of classical representation, there is also a claim of universality there: “old tragedy come to join ours,” as Fontaine wrote.
In this humanist show where the music (framework by Étienne Thibeault) is also unifying — this Innu version of Midnight Christian ! —, what stands out, in the end, is the community. The celebration of a close-knit community that supports each other and continues to move forward despite the drama. Our voices are heard, triumphantly conclude the characters (or performers) at the end of the performance. Finally.