
Richard Comeau, Merewyn Comeau, Brefny Caribou, Nathan Howe, John Wamsley, Grace Lamarche and Catherine Fitch in “1939”, Photo by Dahlia Katz
Taking place in a Northern Ontario Residential School in the play’s titular year, the harrowing reality of systemic cruelty looms ominously on the periphery of this story. Aspects of Indigenous trauma are present throughout; though, to maintain the generally jaunty tone, they are tempered by the kid gloves playwright’s Jani Lauzon and Kaitlyn Riordan put on to address them. Presented by Canadian Stage and Belfry Theatre in association with The Stratford Festival (where it first premiered in 2022), 1939 tells the charming and wistful story of a handful of Indigenous students rallied together to perform Shakespeare’s All’s Well That Ends Well for an expected visit from King George VI and Queen Elizabeth.
As a mild echo of more severe atrocities, the authority figures here—English teacher Sian Ap Dafydd (Catherine Fitch) and Father Callum Williams (Nathan Howe) commit a series of micro-aggressions towards their young charges—from remarking upon the cumbersome phonetics of their true names to dismissing the value of their customs. Early on, the thing about the names makes for a perfectly hilarious self-own. After a snide remark about their difficult Indigenous names, Ap Dafyyd whips out her own Welsh doozy and indicates its demonstrably counterintuitive pronunciation. Cue a running joke about poor John Delorme’s (John Wamsley) ongoing struggle with it.
Teacher’s pet, Beth Summers (Grace Lamarche), reunited with her brother (an institutional no-no and their big secret) Joseph Summers (Richard Comeau), cheeky Susan Blackbird (Brefny Caribou) and the impassioned Evelyne Rice (Merewyn Comeau) fill out the rest of the plucky students who, much to their own astonishment, find themselves relating to All’s Well That Ends Well as they wrestle with the material. Most of the first act establishes their dynamic as they try to make the play their own, while jumping through hoops meeting Ap Dafydd’s demands for phoney English accents. Particularly disheartening, she forbids them to draw from their own Indigenous life experience in crafting their characters.
When a progressive journalist, Madge Macbeth (Amanda Lisman), publishes an article declaring the upcoming performance “Indian Shakespeare,” Ap Dafydd and Father Williams are forced to allow the students’ Indigenous perspective into the rehearsal process. The second act opens with a strangely thrilling brainstorming session as they map out on the chalkboard their distinctive interpretation of the plot. Alas, friction continues as Ap Dafydd and Father Williams’ version of Indian Shakespeare becomes a hokey, cos-play spectacle.
It is genuinely uncomfortable realization for me that the character I felt the most emotional investment in is Ap Dafydd. Both Lauzon and Riordan’s script and Fitch’s grounded performance make her the most nuanced presence on stage. At first, Father Williams’ racism and misogyny make him an outright villain and Howe delivers a pantomime performance. We do eventually warm to him as he is humanized, but it is a rather cheap ploy—serving him up some humble pie in broad humour as he fumbles his way through a part in their play.
Each of the students have moments to shine as they wrestle with their identity and strive to re-affirm their heritage. Overall, there is a restrained, stilted quality to both their dialogue and delivery. They tell us what is going on with them, they go through all of the motions that define the story, but for most of the play they never quite embody the rage, pain or joy. This may be deliberate; these characters must, just to survive, suppress so much of themselves. During their final performance, they abandon the bogus costumes and let their authentic truth erupt onto the stage. These are some of the most genuinely exhilarating moments in the show.
Lauzon’s direction has a simple elegance that sustains fluidity, momentum and offers some tight and punchy comedy. The scholastic motif of huge, wood-framed chalkboards are a defining aspect of Joanna Yu’s set. During scene transitions, words and phrases are written and erased, an eerie representation of the impermanence of words and the people who write them. “I was here” is one I found especially poignant. Native symbols begin to appear on the boards and when Father William’s attempts to wipe them away, the resulting surprise has a deep, quiet power.

