
Ordena Stephens-Thompson & Olaoluwa Fayokun in “Sankofa: The Soldier’s Tale Retold”, Photo by John Lauener
Stravinsky’s Histoire du soldat, conceived as an intimate retelling of the Russian tale The Runaway Soldier and the Devil for a trio of actors and seven instruments, has been urgently reimagined here by the Art of Time Ensemble as Sankofa: The Soldier’s Tale Retold. Inspired by the No. 2 Construction Battalion, Canada’s only all-Black unit to fight in the first world war, Titilope Sonuga’s libretto provides spoken text in rhymed verse, taking us on a fraught journey with a young Caribbean man in Nova Scotia who is desperate to enlist yet rejected by the “white man’s army.”
Our three main players are the soldier (Olaoluwa Fayokun); a narrator (Ordena Stephens-Thompson), in quadrille and headscarf, representing his homeland, an echo of the mother he left behind; and the devil (Diego Matamoros), a menacing figure who takes many forms—appearing in suit and bowler hat, a series of racist army officers and, most iconically, as an old woman cajoling him with promises of greatness. Ever-present amongst them is a septet of musicians, decked out in period army fatigues.
Mining Sonuga’s lyrical text—evocative and specific without succumbing to flowery embellishments—the cast ground the fable-like story in solid, understated emotionality. Fayokun is a deeply endearing central figure—sincere, impassioned and guileless. It is genuinely heartbreaking to bear witness to his earnest yearning to contribute being constantly thwarted. Matamoros’ devil is especially funny and unsettling in his old crone guise. With an icky leer, his deceptively maternal gestures betray predatory, vaguely lecherous intentions. Stephens-Thompson is an elegant storyteller and hopeful presence, acknowledging sad truths yet persistently, persuasively steadfast.
Stravinsky’s score, woven throughout as both accompaniment and interludes between dialogue, feels surprisingly modern. Alternately dissonant and sweeping, with shifting time-signatures, the rhythm fluctuates propulsively between marches, waltzes and ragtime. It’s a heady, hypnotic piece.
This is all held together by Tawiah M’Carthy’s intelligent and purposeful direction. His dramatic punctuation mirrors the potent simplicity of Sonuga’s text. It takes its time too, lets us sit with crucial moments, invites us to feel them properly. Slow motion sequences are meditative and mesmeric. All movement and spacial relationships are visually articulate. He and lighting designer Kevin Lamotte make striking use of the theatre’s catwalk for evocative silhouettes.
“If I kill another mother’s son, will I be remembered?” This central idea of a young man striving to be accepted into a society by proving his worth as a killer is an intriguing discomfort. We want him to assert himself, achieve recognition for his valuable personhood, yet the terms of his success—and his precarious deal with the devil in which he sells off the memory of his mother—threaten the humanity he valiantly defends.
And will he be lost to time, obscured by a history uninterested in his plight? The story poses this haunting question and we are asked to shoulder the burden of that loss; though the very telling of his story balances that weight and provides exhilarating catharsis.

