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On Stage Review BY RICHARD CAIRNEY Wreck Beach Northern Light Theatre & Axis Theatre La Cité Francophone (8527-91 Street) until April 9 Like the clothing-optional beach it’s named after, David Rhymer’s play about a brutal seaside murder and its effect on a community that espouses equality and oozes good vibes, Wreck Beach may make you squirm a little. And, like the beach, it’ll probably make you smile too. Wreck Beach, a joint production by Northern Light Theatre and Vancouver’s Axis Theatre, examines loss of innocence in a utopian counterculture based on trust. Inspired by the slaying of a young Wreck Beach beer vendor in 1993, the play illuminates the lives of Wreck Beach regulars – free-thinking nudists, dope dealers and vendors (sandwiches, beer, skunk weed) who frequent the beach. Rhymer, a member of the Wreck Beach community himself, saw the girl the day she was killed and knows the scene and story well. He’s based his play on events that shook the community in the wake of the murder. The story is told through song and movement in a series of vignettes that leave audiences with an impression of what happened, rather than a linear regurgitation of facts. It traces the path of a young woman named Carrie (Cailin Stadnyk) arriving at the beach, being befriended by regulars and becoming a part of the crowd. For most of the play she appears as a ghost, wandering the sand and forest between the city and the sea. Regulars at the beach are, as one might suspect, colorful. Most memorable is a neurotic, manic, forest-dwelling pot dealer called Forest Boy (Steve Pirot) who is suspected of murdering the vendor. Forest Boy knows his place – he’s an outcast on society’s fringe. Pirot plays the role with gusto, insinuating himself into the community, then withdrawing into his own broken self, uncertain of what role he played, if any, in Carrie’s death. Stadnyk’s character is tough to gauge. Carrie seems wide-eyed and gullible, doffing her clothes and becoming a beer vendor because a group of naked hippies dances around and tells her it’s okay – as if she had no previous life experience. Her character develops nicely though, as she comes to understand important life lessons after death. As Skyla, Kimberly Tuson is a delight. She preaches the benefits of nudity the way Jerry Falwell talks up that Jesus fella. A scene in which she explains her transformation from successful but miserable city-dweller to broke but euphoric nudist is played out with bravado and deft comic timing. And entirely naked, along with the rest of the cast. Tuson also designed movement for the play, a definite strength of the production. A rape is portrayed to far greater effect through movement than with words, and Tuson’s design speaks clearly; in another memorable scene, a guilt-stricken Forest Boy writhes and convulses at the whims of cast members who control his feverish movements. There are weak sections of the play. Rhymer introduces us to the beach culture in a manner that might put you in mind of 1970s hippy musicals, like Hair. While Rhymer probably accurately reflects a philosophy that exists as much on parts of Whyte Ave. as it does on Wreck Beach, that hippy politique always seems naïve and, well, kinda corny. Fault for the scene’s shortcomings may well lie within that utopian philosophy itself – there may in fact be no palatable way of presenting it. Rhymer’s songs, for the most part, are outstanding – they’re the stuff you want to buy on CD so you can take them home, though some aren’t up to par. That, and some weak vignettes, leave you with the impression that the play isn’t finished yet. That doesn’t diminish the play’s impact terribly. Wreck Beach says something important about mourning, from the deceased’s perspective. In one scene, Forest Boy weeps, crying out his sorrow for the slain girl. Pirot’s simple, tortured character bawls out in grief, bemoaning the loss of someone as "nice" as Carrie. But Carrie is incensed at the display of emotions from a stranger who has projected virtues on a vague memory. She charges up the very trail she was killed on and confronts Forest Boy, scolding him for being upset by the death of a stranger. The point of the scene is that we probably make too much of death; mourning rituals are more for the living than the dead. The living should just get on with their lives. Wreck Beach is the kind of place where free spirits and kind souls congregate, where anything goes, providing it doesn’t hurt anyone. Rhymer’s play reflects that and tells us, in an entertaining, thought-provoking fashion, what happens when innocence is lost. Wreck Beach ***1/2 (out of five)

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