Presenter well versed, but the play lacked thunder

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Thunder Rolling in the Mountains had its Canadian premiere in Toronto on March 23 and 24, at Dancemakers Studio in the historic Distillery District. Billed as a play, it's actually a monologue based on the story of Chief Joseph and his band of non-treaty Nez Perce, who embarked on a four-month, 1,400-mile journey to Canada after refusing to relocate to a reservation in Oregon.

The monologue, written and performed by Tsimshian storyteller and singer Shannon Thunderbird, offered 60 minutes of overwhelming detail, but absolutely no analysis and no study in character.

Thunderbird began as an old woman, but delivered the bulk of the monologue as the same woman in a younger flashback, ending as the old woman. Aside from that simple framing device, the piece was completely linear, offering a single story line with no overlapping threads or theatrical devices. As a result, Thunder Rolling in the Mountains offered no ambiguity, no counterpoint, and no critical distance, resulting in a piece that posed no questions and showed no new insight.

Was Chief Joseph's decision to lead his people on the journey a wise one? If so, does the fact that he abused his wives (according to contemporary Nez Perce women) tarnish his heroism? These are the kinds of questions that real art asks. But Thunder Rolling in the Mountains didn't ask any questions. Instead, what the audience got was an hour of one-sided history that bordered on hagiography.

Thunderbird is a commanding storyteller who holds the floor well. But she's not an actor, and she lacks the actor's ability to completely disappear into a character. Her body movements were often too fast and too strong for an old woman. And her pride seemed to get the best of her: most old women lack the breath control to hold notes for very long, and their voices thin out as they age, yet Thunderbird chose to sing loudly and well even though it wasn't appropriate for her character. She didn't want to cut her nails, either, wearing them long and painted even though she was playing an old woman on a reservation.

There were other actors, but they had no dialogue. And the performances were strictly amateur. (At one point, villager Sandy Horne-yes, that Sandy Horne, the bass player for the Canadian band The Spoons-flicked her eyes repeatedly into the stage-left wings to glare at her children, who were misbehaving behind the curtain.)

Thunderbird obviously has a fine mind and a stunning capacity for memorization. Unfortunately, there is such a thing as too much research. The amount of detail was so overwhelming that the audience had no chance to develop an emotional reaction to any of the material. In fact, it was difficult not to start tuning out. And lines like "He died instantly" and "It was a monstrous betrayal" break art's No. 1 rule: show, don't tell.

What happened to Chief Joseph's people was unequivocally wrong. When the Nez Perce were negotiating with the American government, they rode out with a white flag and were shot upon by American soldiers. Part of the terms of surrender specified that the Nez Perce be allowed back to their old lands in Idaho, but instead, they were shipped to Kansas and then to Oklahoma, remaining as prisoners of war for eight years. But this isn't history class-this is theatre. What is Thunderbird saying in the work? That colonialism is bad and Native people got ripped off? We know that by now.

Invoking the memories of the dead to keep their stories alive is a honourable thing, but there are many ways to do that. If one chooses to present those stories as a play-and charge people $15 to attend-then one had better have a real play, with characterization, a story arc, and dramatic devices.

Thunderbird told the audience that she had written the script in six hours. It showed. Thunder Rolling in the Mountains is a classic example of victim art, where the emphasis is placed solely on the victim and the story is simplified into broad stereotypes-in thi case, the victimized Indians and the victimizing whites. Politically, it's justified. But artistically, it's not worth much.

Sound technician Peter Kewley (Thunderbird's husband) said a producer has expressed interest in mounting the show in a larger venue. Let's hope the producer has enough money to hire a dramaturge who can take Thunderbird's monologue and make it into the gripping piece of theatre it could become if liberated from the confines of the one-sided victim testimonial.