For decades, theatres and theatre artists have prospered from the feverish spending that defines the month of December. During the 90s I enjoyed an annual gig at the now-defunct Studio Arena Theatre in Buffalo where I appeared as Nephew Fred, Young Scrooge, and (unforgettably) Gentleman #3, in a production of A Christmas Carol that was both literally and figuratively musty. As Nephew Fred, with my head jammed into a red wig—a wig that had been selected ten years earlier for an actor who had subsequently aged out of the role— and wearing a frayed avocado green morning coat, I looked less like a Victorian gentleman than a fugitive from a failing pantomime. My favorite memory of this show involves my (unforgettable) turn as Gentleman #3, in which I hovered at the edge of the theatre’s stage left vomitorium and lobbed my jolly disparagement of the newly-dead Scrooge towards Gentlemen 1&2, occupying centre stage. One evening, during this all-too-brief scene, I felt a tug at the hem of the massive topcoat that I was wearing (lest anyone confuse black-mustachioed Gentleman #3 of Act 2 with redheaded Nephew Fred from Scene 1). As I turned to make my exit, an audience member in the front row revealed himself as the culprit by leaning from his seat, taking me by the elbow and announcing in a stage whisper, “Nice job!”. The piercing nasality of his Buffalo accent, however, made it sound, to my Ontario ears, as though I had just thrown a particularly crisp punch. Nice jab…?

Several seasons ago, I dispensed with holiday programming in December. I am loath to inadvertently elevate one faith above another and I am acutely aware of the pressure that many people feel throughout this month. The pressure to consume, to celebrate, and to confirm the joy of others can be an overwhelming task for those who are susceptible to the void. I am fortunate that my family gathers during the holidays and, despite a tacit agnosticism that runs through the group, we embrace the typical Christmas trappings complete with the audio hiss of an ancient LP that transports us all to a childhood that we never experienced, in a country we’ve never seen, by a Welshman we’ve never met. These sounds and sights trigger the unspoken bargain that, for at least one day of the year, none of us will invite argument nor offer rebuke, no matter how well-deserved. Rather than breeding contempt, this familiarity provides comfort and for this, I am grateful.

This year, scores of our friends, neighbors and family members will not be able to share the comfort that comes with a gathering. For many of us, it will be the first time that we experience the void. For others, the void itself is sadly familiar and will only be magnified. I’m writing today to extend my gratitude to everyone who reached out during the pandemic, everyone who helped this company stay afloat through a donation, or boosted our morale with a kind word, and to let you know that we are pulling for you, too. On behalf of the staff, artists and volunteers of GCTC, I thank you for helping us face the crisis with the knowledge that you will be waiting for us on the other side. During the holidays, I urge you to take care of yourself with the same intensity that you have cared for us. If you want to connect, even just to chat, please email me directly at: artisticdirector@gctc.ca. I’m generally good at replying quickly and I look forward to hearing from old friends while making new connections with others.

Stay safe and healthy and please don’t be shy about staying in touch.

Gratefully,

Eric Coates
GCTC Artistic Director