Tell someone, anyone, your roommate even, that you’re going to Trampoline Hall next Monday, and you’ll either be met with an excited, “Oh man, are they sold out?” or a curious look and vocalization. Trampoline Hall is not a springy launching pad for human projectiles per se—it’s a little more metaphysical than that. Structured around three short lectures, each delivered by a person who possesses no particular expertise about the selected subject. Host and co-creator Misha Glouberman clarifies the intentions of the event: “One of the reasons why we don’t want people talking about their particular areas of expertise is that it’s a theatre experience, a reality-based theatre experience. It’s about real people responding to the situation, and also seeing how an audience responds to it. It’s more about the people involved than it is about the ideas, although the ideas are often—y’know—great.”
Where did the idea originate, and who kick-started the project? “It was really Sheila’s project,” explains the alluringly scruffy Misha, master of ceremonies since Trampoline Hall’s inception back in 2003 with Toronto writer and TH inventor Sheila Heti. Globe music critic and friendly bouncer Carl Wilson has hand-picked the soundtrack tonight-always a local favourite, this time it’s Claire Jenkins.
Located up the stairs of College Street hipster dive Sneaky Dee’s, 150 people can fit, tickets usually sell out within hours of going on sale the Thursday prior to the Monday performance. After bouncing around a few different locations, the cast and crew have found a permanent home in Sneaky Dee’s grungy hall.
Shuffl ing up the dim stairwell to fl ash the one-of-a-kind ticket at the smiling door-folk (in the past, custom bricks designed by curator Alex Snukal were a formidable challenge), attendees are met with whatever surrealist set has been constructed on the small stage. The set is always designed by Toronto artist Leah Walker, and today it’s fashioned out of a spray of umbrellas, suspended upside-down with streamers falling to the fl oor. They are jellyfish, and I can’t think of a more apt image—an urban aquarium, half found-object and half ingenuity. Part of what makes this monthly event such a good time is the childlike ritualism of it. It’s innocent, but canny. People can booze up a storm while listening to a neurotic Zack Braff look-alike lecture about something as pure as the fictional country he invented as a child. There’s something alchemical about this mixture of curiosity, good will, and general unpredictability–a layered experience that really needs to be felt.
Nevertheless, a taste. On Monday, Jan. 14, The Varsity very obviously infiltrated Tramp Hall to try and capture a fragment of how it goes down. The host was the aforementioned Misha
Glouberman, who gave his usual explanatory prelude: “I’m just going to tell you a little bit about how the show works so that when the show happens, you won’t be startled.” Stuttering, he adds, “It’s easy-time for you. They talk, you just relax, and the information will be transferred from their heads to yours, um…through a process.” Glouberman’s articulate/uncomfortable-guy routine strikes a chord with audiences. On each occasion, he gets loads of laughter during this introduction. “After each lecture is over, we have a question and answer period. We want your questions—they are critical to the question and answer period.” This intro does more than inform, it effectively focuses the audience and establishes a particular tone, one of relaxed attentiveness. He wants our questions, he assures us of this—but they better be good. Before ceding the jellyfish-festooned stage, Misha reminds us that there will be a break between each lecture, followed by a break that goes on forever during which we can do whatever we want. But what if we want to stay here?
A burst of applause follows speaker Oliver Husain to the microphone. His lecture on the Chicago World’s Fair of 1893 features an imaginary slide show and a funny description of Canada’s contribution—a 22,000 lb. block of Cheddar (sharpness unknown). The second lecture is delivered by U of T student Bonny Poon, who provides secondary sources for her conceptual lecture entitled “Doing It To Death,” a faintly confused exploration of Pilgrims, ambition, and slackerdom. Lastly, and most poignant, is Gerry Campbell’s confessional lecture on the Imposter Syndrome. This final address is unlike any I’ve ever seen at Trampoline Hall. Despite the positive vibes that circulate during the night, there’s often at least one cynical wit (usually Blocks Recording founder/affable sound-guy Steve Kado) who stages intellectual opposition to Blocks Recording founder/affable sound-guy Steve Kado) who stages intellectual opposition to a speaker during the final Q&A. Not with Campbell, who also breaks the mould by being above the typical mid-twenties, early-thirties performer age. His lecture is personal but not didactic, feeling a bit like a really wellspoken lecture from The Ideal Dad. Campbell then turns the tables by yanking up his tasteful pullover to display a tattoo on his upper pecs. Amazing!
After the final questions have been hashed out and the winter parkas zipped up, I ask Misha about the changes that have occurred since Trampoline Hall’s not-so-humble beginnings. “The only thing that’s really different is that it was new then. It’s more institutional now. I’m less scared than I used to be—a big part of the show very early on is that it ran on fear. I think it was scarier for the lecturers too. Now, it feels solid and stable. The lecturers know that there’s some kind of support [out there].”
This sincerity never turns saccharine during the lectures, and that’s partially because of the sundry creative people who curate. January 2008 saw multifaceted artist Jon McCurley pull together speakers, and his take on
TH’s je ne sais quoi philosophy remains more irreverent. “The format is conducive to a good time, even if the performers bomb. It leaves you with a good feeling. The looseness of the structure makes it more honest over seeing a music show, or a lecture in an academic setting.”
Does he think there are other opportunities in the city for similar artistic frankness? “It’s kind of like improvised music, in that you get to see them [the lecturers] screw up. Maybe it’s something that Toronto offers. If you were really good at something, you’d go somewhere else. Everyone present is communicating something that emphasizes the fact that it’s not perfect or proper. Like, we do shitty things really well here!”
Make no mistake, the lectures don’t feel like a slapdash talent show, but I get what McCurley is saying. In spite of the amateur quality, there is intelligence and economy in Trampoline Hall’s effect. Misha articulates it best, even though he’s obviously ready to call it a night. “I don’t want the show to be dumb—I want it to be smart—but I wouldn’t call it intellectually rigorous. Sometimes it is, but it’s primarily theatre, and you watch a performance constructed around the idea of a lecture. And sometimes people have very smart things to say, but that’s secondary to the theatre.”
So the show’s over, and now for the break, as they say, that goes on forever. Or at least until next month.
Trampoline Hall occurs the second Monday of every month at Sneaky Dee’s. Tickets can be bought the Thursday before at Soundscapes for $6. A smaller amount are sold at the door on the night-of. Visit www.trampolinehall.net for more information on the series.
