Ghosts of pasts faced in spirited production

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This article was published 14/03/2026 (189 days ago), so information in it may no longer be current.

Under the light of a lakeside moon and its brighter-than-the-city constellations, in the glow of a sacred fire, a portal to awakening opens for three men grieving the loss of their childhood friend in this spirit story, an absorbing, eerie and chill-inducing first play from Norway House’s Rhonda Apetagon.

Gathered on terrain they once knew better — a petroform landscape that lies across the lake from a community that forever connects them, no matter if they stray — George (James Dallas Smith), Dale (Jeremy Proulx) and Shane (Daniel Knight) are committed to stoking the embers until Warren is laid to rest in a funeral service several kilometres away.

In the wake of the attempted cultural erasure at the hands of the residential school system and anti-Indigenous laws, their understanding of traditional healing practices is admittedly lacking, and their reliance on worldly comforts is apparent: Dale wonders whether a backyard bonfire with better cell reception would have sufficed.

No, say his friends: this is what Warren — whose trusty weed lighter sparks the kindling for the authentic onstage fire — would have wanted: to be with his buddies, in the shadow beyond the pines, as he makes his transition into the spirit world.

Want, need and hunger suffuse the remote environment crafted by Apetagon, whose propulsive writing crackles with a clear command of atmosphere and mood. As her characters sit, uneasily, around a fire that illuminates long-hidden truths, they pass the narrative baton back and forth, carrying out a tradition of oral storytelling that can be traced back to the origins of language itself: Yes, we tell ourselves stories in order to live, but also as a means of repair and a method for shared revival.

In her initial approach to the script, Apetagon intended for her characters to be on the cusp of adulthood, though she later amended the content to place the men near middle age.

Though it was a decision informed in part by the challenges of casting, the switch proves to be inspired, allowing each performer to inhabit his character’s past, present and future selves with a surrealistic touch as they reflect on their upbringings and those who gave them guidance.

By respawning these former teens to their adolescent campground in the bodies of their matured selves — some parents, some still eating their grandmother’s cookies — Apetagon sets the stage for a stellar blend of boyish charm and adult humour.

For all its creepiness, the actors’ performances are by turns hilarious, showcasing Apetagon’s comic touch and affection for well-placed curse words.

Directed by Jimmy Blais on a mystery-laden set devised by Adam Parboosingh, the production is enriched by Jason Burnstick’s sound design, which punctuates and underscores each traded ghost story shared by the three performers. Kahentano:ron Brianna Montour’s lighting design is engaging and dynamic: her night sky is anything but static, prompting the audience to search for sudden movements in the dark.

A world première, In the Shadow Beyond the Pines was, until three days prior to opening, divided by an intermission. But Blais and Apetagon made the choice to do away with the planned interruption, refashioning the play in the days after dress rehearsal into one long act. This is a welcome and wise decision, which also feels more respectful and observant of the sacred tradition being depicted onstage. George, Dale and Shane are supposed to keep the sacred fire going all night — should it really be interrupted for a bathroom break?

By bridging the gap between the two acts, Apetagon, Blais and the three talented performers sustain the spirit of interconnectivity upon which the entire production relies. The audience, like Apetagon’s characters, is forced to sit through discomfort and genuine fright instead of heading for relief when the going gets tough: they must see the story through to its shocking end.

winnipegfreepress.com/benwaldman

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