To generate the money needed to stage their upcoming SummerWorks production, the tiny bird theatre company isn't resorting to a mere fundraising event. No, they're going to read Tolstoy's classic tome continuously at the Nathan Phillips Square for the next 50-odd hours.
At 9 a.m. sharp this morning, with a bronzed Winston Churchill looking on, choreographer Allison Cummings stepped before a thin music stand, cracked the spine of War and Peace and started to read. A family of four tourists drifted over to listen. Two burly City of Toronto security guards followed on their heels.
Cummings ceded the reading to writer Adam Underwood and intercepted the guards. She told them this was a fundraiser for Combat, a show at the upcoming (and now cash-strapped) SummerWorks festival that she, Underwood and artistic director Claire Calnan would be producing. Over 55 uninterrupted hours, some three-dozen readers (including Cummings’ mom) will take turns ploughing through the Tolstoy tome. “I’ve never heard of it,” the burlier security guard said. His partner was incredulous. “This Russian book? It’s like the most famous novel in the world.”
As the pair went off to check Cummings’ clearance, she explained more about Combat, which is presented by tiny bird theatre and Sore for Punching You. “It’s an interdisciplinary piece that looks at how strife permeates our life, even when it’s happening far, far away. So War and Peace seemed like an appropriate choice for the readathon.” The majority of readers—including Skim author Mariko Tamaki and Men With Brooms star Brendan Gall, along with assorted family and friends—will take one- or two-hour shifts; Cummings, Underwood and Calnan are committed for eight hours each. “Not at a stretch,” Cummings clarified. “That would be very dramatic and hardcore, but none of us is in our early 20s anymore.”
The security guards returned with the all-clear, but Cummings anticipated it wouldn’t be the last time she would have that conversation. “It’s just going to take some flirting,” she said. Although she does not have permission to read on city property from 11 p.m. to 6 a.m., Cummings is hoping the War and Peace marathon will be left alone—but promises that the narrative stops for nothing and, if necessary, will just go on walkabout. Headlamps have been secured for those who must read on the move, and tiny bird theatre’s Twitter account will keep Tolstoy junkies apprised of changes in location. (To sponsor these intrepid, multi-tasking readers, visit tinybird.ca.)
Along with the headlamps, snacks and ample water are on hand for the readers, who may also avail themselves of two emergency flags: red for a temporary break, white for total surrender. “Our stage manager has her own flags, too,” Cummings said. “The yellow flag is for when your time’s about the expire. And the blue one is for the night readings. It means, ‘We’ve got to get out of here! Follow me!’”
By midnight last Wednesday, a small group had huddled in blankets around a music stand as a bronzed Winston Churchill statue looked on. Actor Jimi Shlag, wearing a headlamp, read out loud; on a bench to his right sat 21-year-old Nick Kowalczyk, drinking a 7-Up. It was hour 39 of the War and Peace marathon, and Kowalczyk’s seventh time stopping by.
Kowalczyk, native of “a shit town in the middle of nowhere, north of Scranton, Pennsylvania”—he declined to provide further specifics—was in Toronto to play golf while his father attended a conference. At 9 a.m. sharp the previous morning, he had watched Cummings reading from the north-facing window of his Sheraton Centre hotel room as, on Nathan Phillips Square below. After breakfast, Kowalczyk went to investigate and found the performance still going. “I would have been mad if they left before I figured out what they were doing,” Kowalczyk said.
He needn’t have worried: Over the course of 57 uninterrupted hours, some three-dozen readers would take turns ploughing through all 1,386 pages of the Tolstoy tome.
“If you did a reading like this in Scranton, the odds of getting beat up would be pretty high,” Kowalczyk said. “But I think it’s cool. If they’re determined to read all of the novel, I’m determined to hear as much of it as possible.”
Kowalzcyk estimated he’d spent a total of four hours listening on the bench; he was tired after a day of golfing, but not tired enough to stay in. “I like sitting here. I’ll be back tomorrow. I want to hear them finish this long-ass book.”
