A searing and poetic look at ourselves, our society, and our mythology. Sled begins and ends in the Canadian North, a world of unforgiving isolation and mystical change. The other landscape is a Toronto neighbourhood which proves to be equally harsh and mythical under its quiet surface.
What happens believes her own hype? Sled happens. This play is in need of one giant edit. But also, it's not a play. The characters are disparate. Things happen that are grotesque and presented in barbarity to for the purpose of barbarity. The song lyrics are inane. It's just a nightmare of nothing and it's three acts. Judith Thompson writes without love and it seems like she knows nothing about the stage in this play. Which is not true of course because her earlier plays are wise and rich in parts. But this is unorganized vomit, attempting to be, I don't know, profound? Is that what she's after? You'd think Thompson was a total hack if this was the only play you'd encountered of hers.