Québec Chronicles II - Theatre and Identity

The world premiere of Waitress in French/Manikanetish at the Salle Albert-Rosseau (Credit: Evan Richards)

Worth much more than the occasional mention in a linguistics class, Québec is a province defined by rich traditions of literature, film and music, as well as an incredibly strong sense of identity. Tired of being asked whether he “really wanted to do his year abroad there”, Evan Richards started this column to illuminate a culture ignored by the curriculum, drawing on stories from his year abroad in la Capitale Nationale (and occasional travels around the continent).

Building on the spirit of the Quiet Revolution, Québec’s theatre has evolved into an artform that confronts, critiques and celebrates the unique cultural forces of the province. Québécois theatre’s foundational period was steeped in religious themes, shaped by the Catholic Church’s influence over cultural life. Yet, as the mid-20th century approached, the emergence of secular plays reflected a society in transition. Pioneering playwrights like Gratien Gélinas and Marcel Dubé captured the tensions between modernity and tradition, challenging the Church’s hegemony and exploring the limitations of working-class life.

Dubé’s Zone (1953) became emblematic of a new style of “social realism” depicting the struggles of marginalised youth. Plays like Gélinas’s Tit-Coq addressed not only class struggles, but also the alienation felt by French Canadians under the shadow of English-speaking business elites. This social realism became the aesthetic bedrock of Québécois theatre, presenting an authentic, often gritty, view of society, which the Quiet Revolution would later politicise and amplify.

It was during this revolution that theatre became a powerful vehicle for expressing Québec’s thirst for autonomy and for defining an identity distinct from anglophone Canada. As discussed in my previous entry, Michel Tremblay’s Les Belles-Sœurs (1968) is a hallmark of this era, elevating joual to a legitimate artistic medium and giving voice to working-class Québécois women.

Québec’s theatre evolved in tandem with feminist, LGBTQ+ and Indigenous rights movements, which gained traction throughout the 1970s and beyond. Notable works such as Jovette Marchessault’s La Nef des sorcières highlighted women’s struggles for empowerment and autonomy. Michel Jean’s critically acclaimed novel Kukum, based on the life of his Innu grandmother, was adapted for the stage and toured the province throughout January and February 2025.

Similarly, Manikanetish (adapted from Naomi Fontaine’s eponymous novel) follows an Innu teacher who returns home after 15 years to teach French and reconnect with her community. I was fortunate enough to attend the closing night in Québec, the atmosphere of which was unlike anything I’d ever experienced. The cast all hailed from Innu, Anishinaabe and Mi’kmaq communities across the province. The show began by them explaining this to the audience and calling out to family members (some of whom had travelled over seven hours to attend!). Traditional music was embedded throughout the show, with one scene involving traditional dances and another entirely in Innu, with no French voiceover or explanation. Theatre is becoming a powerful way of strengthening Indigenous voices and reclaiming power, particularly in the still-recent shadow of harmful residential schools.

Perhaps the most surprising aspect of Québec theatre is the province’s reputation for innovative circus arts – particularly through Cirque du Soleil, which was founded in 1984 by Guy Laliberté and a group of Québécois performers. Circus has become a beloved part of Québec’s cultural landscape, attracting both local and international audiences. My apartment was a ten-minute walk from a world-famous circus school. Yet I only realised this upon seeing adverts for their open-house performances in the summer.

For me, another fascinating tradition (though less specific to Québec and more to francophones) was competitive improv. I’d only seen one improv show in Cambridge so, when invited by a local friend to her brother’s improv match, I could hardly believe my eyes. The school hall was cleared – all that remained was an arena akin to a wrestling ring in the centre of the room, surrounded by chairs. The teams had jerseys not unlike hockey ones. Players had walk-on music and were introduced by an announcer. Then, the referee entered to boos from the players and audience alike. Rules were given at random (the amount of preparation time, the theme, the number of players, whether you were working with or against the other team, how long the sketch had to last) and the audience eventually voted on which team they thought had won the round. It’s incredibly fast-paced – perhaps a little too fast for someone whose first language is not French (!) – and ridiculously fun.

Since returning to Cambridge, I’ve learnt of a French-language improv league in London. However, what stood out to me on my year abroad was improv’s incorporation into the education system – both in extracurricular activities and the curriculum. Young people are encouraged to explore individual expression and collective collaboration without the need for additional resources or training. This is furthered through Secondaire en Spectacle: a pan-provincial talent competition with opportunities for students to compete as well as be involved backstage or on the journalism team. I volunteered to photograph the SeS regional final at my school and the level of talent blew me away, not to mention the professionalism of the students manning the livestream and running the lights. I’ve always felt incredibly lucky that there’s so many theatrical opportunities in Cambridge. Here, though, I was almost jealous that there weren’t all these opportunities at my school!

Québec’s theatre is testament to the province’s drive for self-expression and social justice. By engaging young people through initiatives like Secondaire en Spectacle and celebrating global successes like Cirque du Soleil, Québec ensures that its theatrical tradition remains vibrant and relevant. From the linguistic reclamations of Tremblay to the empathetic storytelling of Kukum, each performance reflects the revolutionary spirit of a province that understands the power of the arts.