ONE MAN’S HISTORY

ONE MORE THING: A PLAY IN ONE ACT
Directed by David Kaye
Written and Performed by Michael Parent
At the Waterville Opera House in Waterville, Maine
From April 21 to April 23, 2006

Reviewed by Laurie Meunier Graves, in the Wolf Moon Press Journal

“[T]he more we understand, the more mysterious things become; the more things are brought into the light, the more the shadows haunt.”
—Edward Rothstein, from the New York Times

In Maine, between 30 to 40 percent of the population is of French descent, coming either from Québec or from the Canadian Maritimes. The Acadians were forced out of Canada by the British before the Revolutionary War, but most Franco-Americans came to Maine during the Industrial Revolution, in the late 1800s, to work in the mills. With a minority that is barely a minority, you might think that Maine would be blessed with a wealth of Franco-American literature, music, and art; that the various historical societies would be filled with all things Franco-American; that essentially Maine would be a bilingual state, with French being nearly as common as English. But on every count, you would be wrong. Maine’s Franco-Americans became, as one writer put it, “the quiet presence,” hardly seen or heard, at best ignored by the culture at large and at worst discriminated against in ways that were sometimes violent and illegal. Not surprisingly, Maine’s Francos came to think of themselves as “petits pains,” little bread not worthy of “running the bakery.” To this Franco-American, it often feels as though 230 years of history has been erased in a frenzy of cultural cleansing.

Yet, the history isn’t completely gone, and it has largely been revived and examined by some of Maine’s Franco-American baby boomers. Rhea Côté Robbins has written a beautiful and moving memoir (Wednesday’s Child) about growing up in Waterville, Maine. Susan Poulin, a terrific performer of original material, has given us funny yet poignant plays revolving around vibrant Franco-American women (Franco Fry or Pardon My French!, Ida: Woman Who Runs With The Moose, and Ida’s Havin’ a Yard Sale!) And Michael Parent, in the outstanding One More Thing, manages not only to tell the story of an aging Franco-American mill worker but the story of Maine’s Franco-Americans as well.

One More Thing, a one-man show, is about the life and times of Jean-Paul Boisvert. As the program notes, the play is set in “mid-April, 1989” in “Boisvert’s living room, in a central Maine mill town, on his 67th birthday.” In actual time, One More Thing only covers a few hours of the old man’s life. However, through reminiscences, conversations with his dead wife, and phone calls with his children, Boisvert goes back at least a hundred years, when one of his relatives paid his way to the “Étas-Unis” by selling ham sandwiches on the train. To me, the ham-sandwich story captures the essence of the Franco-American personality—resourceful, persistent, hardworking, and obsessed with food.

Boisvert, unlike the typical Maine Yankee, is voluble, emotional, and expressive, never more so than when he’s watching, with the volume turned off, the Red Sox or the Bruins, the teams he loves to hate. Forever hopeful but constantly disappointed, he shouts French insults at the various players and eggs them on, all to no effect, of course. (The play takes place before the Red Sox won the World Series.) But does he give up on them? No, he does not, and these scenes are the funniest in the play, establishing Boisvert’s Franco sense of humor, quick and sharp.                                                            

Standing beside his easy chair is an easel with a portrait of his wife Marie-Louise, who has been dead for a year and a half. Dark, pretty, and dignified, she smiles knowingly and affectionately at a man who was not easy to live with. Self-centered, narrow, and quick-tempered, Boisvert nevertheless tells the story of their life together with rueful self-awareness, of how his drinking nearly destroyed the marriage. It doesn’t take the audience long to realize that Marie-Louise’s calm presence “smoothed things over” between him and his children, and that his love for her was deep and genuine. Through the stories and with the portrait, Marie-Louise becomes a character in her own right, and we can’t help but be moved by Boisvert’s intense mourning, which would have overcome a lesser man.     Even in grief, Boisvert has so much vitality that is easy to see why Marie-Louise was attracted to him and how they complemented each other’s personalities.

Then there are the children, five of them, and here Boisvert illustrates another Franco-American tendency: that is, to have such a tight grip on the family that the relationship starts feeling more than a little claustrophobic. Along with this tendency is the desire to have things stay the way they were in the old days, when five children seemed like a small family, and relatives lived nearby. Poor Boisvert! He has five children but only four grandchildren. Three of his children are married, but only one to “a good Catholic.” Irene, his eldest child and only daughter, is married to Malcolm, “the Episcopagan.” Richie isn’t married at all. Instead, he has a girlfriend named Crystal (“what kind of name is that?”) who likes to dress in tight black leather. Then there’s Junior, who has committed the unpardonable sin of moving all the way to California. For Boisvert this is such a big issue that it’s caused an estrangement between him and his son, and a question hovers over the entire play: Will Junior call his father to wish him a happy birthday? And, if not, will Boisvert call Junior?

We learn about the children through stories and through one-sided phone conversations, about Irene, who is bossy and stubborn (tête de pioche) like her mother; about Richie, the free spirit who loves motorcycles; about solid, dependable Bobbie; about Andre, the artistic one; and, of course, about Junior, who is as difficult and high-strung as his father.

Finally, there is the issue of class, an issue that is central to most Franco-Americans. With one telling story of going out to dinner and meeting his boss and his boss’s friends, Parent captures the shame of speaking “bad French,” and how this attitude constantly reminded Francos that they were indeed “petits pains.”

It is no small thing for one man to portray all the complexities of Boisvert, his family, and the Franco-American culture, but this is exactly what Michael Parent has done. Like all true art, One More Thing focuses on individuals while saying something universal about human nature. It is a tour de force, an affectionate, knowing, clear-eyed look at an ethnic group that has been overlooked for far too long.   In effect, Parent becomes Boisvert, showing us the man’s vices as well as his virtues, and by the end of the show, Boisvert, maddening yet endearing, almost seems real. Didn’t he live down the street from me when I was growing up? Wasn’t he a part of my family? No, but he could have been, and One More Thing is a show that will stay with me for a very long time. 

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