I got into the tiniest of debates one night after the theatre, this one about Stuart McLean versus Garrison Keillor. (Side note: I love that 'cage match' and theatre' can go in the same sentence- somehow gives one of my favourite pastimes a more dignified air when it's coupled with the arts).
D was saying she preferred Keillor, that he was better because he tapped into the folksier roots of storytelling more, while I took the opposite stance. We traded our stories, I of interviewing McLean a few weeks earlier, and she of happening across Keillor at a commune-like setting years ago (another side note: how awesome would it be to meet someone you like and look up to in a place like that!).
So, the cage match was left at a respectful stalemate, neither raconteur coming out ahead. The two men are often compared against each other, fairly or unfairly, for having such similar CVs. Both make a living telling stories about fictional families and the inevitable troubles they get into, both tour their respective countries doing so, and both feature homegrown musical guests on their revue-like shows.
And even though I've grown up on both of them, having listened to McLean and The Vinyl Cafe on the CBC and Keillor and A Prairie Home Companion on NPR/CBC, my affinity always leaned far more to the former.
Until now.
There's an irresistible charm to McLean's humour as he gently probes the human character, placing them in unlikely but not improbable situations (i.e. Dave and the...Christmas turkey/defibrillator/sewer/anything involving Mary Turlington) and pausing at just the right moments for maximum effect. Seeing him live is a pleasure, too, as the tall and gangly man adds depth to his stories by waving his arms around like he's helping a plane land, and lopes on and off the stage with all the energy and awkward charm of a 5-year-old boy.
The downside of McLean's stories is he probes and never pierces. His stories, while approaching what he calls "the big, hot fire that is truth", are limited to poignant reflections on safe topics. He delivers his double entendres in veiled metaphors so that they're safe for both 8- and 80-year-old ears, such as recently shrugging during a show when handing out the lyrics of his close-out song ("Spooning? I don't know what that is; probably what you do when you eat ice cream"), and you'll (probably) never hear McLean tell a story about a gang-beating, gay teens committing suicide, abortions or political beliefs irrepressibly dividing families.
It's not that these topics and events don't exits in McLean's Vinyl Cafe world, but that they're touchy and controversial, and hold the possibility of excluding a large portion of the population- and the audience that pays his bills.
And while it's not very likely that you'll hear Keillor deliver monologues on it either, he does broach the topic a little closer (e.g. what constitutes a Lutheran summer vacation). By using Lutherans as the crux of his stories, religious adherents that are stereotypically known for their dour and self-sacrificing natures, Keillor can poke a little deeper at the complex intricacies of humanity. He doesn't come right out and say what's wrong with people these days, but uses Lutherans- and Germans and Scandinavians- in the fictional town of Lake Woebegone as a vehicle for exposing the absurdity of man.
And that is refreshing. Keillor is much likelier to hit on 'controversial' topics than McLean, with that deeper look at realism more reflective of what life is actually like. But as Keillor gets older, his rate of speech slows when he tells his stories to the point where it's a soporific output that lulls rather than challenges. McLean's largely avoided this, keeping his voice animated and lively, and I must admit that sometimes a girl just wants to hear lighter and more escapist fare.
But- and I feel terribly disloyal for saying this- I am starting to look at Keillor in a different way now, more appreciably.
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