When Art Awakens a Nation’s Soul: A Métis Collective’s Radical Vision
Louis Riel’s haunting prophecy—“My people will sleep for 100 years, but when they wake, it will be the artists who give them their spirit back”—was spoken in the 19th century. But standing in a Saskatoon theater watching Happier & Healthier, the debut play from That’s All! Collective, I couldn’t shake the feeling: Riel’s century-long nap ended decades ago. The artists are now shouting, not whispering, and the world better listen.
The Unapologetic Rise of Métis Storytelling
Let’s dispense with the myth that Indigenous art is a niche interest. That’s All! Collective—a group of Métis theatermakers—has cracked open a truth many prefer to ignore: colonialism’s hangover still poisons Canada’s creative industries. Their work isn’t just “being brought to the forefront” (as humble press releases might say). It’s bulldozing through the gatekeepers. When Liam Johnston quips about the word “woke” being “overused,” I hear the subtext: Indigenous artists aren’t chasing trends—they’re excavating buried truths. The real joke? Non-Indigenous institutions still act surprised when this art resonates universally.
Why A Dementia-Stricken Grandfather Speaks to All of Us
The plot of Happier & Healthier—an elderly Métis man battling dementia, HOA tyranny, and his own cluttered yard—could’ve been a maudlin tearjerker. Instead, it’s a Trojan horse. By grounding existential chaos in Métis domestic life, writer Liam Scramstad pulls off a radical act: normalizing Indigenous humanity. Let’s dissect this: When white audiences watch stories about Indigenous characters surviving (not just suffering), it dismantles the subconscious “noble savage” trope. The play’s “general relatability”? That’s not a compromise—it’s a declaration that Métis identity isn’t a barrier to universal connection, but a bridge.
Decentralized Power: A Governance Model That Terrifies Hierarchies
Here’s what fascinates me most: That’s All! Collective operates without a boss. No directors, no star system. Just mutual accountability—a structure lifted straight from Métis governance traditions. In my years analyzing arts collectives, I’ve never seen sustainability modeled this way. Western theater clings to auteur theory like a dying vine; these artists treat collaboration as oxygen. Their refusal to hierarchy isn’t “progressive”—it’s pre-colonial. And that terrifies funders addicted to control. Imagine if every arts grant required decentralized leadership? The entire funding ecosystem would implode.
The 20-Year Ripple Effect of Gordon Tootoosis Nikaniwin Theatre
Critics might dismiss this as a “moment.” They’re wrong. The Collective’s roots in GTNT—a company producing Indigenous theater since the early 2000s—reveal a pipeline decades in the making. This isn’t a sudden “awakening”; it’s a calculated inheritance. When Scramstad thanks the trailblazers, he’s acknowledging a truth arts boards rarely admit: Systemic change requires generational patience. Too often, institutions want “Indigenous content” without investing in Indigenous infrastructure. Groups like GTNT quietly built that infrastructure—only now do we see the fruits.
What This Means for the Future of Storytelling (Spoiler: It’s Revolutionary)
Let’s speculate wildly. If That’s All! Collective expands into a rotating artist residency, they’ll create something unprecedented: a living archive of Métis creativity unshackled from museumification. Imagine playwrights, digital artists, and beadwork designers sharing methodologies—not just sharing stages. The implications? Indigenous aesthetics could redefine all Canadian art. But here’s the catch: Institutions will have to surrender their tokenism quotas. Audiences must confront the discomfort of seeing their own fragility reflected in a Métis grandfather’s unraveling mind.
Final Reflection: Art as Cultural Reanimation
Ethan Gallays claims theater supports “rebuilding a people’s culture.” I’d go further: This work isn’t rebuilding—it’s reanimating. Like Victor Frankenstein, these artists are electrifying the corpse of colonial erasure, forcing Métis identity to twitch, breathe, and scream. The real question isn’t whether Indigenous art will stay visible. It’s whether the rest of us will have the courage to keep our eyes open when it blinds us with its brilliance.
