Crosslight

Bee’s Knees: notes on the 2025 Fringe Festival

It is overcast but warm on the middle stretch of St. Laurent boulevard. Boutiques and bars have spilled out onto the sidewalks with temptations, a mango cut into a flower and topped with tajín blooms in one hand, a half-empty water bottle warms up in the other. The Mainline Theatre hardly attracts any attention from its modest new digs as a street-level merch table. Parc des Ameriques on the corner of Rachel is where the heart of the Fringe Festival beats.

Summer is a metaphor for bounty, rest, reconnection, and recreation. It feels less apt when the reality of summer in our current era brings orange smoke-veiled sun and moon, heat waves and flooding rains. But now is indeed the winter of our festival’s beer and cider tent.

Perhaps a sunset is the better estivalesque comparison for the Fringe Festival and its home in the now-gone Mainline Theatre. There is no question that the festival will endure, but it has always been headquartered and hosted hospitably from the Mainline Theatre, so this year seems like the end of a chapter, but not the story’s completion.

Festival chief and Artistic Director of Mainline Amy Blackmore programmed this edition of the Fringe Festival with an eye to which shows would grace the Mainline stage for the final days of its operation. An Uncomfortable Dinner Party, written by Alice Siregar and directed by Keith Fernandez, was an audience favourite, and a cast of illustrious members of Montreal’s homegrown performing arts leaders kept every show of A Love Unbecoming sold out throughout its run.

The spirit of the Fringe, however, endured best in the studios — the Conservatoire d’art dramatique de Montréal and Aux Angles Ronds. The range from found performance spaces to hold outs of traditional black box theatres indicates that the Fringe Festival will see a beautiful sunrise come Summer 2026.

Regarding Antigone written & performed by Banafsheh Hassani

Banafsheh Hassani in Regarding Antigone. Photographed by Philip Sawaia for The Sky is the Limit Theatre / Sort Of Productions.

The Montreal Fringe emphasizes fun hand in hand with creativity and risk in its favourite shows. Earnest works of theatre do take their share of stages at the Montreal Fringe, but they sometimes feel incongruent among the carnivalesque presentations of the rest of the fest. So, when an unflinching and realist work of theatre asks an audience into a dark studio on a sunny afternoon for an uneasy and challenging experience, it must deliver.

In Regarding Antigone, Iranian Canadian playwright and lone performer Banafsheh Hassani brims with playful laughter and absurd subversions of delivery, smiling uncannily at her audience. Inspired by both true events and the ancient Greek tragedy of the ill-fated Theban princess Antigone, the three characters she plays, Hassani says, are inspired as much by the fallibility of war photography, by revolutions, and state propaganda.

“I was pushed by a desire to be known to make art about the politics of where I came from and who I was. I had to build an understanding with my audience from the ground up. It was only by defining myself as the Other that I could be known,” Hassani reveals.

Still, there is dark humour in Regarding Antigone, and the play offers a geographic and historical context without narrowing specifics, allowing the audience the space to imagine tragedy’s universality.

Countercurrents written and performed by Alice Shuang Wu

Alice Wu and Tei Wei Foo in Countercurrents. Photographed by Alexia Maldonado Juárez.

Alice Wu’s Countercurrents casts the playwright as Veronica, a Chinese Canadian journalist, against the backdrop of our not-soon-forgotten Trucker Convoy in Ottawa. Laura Donohue plays Veronica’s editor, a conspiracy theorist influencer and shadowy figure of Alt Right extremism who sympathizes with the protesters’ cause. Wu’s ambitious piece attempts to fold themes of what it means to be a Canadian, an ally of truth, and a loving family member while navigating disinformation, cultural politics, internet brain poisoning, and the distrust of one government following the abuses of another.

Contemporary theatre is tasked with inventing new and innovative ways to stage our engagement with the internet, conveying the feeling of being online rather than the potentially uninteresting real-world mechanics of using technology. Countercurrents adeptly deploys the actors and successfully utilizes the studio space on the shoestring budgets of a Fringe show. The eerie, increasingly menacing modes we see the internet manifest onstage is a credit to Dana Prather’s direction.

I am pleased to see that this piece is written, directed, and performed without recourse to cynicism. “My hope with this work is to build bridges instead of barriers, offer hard questions instead of simple answers, and go beyond just amplifying my voice to uplifting my community,” Wu tells me. What remains by the end of the show is a convincing depiction of the online world encroaching into the domestic space while railing against its inherently malevolent forces.

Hive Mind

The Fringe Festival is more than the sum of its hive. Photograph by holly Greco.

Theatre in its most innovative and experimental form is a collaborative medium. Perhaps it is the Canadian cultural instinct to cut down our tall poppies, but Montreal theatre generally does not make individual stars. We do, however, get very excited about performing arts collectives.

A festival like ours has had its heroes, its community leaders, and its perennial darlings of summers past. But it is a festival that endures with a spirit that moves through the community of volunteers, technicians, publicists, producers, and performers, each activated by the shows themselves and the sheer energy of live entertainment.

The Fringe’s indomitable spirit is symbolized by the bee on its branding, a nod to their use of the #FringeBuzz hashtag. As we know, bee populations are struggling. But I have no doubt they will outlast us all for their teamwork bordering on the mystical. The Fringe Festival is more than just the sum of its hive.◼︎

Cover image: Tei Wei Foo in Alice Wu’s Countercurrents. Photographed by Alexia Maldonado Juárez.

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Play Recent

Small Parts Isolated and Destroyed

Hesaitix with Laced and Amselysen, Espace SAT, 31 May 2025

Laced performs at Espace SAT, 31 May 2025. Photographed for NicheMTL.

Look at me and watch yourself
Everyone is someone else
When you speak the echoes chime
The voice is yours, but the words are mine.
—Nomeansno, “Machine”

Perhaps the reason that everyone is so fascinated with the spat between the Orange Cheeto and Tech Bro Numero Uno is that we recognize the lowest form of petty squabble magnified and reflected in the behaviour of the world’s most powerful people. Reality TV has migrated to Truth Social and the network formerly known as Twitter and returned full circle back to reality.

In the beginning, God created man in His image. Now that man is in charge, we are finally free to fashion the Gods we deserve.

The Womb is a Room in Another Person, dir. Catherine Machado, Mission Santa Cruz, 4 June 2025

Lynley Traill (left) and Mariana Jiménez Arango (right) star in The Womb is a Room in Another Person. Photographed for NicheMTL.

I’m living in an age that
Screams my name at night
But when I get to the doorway
There’s no one in sight.
—Arcade Fire, “My Body Is a Cage.”

Practice makes perfect. So be careful what you practice.

Since 1957, Alan Belcher, Galerie Eli Kerr, 7 June – 24 July 2025

Eli Kerr (left) and Alan Belcher (right) at the vernissage for Since 1957 at Galerie Eli Kerr, 7 June 2025. Photographed for NicheMTL.

Why shouldn’t everything we’ve constructed be deconstructed? What’s so special anyway about some abstract concept like democracy, or liberty, or justice? What’s so special about art when a crypto billionaire spends $6.2 million on a banana duct taped to the wall?

Later, that same crypto billionaire might spend $40 million on meme coins to attend a private dinner at Trump National Golf Club, effectively buying an audience with the leader of the so-called free world. Influence peddling is the highest artform of our era, an artform that requires highly specialized skills, and abundant material resources.

Ours would not be the first toxic civilization to fall away, and likely won’t be the last. Anyone who has seen the original Planet of the Apes knows that composition is inevitably followed by decomposition. It doesn’t matter whether these are good times or bad times or in between times. They won’t last.

Shapes with Thee Soreheads, Caniche, and Shunk, Van Horne Underpass, 7 June 2025

Shunk perform at the Van Horne Underpass, 7 June 2025. Photographed for NicheMTL.

The other day I was searching for a CD amidst a pile of them that was taller than I am. Crouched on the floor trying to locate the spine of the album I was looking for, I raised my head just in time to see the entire stack come crashing down on me, one sharp plastic jewel case after another — Tom Waits, These New Puritans, Roger Waters — colliding with my forehead. It was slapstick. I walked around for three days with a discernible bump on my brow, wounded again by music.

I recounted this story afterwards to Gary Worsley, the proprietor of Cheap Thrills, to which he replied, “Good thing you don’t have much heavy metal in your collection.”

Superposition, Jinny Yu, Fondation Guido Molinari, 5 June – 24 August 2025

Marie-Eve Beaupré introduced Jinny Yu at the vernissage for Superposition at Fondation Guido Molinari, 5 June 2025. Photographed for NicheMTL.

You’ll never live like common people
You’ll never do whatever common people do
Never fail like common people
You’ll never watch your life slide out of view
And then dance and drink and screw
Because there’s nothing else to do.
—Pulp, “Common People.”

The last time you were here, walking hurriedly southward on Rue Dézéry from Métro Prefontaine, the snow was knee-high and it was Nuit Blanche and you were on your way to the same place that you are on your way to now, Fondation Guido Molinari, on the east end of Sainte-Catherine, a converted Spanish Bank in Hochelaga that housed the artist’s studio and living quarters while he was alive and now serves as a monument to his substantial legacy.

The air was painfully cold then, and the sidewalks were not cleared, except for the worn pathways of footprints that carved meandering makeshift snow trenches which deceived every second step into a potential broken ankle. The lamplight illuminated a sepia scene, and icicles hung from the most European of balconies in Canada, and you thought to yourself that you were fortunate to be living here in a city that prized arts and culture to such an extent as to celebrate Nuit Blanche with nighttime events at places like this.

Today, though, it is late spring, and the air is soft and warm and mild as baby’s breath — either the plant or the respiration — and songbirds are singing you on your way to your destination. Black girls in skin-tight spandex and white girls with naked tattooed arms sprouting from flowing sundresses walk before you down the one-way street, and beautiful girls’ backsides bounce on bicycle seats when they ride by, and you are grateful for Montreal’s crumbling and bumpy roads. An elderly woman in a purple robe and matching hair walks twin Scottish terriers on two lime-green leashes, smiling at you as she ambles past.

The scent of lilac overwhelms your olfactory sense, intermittently interrupted by the acrid stench of compost, because it is garbage day and the garbage collectors have left the tops of all the receptacles open to air out. You can smell the accumulated age of the neighbourhood, this time superimposed upon all the eras that came before it, the decomposing wood and musky tobacco fumes belching from open doors of flats with no air conditioning and out onto the sidewalks.

An ambient breeze carries puffs of pollen lazily through the park, where old men ride on reduced mobility scooters with high visibility vests wrapped around their seats. They smoke and are unshaven and sift through garbage cans gleaning empty beer bottles and cigarette butts that they can roll by hand back into smokable form.

It is 6:17pm and you are 17 minutes late. But it doesn’t matter right now because you feel alive and particularly present in a way that you haven’t in some time. You want to elongate everything about this moment, to remember the detail of every discrete sensation, to capture them as they wash away like grains of sand on some faraway beach.◼︎

Thank you for inviting NicheMTL to your thing. Please get in touch at the about page.

NicheMTL is Montreal’s independent not-for-profit source for this city’s most niche arts and culture. If you love what you’re reading, please consider buying a yearbook and subscribing.

Cover image: Alan Belcher, Carbonara (2024), Carbon drawing on canvas with imported pancetta stagionata, egg yolk, pasta water, pecorino romano, agricola due leoni, olive oil, and black pepper. 18″ x 18″ x 2.25″

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Crosslight

Love-Hate Relationship: notes on Love the Sinner at the Montreal Fringe Festival

You know it when you feel it.

Often in pop music or guilty-pleasure television, you get that sickening sense of your own inner teenager and the sins they committed against your newfound adult wisdom and taste.

I try to be compassionate against the little brat I once was. But I recognize that brat in so much that is gaudy, emotional, and what might commonly be considered morally wrong. So, I also try to be compassionate to that defensive prickling up within me, that cringe.

I afford allowance to that feeling throughout the runtime of Rachel Renaud’s Beatrice Warner-directed play, Love the Sinner. In slowly embracing this Fringe-cringe watching grown actors in Catholic school girl uniforms, set to the musical hits of my own high school experience, my fellow audience and I are soothed — though not absolved.

The play centres on two teenage high school girls, one of them cisgender and one transgender, who comes out as trans over the course of the show. Catholic school student Lenna falls in love with Connor, who reveals herself to be Elle, aspiring to transition into femininity, against Lenna’s puritanical prayers.

The text frames this as Lenna’s loss. And overall, the direction of the piece judges it to be a whimsical misunderstanding of very young people.

The drama drawn out of the teen lovers is paralleled with google-eyed penile puppets re-enacting the rite of confession and slinging puns as they increase in size with every re-entry to the stage. This device comes randomly in a show about Catholic school teenagers, but undeniably brings a characteristically Fringe Festival lightheartedness to the piece.

“I think it’s about two people who are both in their own ways victims of overly oppressive religious indoctrination.” Beatrice Warner, director of Love the Sinner.

I spoke in May with director Beatrice Warner at Beanduck Studio about her process directing a play about the wince-worthy caprices of teenage romance. She affectionately loglines Love the Sinner as, “Queer coming-of-age struggles with religious indoctrination. And dildo puppets.”

“It’s a love story,” Warner says. “On the surface, it might be about two people and the harm that one of them causes the other. But I think it’s about two people who are both in their own ways victims of overly oppressive religious indoctrination.”

The play and its director are clearly invested in representing Lenna, whom the playwright Rachel Renaud portrays, as situationally bigoted, transphobic until liberated from church and high school. This might present a conflict of interest for the playwright and performer embodying this character, with voice pitched up to giggling adolescent neurosis.

Though, Lenna, in her fearful bigotry, is easy to abandon at the moment when she throws the house lights on and addresses the audience, taking a survey of who still empathizes with her after she fails to support her partner’s transition due to her Catholic hangups.

A veteran of film and video, this is Warner’s debut directing actors for theatre, while Renaud directed a show in the Fringe Festival last year, Still Alive, by Leya Graie. As a viewer, I identify a thread of hostile confining spaces, as in their short film Convalescence (2023), for example, the real history of taking feminine bodies and restricting them. The plot lines of both these works mirror the explosive, not necessarily reactive or violent, but rather glimmering expansion of realization that can happen under that kind of pressure.

Renaud is drawn to institutional settings for all they can reveal about the relationships between characters coerced to conform, and the much more interesting results of rebellion. In Love the Sinner, it is not Renaud’s Lenna who enjoys the thrill of teenage rebellion; rather, she asks in several ways for the audience to forgive her the shortcomings of her younger years.

The play’s large-scale levity is a key ingredient of Warner’s vision for the piece, and the emotional release this show’s representation can offer the trans audience who identify with these characters, cloistered from their true selves in the context of a Catholic school, is effective.

“I’ve been transitioning for just over 3 years now,” Warner tells me. “And for me, the most glaringly obvious aspect of womanhood is how much smaller womanhood makes you, as a human being. You feel like you have to be. I feel like Rachel’s work is touching very broadly a more expansively defined term of womanhood, on the notion of that compression, that restriction, that comes with moving through the world in femme, female, or AFAB bodies.”

Elle, played by the incredibly talented Sadie Leigh Bennet, is basically understanding her trans femininity 17 years earlier than Warner did.

“I look at the character of Elle and it’s like she’s not only a young version of me; she is an alternate-reality young version of me,” says Warner. “And that’s cathartic for me to be creating this character alongside Sadie, who has this opportunity that maybe I never got to have.”

Love the Sinner insists on joyful resistance against shame. By the show’s conclusion, the audience is able to shake off any discomfort, and with it goes much of the cringe that is held in my chest.

“There are many times that I feel dysphoric about not having had the opportunity to live as a trans girl,” Warner confesses. “But there are so many ways in which I access that now in my life. And one of them, I feel, is through this play, getting to have a second-hand experience of that by creating the character, with Rachel’s writing, and Sadie’s performance.”

Love the Sinner is ultimately about trans adolescence and transness as adolescence, in the sense that to be trans is to become, to grow, and importantly, to outgrow.◼︎

Love the Sinner continues through 16 June 2024 at the Conservatoire de musique et d’art dramatique du Québec, 4750 Henri Julien Ave.

Cover image: Emelia Hellman

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Play Recent

The Schwartz

Charles Richard-Hamelin with the Orchestre Symphonique de Montreal, Prokofiev’s Concerto no. 2, Maison Symphonique, 13 May 2023

Ambivalence characterizes everyone who’s ever managed to leave a cult. Nobody just quits. Everyone hems and haws and deliberates. There are reasons to join, after all. The sense of belonging. The us-versus-them mentality. The Kool-Aid.

But really, when it comes right down to it, cults are a bit silly. They often have arbitrary and opaque rules, their members always reveal themselves to be individually weak, and their leaders never possess the qualities their followers attribute to them. Jesus Christ probably couldn’t really turn water into wine. Not after 3am anyway. And if Charles Manson’s singing voice was any indication, his leadership and management skills likely left a lot to be desired.

There is strength in numbers — I supposed that’s why gangs and armies are such a thing, never mind cults. And yet one person can change the world. Look at Einstein, or Putin, or Jim Balsillie. Cults naturally form around great people. Great people don’t go out there trying to start cults.

If you’re going to give your life over to crazy ideas, why would you decide to adopt someone else’s crazy ideas? It just seems nuts to join any fringe movement when you can be your very own fringe movement. That is why I don’t want to be a cult member. What happens if their crazy ideas are wrong? Or worse, what happens if they’re right? No cultist really wants to lead; it’s much easier putting the entire cult in charge.

One problem with leaving a cult is that former members often struggle to find their own identity again, to remember who they are independent of the cult. It is important to nurture and encourage these people, to remind them that they are special and unique individuals capable of thriving and flourishing on their own. Being gentle helps.

The Orchestra Symphonique de Montreal’s Season Finale concerts run 31 May, 2 June, and 3 June at Maison Symphonique.

Wolves: The Art of Dempsey Bob, Montreal Museum of Fine Arts, 16 May 2023

“Art is what makes us human. Art is what makes us civilized. Art is the glue that holds us together. Art is a record of our cultures. Art gives us identity, gives us meaning.”

Listening to Dempsey Bob speak these simple, true words restored, if only for a moment, my faith in people and art. I suppose that faith has faltered of late. Because we still live in a world where cultural genocide is tolerated, even encouraged. Ukrainians are Indigenous people of Ukraine. In that genocide, I fear the worst is still to come. My hope, though, is that after the worst, it won’t take another century to make minefields and mass graves permanent history.

Wolves: The Art of Dempsey Bob runs through 10 September 2023 at the Montreal Museum of Fine Arts.

Rhinoceros in Love, Dir. Huirui Zhang, Mainline Theatre, 16 May 2023

Love is impossible to define. But everyone knows exactly what love is. And things done for love are defined comparatively easily. Their traces, their consequences, are real.

I don’t think I’ve ever really been in love. Certainly not enough to kidnap a person — that seems unlovable. You can’t make someone love you. Nor can you make yourself love someone else.

My views on love are inspired by late-1990s Robert De Niro movies: never get too attached to anything you cannot walk out on in thirty seconds flat if you feel the heat around the corner. Maybe it’s climate change, but every corner seems like a hot corner these days.

The Montreal Fringe Festival runs 29 May to 18 June 2023.

Schwartz’s Deli, immediately afterwards

I had never been to Schwartz’s Deli. In 20 years of living in this city, I had never actually set foot inside nor even slowed down when walking past the place. Ever since I’ve been here, Schwartz’s is where tourists with too much money and too much time line up for a smoked meat sandwich, which is literally meat in bread. It’s not complicated. Smoked meat is available all over Montreal, and there are a number of places that do it very well indeed. I didn’t go to The Main, either (I was a Ben’s man) but I never felt required to give Schwartz’s my money, or feed the mythology.

But as I walked past immediately following “Rhinoceros in Love” and noted with curiosity that there was no lineup, and hardly anyone inside, I finally decided to see what all the fuss was about. A few tables were occupied with a few regulars; I surmised this because they bantered familiarly with the nighttime staff. Two guys behind the counter were ready to take my order. I didn’t want to sit. I wanted a smoked meat kit to construct at home. So I ordered 300 grams of meat with a bit of fat and a loaf of rye bread, to go.

A sturdy woman behind the register rang me through cheerfully. I mentioned that I had never previously eaten there and she looked at me and said, unselfconsciously, “you’ll be back.” When I put together my home version of this classic Montreal sandwich, a mountain of meat wedged between two slices of soft bread slathered in yellow mustard, I knew what she’d meant. The stuff’s addictive. Use the Schwartz responsibly.

Folk Noir, Collectif9, Bain Mathieu, 20 May 2023

Nicole Lizée’s compositions are so completely of their time. Like the music of Philip Glass, which celebrated our previous generation’s fascination with machinic perfection, Lizée’s pieces — when performed properly, mind you — stutter like CDs skipping, stretch out, contract, trip, glide, jump forward, stop, start again, and loop back like a facsimile curling into itself. In the best possible way. They mimic the cacophony of an era awash in digital noise, competing platforms, broken links, incomplete transmissions, routed through various channels, those channels being human beings making sound with archaic musical instruments. In music as in life, harmonies are obscure, elusive, and ephemeral.

It’s impossible to say what this or that Romantic or Baroque-era composer would be writing today, and it is equally impossible to imagine Lizée in another musical moment than this one. By capturing the present, this music becomes timeless.◼︎

Cover image: Dempsey Bob, Transformation, 2011, Yellow Cedar, 51.5 x 38.5 x 12.9 cm, Collection of Cheryl Gottselig QC and Yves Trépanier, Calgary.

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