Candice’s Reviews - FringeMTL 2026
Existential Lingerie
If you turn off Saint-Dominique onto the pedestrian street of Prince-Arthur E, you’ll find a quaint and quintessential Fringe venue: Petit Campus. I pulled up here on Saturday afternoon, relieved to find reprieve from the beating sun but immediately humbled by the giant set of stairs you’re greeted with upon entering. (There is a service elevator, though, if needed - just ask the staff). I’m here to see Existential Lingerie by Lou Laurence, a Montreal based singer, producer, and comedian, just to name a few of her many hats.
My first impression of the venue is that it’s quite difficult to navigate around the chairs and tables. I’m stumbling over both, really, as I find a seat on the right hand side, right where I like to be. Her album, Montréal Romantic, is playing over the speakers, a sultry vocal-jazz collection that pairs well with the dimly lit room and gentle hum of chatter. It makes me crave a moody glass of wine, and I don’t even like wine. The stage is simply dressed with a guitar sitting on one end, a draped table on the other, and a mic standing in between.
Existential Lingerie is a one-woman show about navigating life in your 30’s and this quiet disenchantment with modern life that so many of us seem to be familiar with. It asks the big questions: what do I want? What do I want to do?, and Who do I want to be? And can we ever expect to find the answers to these questions–assuming these answers can even be expected to be static and not ever-changing–or is figuring it out along the way the entire point?
The show follows a steady, well-paced narrative arc that is tastefully seasoned with comedy, musical numbers, and hard-hitting soliloquies that’ll make you want to snap your fingers à la Beatnik. Any work that dabbles in the coming-of-age/existential crisis territory can risk a certain cliché quality, and I’ll admit this was my fear going in. But Lou skillfully skirts this easy trap. Her bare authenticity and inescapable charm make Existential Lingerie a complete and utter success.
To put it simply, Lou Laurence is a gem. Sincere and relatable, Existential Lingerie is a cathartic watching experience as someone who also grew up with a landline and now uses an app blocker to minimize screen time–and has no idea how she got here. Wildly funny and exceptionally talented, Lou was born to be on stage, and you would be remiss not to catch this performance before the festival’s over.
Buy Tickets
Tango After Midnight
I arrived at La Chapelle on Saturday evening, feet in shambles. I’d had this absolutely genius idea when I’d left the house that morning to wear flip-flops, and I was going on 10000 steps. In flip-flops. Everything was terrible, but I was eager to see what awaited me inside the theatre; I was waiting to see Tango After Midnight, a multidisciplinary dance show that blends the sensuous art of tango dancing with the elegant art of ballet.
La Chapelle is a lovely little venue, featuring tiered seating that ensures everyone has an unobstructed view of the performance. In terms of accessibility, the only caveat to this set-up is, of course, the presence of stairs. I picked a spot about halfway up, pleasantly surprised by the comfortable seating, and relieved to be off my feet for the next hour; I’ll let Alexander Richardson and Erin Scott-Kafadar, the stars of Tango After Midnight, take it from here with their masterful footwork. I cannot relate.
I don’t know much about dance, but I know enough to say that this was a breathtaking performance. Alexander and Erin are both wildly talented, and the chemistry they share on stage is incredible to witness. Their bodies move fluidly together, becoming one; when they dance, it is hard to tell where Alexander ends and where Erin begins, and vice versa. Their synchronized and laser-precise footwork is mesmerizing, and I was absolutely blown away by their ability to stay upright rather than tripping over each other’s legs. I cannot count the number of times I whispered an awed “oh” or “wow” from my seat.
The dance numbers are accompanied by a narrative film that follows Alexander and Erin through an evening in Buenos Aires. It’s cheesy; it’s clear they’re not actors, and the sprinkling of iMovie effects and stock videos throughout had some members of the audience giggling. In spite of this, I can’t say it did much to hinder my overall enjoyment, but do see it as a possible opportunity for improvement. One addition I would have enjoyed was a solo performance by Alexander; Erin had her moment to shine, and I would have loved to see the same for her partner.
I absolutely loved the costuming. Erin’s array of outfits–from a sparkly black gown to a silk slip and cascading white frock–fit each corresponding choreography perfectly. Likewise, Alexander’s own outfits were smart and refined, lending well to the overall elegance of the performance.
My favourite choreography has to be their piece accompanied by Erik Satie’s Gymnopédie 1; this stunning number is intimately romantic, and uses a glowing inflatable ball to represent a shooting star. The two dancers hold the star between their chests, moving with featherlight grace yet with enough strength and precision to keep it from falling.
Tango After Midnight is a romantic, classy, and impressive display of talent. Alexander is a very talented performer and choreographer, and Erin is just an absolute delight to watch, with her playful, cheeky expressions and strong, deft movements. This is the perfect show to add to your Fringe watchlist, offering a getaway to the streets of Buenos Aires that you’re sure to enjoy.
Buy Tickets
The Paranoid King
It’s a heat wave in June, and I’m commuting downtown. It’s been approximately 13 hours since I last washed my face, and the oil on my forehead could grease an engine. It’s also soaking my bangs, which have just reached the stage where they’re too long to style properly. So I’m sitting on the REM, ugly, uncomfortably warm, and begrudgingly holding an empty Alani can because there was no bin in the station.
I’m on my way to see the opening night of The Paranoid King at The Montreal Comedy on Boul. de Maisonneuve E, my first show of the festival. I transfer to the green line via McGill station, and as I exit at Berri-UQAM, I grab a cold bottle of water from the dep, washing down an Advil to keep the humidity-induced migraine at bay. I only have to walk a few moments before I reach my destination, which is swarmed by a crowd of 30 or so people chatting and laughing, some cradling bouquets–I can only assume a previous show has just wrapped up. I skirt around them to reach the entrance; having grown up as a timid girl who was regularly interrupted and asked to speak up, theatre kids have always intimidated me. That being said, they’re definitely the primary demographic found at any given Fringe event.
The Montreal Comedy is a cosy venue dressed in red and yellow, featuring a bar that offers light snacks and drinks to cool off. I take a seat closer to the back, partly to spare the actors the discomfort of watching me scribble notes in their faces, and partly to avoid any potential crowd interactions. Look, I never said I fully grew out of my shyness.
The Paranoid King, co-written and produced by Olivia Collette, follows the story of Assyrian King Ashurhaddon, who unexpectedly–and against his will–inherits the throne after the assasination of his father. Anxious and insecure, he relies on the support of his team of royal exorcists, astrologers, and diviners to help rule his empire. What a strong Fringe debut for Olivia! The storytelling is fast-paced and hilarious, and the 5-actor cast–starring Bo Hong Fu, Nadia Verrucci, Amanda Gabriela, Dana Prather, and Nima Ghomeshi–shifts seamlessly between character roles, at times within the very same scene.
The performances of the entire cast were just incredible. I kept reflecting on the chemistry shared between each of them, how well they bounced off of each other’s energies, and perhaps above all else, how much fun they all seemed to be having together. Though all the actors truthfully did a wonderful job, Nadia Verrucci and Amanda Gabriela simply took the cake for me. I was in awe of the dynamism Nadia displayed, shifting with ease from the role of neurotic, insecure king to suave salesperson convincing me that, you know what, yeah, maybe I should give opium a try. Amanda was a firecracker, offering an explosive and hilarious performance that I couldn’t get enough of.
This show is a golden lesson in minimalism, in all senses. From the minimal set design, or lack thereof, using only a handful of chairs and the stage itself as a platform, to the minimal costume, sound, and lighting designs, The Paranoid King proves that less really can be more. The brilliant writing and acting do all the work here, highlighting what we all love about Fringe: artists doing what they love, and doing it well.
The high-energy cast and dazzling writing of The Paranoid King make it a must for your Fringe roster. If you’re looking to laugh and appreciate genuine talent on stage all at the same time, this is the show for you.
Buy Tickets
MINUIT PORTANT
It’s a quiet Monday evening on Saint-Denis. The weather is pleasant; the blistering heat from Saturday has worn off, and the relentless rain from Sunday has yielded. I won’t bore you with any more specific details of the forecast–suffice it to say, it was a lovely backdrop as I headed towards the Conservatoire de musique et d'art dramatique de Montréal on Henri-Julien to watch MINUIT PORTANT, a dance-theatre performance centering the liberation of the female body from restrictive gender constructs and norms.
Studio Jean-Valcourt du Conservatoire is lovely; clean, with tiered seating and nice lighting and sound. I find a seat and notice there’s a performer already hovering on the side of the stage. She is looking around, walking with an unnatural gait, and spreading her arms wide towards the crowd, as if in greeting. I’m immediately uncomfortable and, in turn, my interest is piqued. Let’s see what I’ve gotten myself into.
Throughout the show’s short 35 minute runtime, we witness the two characters, clad in nude undergarments and corsets, unfurl and metamorphose on stage, as the title alludes: MINUIT PORTANT. A French phrase that in English translates to the moment the clock strikes midnight. MINUIT PORTANT, a moment of transformation, transience; a new day, a new beginning. At first, they meticulously adjust and re-adjust the scene, moving a couch to the left by a mere inch then back again. They repeatedly smooth the patterned runner they have laid across the stage, seemingly bothered by any deviance from perfection. As the show progresses, they begin to let loose through music and movement.
Sarah Roy and Johanna Simon are both incredibly talented dancers. The costuming was perfect; particularly, the pantyhoses pulled over the two women' s faces, which worked in threefold. Firstly, to put it plainly, it was creepy. To watch two faceless creatures drift across the stage in such an uncanny manner was deeply unsettling. Secondly, it created a sense of complete anonymity, mirroring a historical lack of identity and selfhood afforded to women. Finally, it made me feel claustrophobic; no doubt it was uncomfortable for the performers to dance and move with fabric pressed tightly across their faces and mouths. On a metaphorical level, the audience is reminded of how women have been suffocated by oppressive and harmful rhetoric and systems time and time again.
Sitting in the audience of MINUIT PORTANT, I felt similar to how I feel wandering a modern art gallery. Which is a bit like an outsider, or black sheep, if you will. I can appreciate it, I can see its value and recognise that this would resonate with someone–I’m just not sure if that someone is me. I’m just not sure I got it, but this isn’t an inherent fault in the performance. It is a beautiful show, well choreographed and thought-provoking; I admire every small detail that went into its execution, and the longer I sat down and brainstormed what I would write in this very review, the more I found value in those small, plentiful details. I’m just not sure if it said something that hasn’t been said before.
When I left Minuit Portant that lovely Monday evening, I thought to myself: what did I just watch? It left me combing through how it made me feel, and why it made me feel that way. I respect that. The performance is offered only in French, but I would urge anyone who is interested in seeing it to go anyway; the spoken dialogue, if you could call it that, is very minimal and not integral to one’s understanding and appreciation of the show as a whole. The language of MINUIT PORTANT is not French, but rather movement, and one need only feel the rhythm to listen.
