Kristin’s Reviews - FringeMTL 2026
Jimmy Hogg: MASHED
As I headed to Mile End Improv to see Jimmy Hogg: Mashed, my expectations were as high as the June humidity levels. This solo comedic storytelling show came with zero logline, leaving me completely in the dark. But my evening of surprises started way before I even arrived at the venue, thanks to my own genius decision to forget my walking shoes and instead leave the house in $5 dollar flip-flops. A bold choice when navigating a physical disability, and you are parked three blocks from your destination. My unplanned workout wasn’t over as I was welcomed by a giant staircase with a partially missing railing that looked like a bad math equation. This was followed by a long trek down a hallway. Let’s just say, I’m glad I skipped the gym. Escaping into the venue, I was blessed by cool air and a place to rest my feet. Eureka! The space is small but open, with a black-box vibe and seating for around 50 people. As a performer, I love these intimate spaces; they give off an immediate, conversational chemistry. And honestly, that is exactly what Mashed delivered. It’s a highly energetic show, filled with hilarious conversation and an effortlessly cool human. Sure, Jimmy did most, or all of the talking… a lot of talking. But the crowd was locked in and roaring with laughter.
The stage setting was minimal, consisting of a small table and chair set off to the side. And the lighting? Simple and unchanged. Sound? Non-existent. Well, except for the sound of Jimmy’s voice and the recording on his laptop. All thanks to the beautiful unpredictability of live theatre, Jimmy’s audio cues vanished into thin air. Yet, I adored this part. What do you do when you are thrown a curveball during a live performance? If you’re Jimmy, you crack jokes, dash on stage with your laptop to play the pre-show announcement and add an unscripted portion to the show. This performer is an improvising genius who handles theatrical unpredictability with laugh-out-loud grace.
The performance went full steam ahead. As someone who’s hard of hearing, I’ll admit I was a bit stressed at first. Hogg’s high energy, mixed with relentless, fast-paced dialogue, had me worried I had missed a crucial narrative. I mean, one minute he’s telling us about his girlfriend, Kate, and hitchhiking to meet the family, and the next he’s executing physical comedy by showing us how to look cool sitting in a chair, before pivoting into the unwanted spreading of head lice. But I’d worried for nothing; I caught every single word. It was anything but messy. A beautifully calculated smorgasbord of mini-stories that came together into a story about youth, falling in love, and the desperate struggle to keep being cool.
Hogg is the kind of performer who refuses to stand on the sidelines of his own stage; instead, he uses the entire space and his whole body, leaning into the audience's real-time reactions.
Mashed is full of Fringe energy. A triumphant display of comedic solo storytelling. So if you’ve ever hitchhiked, been in love, suffered through head lice, or spent way too long overthinking your sitting position, go see Jimmy Hogg: Mashed. But honestly? Even if you haven’t experienced these things, and you just love to laugh until your belly aches, this show is a must-see.
Buy Tickets
Ballet des Ombres
I had been to O Patro Výš before, so I knew finding a parking spot would be slim to none. And running several blocks to make a curtain is not only an impossibility with this body of mine, but it’s also not my jam. So, I left my car safely tucked away on Sainte-Catherine. Ubering would get me there quickly and without injury. But my heart was still racing as I remembered the only way to the venue was up. That staircase that guards the entrance is daunting. I made it to the top, but not without breaking a serious sweat.
The space inside is open yet intimate, with a small bar at the back—absolute perfection when craving a cold drink in the melting heat. I found a spot near the back. The room was already dimly lit, the stage dark and empty except for a light table off to the side and a projection screen against the back wall. It felt like I was waiting to watch an old-school movie. Then whimsical music filled the space, and the screen lit up with graceful hand movements and trickling sand.
The lighting was perfectly catered to the performance. The dark lighting in the room amplified the warm glow of the table as the sand shifted into creative silhouettes. The "script" was a non-verbal narrative that made me think of a contemporary dance. The movements were slow and calculated, building into a rich visual storytelling.
Catherine Gignac is masterful in her artistry. The performance was a magical experience, both on the screen and off. I often caught myself pivoting to the light table to watch her hands dance with the sand.
I found myself captivated by the art, so much so that I was forgetting to analyze its meaning. I first thought maybe it was a romantic tragedy where two people meet, fall in love, and ultimately get separated by something evil. But a quick chat with Gignac after the show revealed my theory wasn't entirely correct. It did, however, highlight the piece's fluid power and remind me that everyone interprets art differently.
Gignac was in harmony with the classical music. Her hand movements were perfectly timed, and the images transitioned smoothly and flawlessly. In forty-five minutes, I saw the sunrise, the rain fall, a city being built, a woman crying, and even our galaxy’s planets.
Ballet des Ombres offered a unique artistic encounter that completely swept me up. This show is for anyone looking to experience something different, who loves being stimulated by imagination, is open to interpretation, and appreciates the calming power of instrumentals paired with the nostalgic playfulness of drawing in the sand.
Buy Tickets
Repose en paix, Michel-Patrick
It was a rainy Sunday, and a bit cooler than it had been the last few days, so sitting in a non-air-conditioned space wasn't a bother. Actually, the warmth was welcome and helped dry my clothes faster than the desert sun. PlayShed, where the comedy Repose en paix, Michel-Patrick is playing, has an elevator, so I was excited. That was until I noticed the few stairs I had to climb just to get to it, with a wall-mounted railing and a sloped ramp separating it from the stairs. I would’ve had fun with it if I had a skateboard, but the last time I attempted that sport with my balance, things didn't end so well for my knees. I was running a bit behind, so I opted not to wait for the elevator and attempted the stairs instead. I felt a bit like a kid on a road trip, asking if we were there yet. Against all odds, I made it with 1 minute and 30 seconds to spare. Phew!
The room was already dimly lit when I walked in. To the back were curtains and a whole lighting setup above our heads. It is a small but functional space with a room at the back that was perfect for this production. On stage, a long buffet table with a white tablecloth and a small round table off to the side, with a few chairs, served as the setting for this play about five people grieving Michel-Patrick, a brother, a friend, and a son. The rest of the props—a couple of vases with flowers, a coffee machine, a photograph, an urn, a tray with sandwiches, a flask, and a birthday gift bag—were brought in by the performers themselves, who used the props expertly and naturally to add physical comedy to the show. The script was full of surprises, and the direction kept the momentum sharp, using the whole space to build tension. A show that is perfectly awkward in the best kind of way, keeping the audience engaged and wondering what could possibly happen next.
This show represents each character grieving in their OWN way. What do I mean by this? Just that. They were all different and hilarious, and each performer played their roles with full energy. Gervaise (played by Florence Rivet), Marion (played by Éléonore Dumonter-Larochelle), Xavier (played by Simon-Olivier Fournier), Angelique (played by Marie-Anne Laplante), and Mathieu (played by Michael Therrien) each offered a distinct uniqueness to the stage. They're an incredible ensemble that knows exactly how to turn the sombre mood of a funeral into an upbeat, hilarious dance party.
This show is a mouthful of doing and saying the wrong things at the wrong time, but it reminds us all that grief takes on different forms. Whether that means getting on one knee to propose, adding some booze to the coffee, having sex in the back room, or using a tablecloth as a projection screen to pay homage to your friend, this cast of talented performers nailed every beat. Each member gave each other space even when they didn't—and by that, I mean, all the arguing over nothing really, which only added to the comedy.
If ever there was a group of people capable of making me laugh so hard it hurts and increasing my hatred of unwrapping a plate of sandwiches in Saran Wrap, it's this group. It’s a fantastic piece of Fringe comedy that hits all the marks. I was still chuckling as I walked out the door.
Buy Tickets
Seeing Red
Stepping into Studio Multimédia du Conservatoire triggered a wave of nostalgia for me, having done my own show there a couple of years back. I’d be lying if I said a tiny part of me wasn’t envious of the performers on stage. Fortunately, there are perks to being a mere audience member. There’s a joy in knowing you don’t have to do any heavy lifting, which, in my case, means I don’t have to worry about ice packs, a nap, and Tylenol Arthritis. Plus, the venue itself is a dream for someone who’s arrived early (guilty as charged) or requires accessibility because it not only offers a parking lot but a gigantic elevator and plenty of breathing room to sit and wait.
The black-box style theatre’s doors were open, and it was a full house for the cast of Seeing Red. I was eager to see what was about to unfold. The theatre was dark-ish except for a dim red lighting wash on stage. To the left, an armchair with some clothes draped over it, and to the right, a couple of cabinets with a vase of red flowers and a red coat hanging. As I flipped through the program, I gathered we were about to watch a show that reflects the ups and downs of a relationship—specifically, how pairing jealousy and insecurity with a side of possessiveness creates a pretty toxic situation.
The play is labelled a dark comedy, though playwright and director Misha Nye has created something closer to a dark drama with a sprinkling of laughs to help keep the intensity at bay. Thoughtful choices were made with props and set, from costumes like Darragh Mondoux’s (Frankie) red skirt and jacket to the hint of red lighting, the solitary red chair where Rahul Gandhi (Liam) sits, and the red painting that acts as a focal point for this difficult love story.
Not only do these things help amplify the show’s tone, but they also highlight the title in a way that isn't healthy or dreamy, but rather in a dark, uncomfortable, consuming kind of way.
It did take me a minute to piece everything together, but this unhealthy kind of love is incredibly well-presented.
As for the performances, Darragh and Rahul are captivating. Some moments had me completely immersed, especially at the beginning when Liam and Frankie begin their love story. Standing at opposite ends of the stage, the performers finish each other's sentences with a poetic rhythm, executed flawlessly. Speaking of opposite ends of the stage, this physical separation is a common occurrence in the show. A story shared through separate spaces on stage, separate bedrooms, separate spotlights, and entirely separate feelings. Even in the brief moments this couple shares a touch or an embrace, the feeling of looming disaster is there.
Ultimately, Seeing Red is a theatre piece that makes you think and leaves you with questions long after the show is over. The performers do an excellent job of locking you in, while the lighting, costumes, and set choices perfectly complement the story. If you're looking for a well-executed production that gives you plenty to chew on, I suggest you give this one a watch.
Buy Tickets
An Autistic Priest and a Dog
Thursday night in Montreal was hotter than hot. If that’s even a thing. I chose my car over the REM, which turned out to be a stroke of genius. Attempting the travel on foot would’ve felt like walking uphill in the desert barefoot. Thankfully, the parking gods were also smiling upon me. My success rate at finding a spot in this city is usually like trying to find a dropped contact lens in a crowded room. Anyway, onward to Théâtre Sainte Catherine, a quick and even-grounded walk away. This was my first time at this venue, and I was immediately charmed. It’s ground-level, so zero climbing required. At the front, a welcoming café provided the perfect refreshments to quench my thirst before I headed into the performance space at the back.
Before going into the show, I had an idea of what to expect based on the logline—comedy, religion, and neurodiversity. Though I purposely left my assumptions at the door. And as it turns out, that was my takeaway for the evening: don’t presume to know everything about a person based on a single thing. Jean-Daniel Ó Donncada offers the audience a powerful message through a perfect mix of humour and heart. That message is clear before you even enter, as patrons are offered a pamphlet and colouring crayons, letting people know that not only are there no light or sound changes, but it’s also a relaxed performance that allows you the freedom to just be. As someone who constantly moves around to find comfort, I felt at ease shifting about without worrying about disturbing the show.
The stage design is simple: a backpack, a stool holding an iPad, and a projection screen that displays stained glass, mimicking a church window on the back wall. Jean-Daniel stands by the iPad and begins to address his "Youth Group." I was concerned at first that the show might feel like a lecture, but I was pleasantly surprised. Rather than a monotonous academic feel, the visuals from the projector were a great addition not only for comedic relief but also for context. In a humorous and effective way, Jean-Daniel offers a perspective on how ridiculous rumours can spread when we pass judgment. It’s the kind of storytelling that drums up all the feels. It makes you laugh until you cry and unexpectedly pulls at your heartstrings when you least expect it.
The casualness of Jean-Daniel’s performance was both infectious and engaging. There’s a magnetic vulnerability in the way he speaks to the room. I found myself wanting to sit down with him and tell this complete stranger my life story. I must admit, I did have a little help feeling comfortable. Rilla, Jean-Daniel’s service dog, was lying on the floor next to me. And there’s just something calming about a gentle-eyed, furry pup breathing softly next to you in a crowded room.
An Autistic Priest and a Dog left me in deep thought. I was still talking about it the next morning, and honestly, it’s still on my mind as I write this review. If you appreciate a relaxed, friendly performance that lets you be you and breathe easy, together with a performer who makes you burst into side-splitting laughter, then go see this show. Don’t assume you know what it’s about. Go check it out for yourself—I’m so glad I did.
Buy Tickets
Dolycule
It was a busy Tuesday night, and I had my heart set on making the late show for Dolycule. It wasn’t on my official selection list, but I was told if I wanted to write the review, it would be published. I had meant to see it a few days prior, but living 45 minutes outside the city, combined with the joys of Montreal traffic and the scarcity of parking, made certain I was late.
So, here I was, attempting a second try. This time, I made it. Well, just.
I got a parking spot right outside Mile End Improv ten minutes before showtime, but was delayed by having to buzz in, followed by the physical hurdles of the gigantic staircase at the entrance. To be fair, I knew what I was getting myself into, having been there the week before. With only three minutes to sprint down the long hallway—and by the way, I don’t sprint, I shuffle— I finally collapsed into my seat—out of breath and with a wicked cramp in my side. Still, my excitement was intact. I am familiar with Marshall Diabo’s choreography, so my hopes were as high as my blood pressure.
Inside the venue, it was mostly dark. The stage was empty except for a couple of props on the floor: a small stuffed doll and an ashtray. I was immediately curious about them. And as it turns out, these props are anchors for the story. Dolycule represents a polyamorous love story between three distinct characters. They are represented by a porcelain doll (fragile), a clown doll (carefree), and a rag doll (torn), at odds after an underlying conflict, and now coping in their own ways.
The music and dancing took me on an emotional rollercoaster, beautifully highlighting each persona and allowing the venue's intimate, dark atmosphere to morph with each doll. The direction homed in on these shifts, proving that you don't need a big space to convey big emotion.
Diabo was unbelievably convincing, embodying each character with intense feeling. The choreography did a great job of contrasting perspectives: first, the porcelain doll, with mechanical restraints and staccato, jerky, rhythmic movements; then shifting to the clown doll’s fluid, upbeat, carefree glides, before finally sinking into the rag doll’s heavy, draggy, sorrowful momentum.
Diabo’s movements encompassed the entire body, using the whole space and generating all the emotion that dancing should bring.
It was unique in the best kind of way. As someone who personally struggles to move and constantly wishes they could make things look as seamless and captivating as Diabo, I was fully immersed.
Overall, Dolycule was a win for me. It beautifully translates the complex, heavy dynamics of love and friction into fully charged physical theatre. If you love the way music feeds the soul, have a passion for movement, or simply want to be transported by visual storytelling, run to see this show. Just give yourself a head start on the parking.
