Andrew’s Reviews - FringeMTL 2025
MEAT FACTORY: MOMMY
If you’re the type of Fringe audience that is always looking for an OFF-Fringe gem in every festival, MEAT FACTORY: MOMMY is it. Taking place in a quintessential Plateau loft above the old Divan Orange, this Immersive movement piece by the duo Primary Witness is a collision of raw talent and refined experimentation.
As the audience is welcomed into the space, it’s still well-lit by the 8PM sun. 30 of us crowded around a series of guidelines and suggestions attached to a wall, introducing us to the space and the piece we’re about to witness. In any Immersive production, this is vital, and Primary Witness achieves the necessary outcome, as the audience immediately takes their cue, everyone slowly beginning to separate and explore the space. As we do, the performers exit a room in the back of the loft, one by one. They look at us (but do they see us?) as they slowly take tableau-esque positions, expanding and dividing the audience further.
The movement of the audience is particularly important in an Immersive piece like MEAT FACTORY: MOMMY. The audience is on their feet throughout, and encouraged to move, explore, get close to the action, follow one character over another. This agency creates a shared universe where the liminal space between performer and performance is non-existent. With multiple characters to watch, each with their own story, and a loft filled with many small details, this piece offers much more than a typical theatre outing.
Primary Witness is Hannah Grove and Evelynn Yan. This creation, they mention at the end of the production, is still under development. But that doesn’t mean it’s lacking. In fact, I don’t have enough space in this review to unpack all the themes. They promote MEAT FACTORY: MOMMY as handling themes of womanhood and human behavior, but that’s the tip of the iceberg, really. I was particularly drawn to their metaphors for connection, which could have felt heavy-handed, but culminated with one of the most visually inspiring moments of the production.
MEAT FACTORY: MOMMY is experimental, and Primary Witness is not afraid to take risks. In the first half of the production, two interpreters engage in a fight scene across the street, in front of Memoria, as the general public walks by. We, the audience, observe this from the windows of the loft, providing a wildly removed perspective within a very intimate production. Halfway through the story, the audience is divided, with some taken to the fire escape at the back of the space, down into the alleyway, while others remain inside, both groups witnessing different scenes. This particular moment made me wish the piece had more performance dates in the festival, as it’s something worth witnessing twice.
At the risk of this review running long, I want to make specific mention of each performer involved in this production, as each deserves individual recognition for what was a truly ensemble piece. As I mentioned earlier, MEAT FACTORY: MOMMY was the brainchild of Primary Witness creators Hannah Grove and Evelynn Yan, both performing, with Kayley Hennessy, Nicholas Bellefleur, and Jo Laïny Trozzo-Mounet rounding out the cast.
I reiterate my lead at the start of this review: if you’re looking for that OFF-Fringe show that’s going to blow your mind away, that show that challenges your ideas of theatre and performance, this is it, look no further. Primary Witness have created a very capable and truly Immersive production, something rarely found in Montreal’s performance scene.
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CRACKS
On the fourth floor of one of the Plateau’s most iconic buildings, the Halbro Building (or simply 10 Pine), sits one of the neighborhood’s newest venues. The Playshed, in studio 415, was once my across-the-hall neighbors cluttered home. Now the space is open, clean, and with a large black stage at one end. If you’ve spent time in Montreal’s art scene, you’ll have seen a variety of lofts in various configurations, used as performance spaces. What stood out to me most immediately, aside from (and contributing to) the heat, was the expansive lighting grid that’s been installed. It’s aspects like that, along with a suitable sound system, that make The Playshed more than just another loft venue: this is truly a theatre.
As usual, I arrived right on time (almost late), and took a seat in the back row. This doesn’t provide anonymity in this space, it’s too small for that, but it did allow me to scribble notes without distracting the audience or performer. Curtains are drawn over the signature loft windows, and a single camping chair sits in the centre of the stage. The space is warm. The space is HOT, in reality. (Stay hydrated, and bring a fan.) Within moments of my arrival, Claire Lochmueller walks from the back of the room, sits in the camping chair, and gently, directly addresses the audience. This removes any remaining sense of anonymity, as she makes it clear that this story is for you, for each of us, individually and collectively.
Claire has a wild story, too. Born and raised in Chicago, her journey to the stage began in Cincinnati, Ohio. (This is also where this piece was born, at the Cincinnati Fringe Festival.) She energetically moves around the bare stage, telling us stories about being raised in religion, attending military school, struggling with gender dysphoria, joining an improv comedy troupe, and ultimately finding herself, actually meeting herself, coming out and transitioning. There is a lot of material to cover, and Claire’s comfort allows for a performance that feels like this is the first time she’s telling this story, and she’s sharing it with us. Her fragmented, non-linear storytelling stitches together anecdotes to create a humorous, heartbreaking, and hopeful narrative.
As it’s a one-(trans)woman show, it’s important I don’t give too much away. It’s worth witnessing. In fact, it’s one of the most accomplished Fringe pieces I’ve seen in a few years. Claire Lochmueller has created a beautiful, effective story that allows the audience a better understanding of the trans experience. Truthfully, this production will probably answer questions that you may have been too afraid to ask.
Fringe Festivals are always populated with a healthy amount of one-person productions, and that can feel tedious. Cracks removes that tedium, leaving you with a desire to continue the conversation past the 60 minutes we share with Claire. If you’re going to catch one solo show in this year’s festival, this is it.
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Frankencéline
In any Fringe Festival, in any city, there is a wide variety of productions, and it’s important to remember that not every production is for you. This is the case for Frankencéline, as the show clearly wasn’t for me. But I still left with the question: who is it for?
While I’m not Quebecois, I am bilingual, and I’ve never struggled with a french production. It’s no secret that the Quebecois speak fast. Sometimes very fast. But it’s important to remember that a theatre piece, regardless of language, must be understood. The audience has to know what you’re saying on stage, it’s a vital element. Unfortunately, the performers of Frankencéline raced through their dialogue at a breakneck pace, and judging by the silence of the audience at La Chappelle, I wasn’t the only one struggling to keep up.
The promotional material for the play describes a near-future where Quebec Culture is collapsing, and Marc Dupré is the leader of the province. Celine Dion has disappeared, the only artists receiving funding are stand-up comedians, and a collective is plotting to overthrow the government. This is all pretty promising. However, the play doesn’t deliver on the promise, featuring an absence of stand-up comedy, a collection of odd characters but no collective, and a convoluted plot involving not one, but two Celine Dion replacements. What the play does deliver is a deep dive into Quebecois pop culture, with confusing appearances from Michel Tremblay and RBO. Ultimately, as demonstrated by a nearly silent audience save for a few obvious friends of the production front and centre, this play was an exercise in bringing an inside joke to life then beating it to death, which generally makes for disconnected theatre.
Frankencéline struggled with the content, but they captured magic with their blatantly cardboard sets, oversized two-dimensional objects like pencils and beer bottles, and some excellent physical comedy. The production is a victim of an age-old Fringe problem as La Chappelle as a venue is far too large for the play. I can’t stress enough that sitting as close to the stage as possible is the only way to appreciate the talented cast of actors and the comical set pieces.
At the end of the production, I simply wondered, why? And that’s okay. As I mentioned at the start, not every production is for you. This wasn’t for me. Does that mean it’s without merit? Absolutely not. I would recommend that if you are an Anglophone with any doubt in your French (Quebecois) language comprehension, you might have trouble with Frankencéline. But for those of you who have grown up in this province, this is the homegrown show for you that will undoubtedly give you a few laughs.
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MR. POTTS
I really, really, really, really, wanted to like this show. In fact, during our Forget The Box team meeting to schedule who was assigned which review, I asked for this one. I mean, I’m a sucker for puppets, you know? Unfortunately, even puppets couldn’t save Mr. Potts.
Housed at Petit Campus, the play had a more elaborate set than most Fringe productions. There was a half-wall stage right, complete with a door, window, and a coat rack. An armchair with a side table sat further left. An “On Air” sign hanging above the stage hinted at the audience being the children watching the show, but that concept was eventually abandoned. Curiously, for a children’s show, the set’s colors were incredibly muted, bland, maybe hinting at what was to come.
The concept is far from new: a children’s television show parody that descends into something nightmarish, revealing a hidden terror, dealing with current or philosophical issues. Don’t Hug Me, I’m Scared, and Wonder Showzen both immediately come to mind. But maybe being live theatre, I thought, could add something new, or different, to this familiar structure. For Mr. Potts, that’s far from the case, as the production leans directly into the done-before. However, it seemed that the format hindered the show, rather than helping it achieve its goal.
The 45-minute production was also held up by an unwillingness to genuinely explore the issues they sought to address. The concept of climate change is raised at the top of the show, focused on the desire to plant a tree. However, Mr. Potts and his puppet friend don’t elaborate in the slightest as to why climate change is an issue. Worker’s Rights are mentioned in relation to striking, but it was nothing more than a headline. This is the same when Tony the Tablet had a predictable meltdown, telling us the internet is a scary place, but never digging below the surface to explain why. The piece lost me entirely in their heavy-handed portrayal of corrupt authority, and a military attack on the neighborhood, and Mr. Potts himself. The script’s objective to identify but not discuss any of these issues left me with an uncomfortable feeling that this might have been written by AI.
The play was a pastiche of unnecessary chaos, and utterly confusing moments. Ultimately, I left wondering if we really needed another “EVERYTHING IS TERRIBLE” story, particularly one that seems afraid of itself.
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POZ
Unlike the risk of unprotected sex, attending a production of POZ in this year’s FringeMTL festival is a certainty: this is a polished, professional, and moving production. Forgive the joke, but as the piece itself explains: what we, en masse, understand about living with HIV is likely outdated, and misinformed. As much as POZ stands to competently define this for a current audience, this play, too, stands to define for a current Fringe audience what a well-composed, well-rehearsed production looks like.
Mission Santa Cruz is an interesting Fringe venue. The basement of a community centre attached to an important community church, the stage is constructed in the middle of the space, long-ways, allowing for both a larger performance space, and a decent amount of audience, in plastic chairs on risers. As with any Fringe venue, how a production uses the space is integral. POZ utilizes the stage space expertly. Centre stage is a bicycle, with the back wheel propped up to allow for riding on stage. Aside from this, there are four plastic chairs, and two actors. That’s it. And that’s all this play needs.
To be fair, this isn’t the first time POZ has been mounted. In fact, the production won both “Best New Play” and “Patron’s Pick” at the 2024 Toronto Fringe Festival, after a sold out run. Serving as a stark example of the superiority of Toronto’s theatre scene, compared to Montreal’s Anglo Theatre sector, this piece is nothing less than dominant in the FringeMTL 2025 landscape. Polished, refined, thoughtful, and challenging, POZ is a quality piece of theatre that Montreal audiences should be grateful to witness.
The story follows Mark, creator and performer Mark Keller, as himself, and his story of learning his HIV status in 2014, the fallout from that, the shame, the heartbreak, the love, the loss, and the shifting status quo he experienced. At a time when the haunting voices of the AIDS Epidemic had become echoes, Mark navigates a new world, forced to accept the consequences of his actions, many motivated by a deep-seated and unwarranted shame. “It went from being a death sentence to a manageable chronic illness”, he explains (to his parents), helping us comprehend the mixed understanding of the time period.
Mark Keller, the writer, is gifted. His ability to create an honest and vulnerable account of his journey is an achievement in itself. Mark Keller, the performer, is nothing short of captivating. In a play constructed of vignettes, a fragmented, non-linear exploration of his journey, Mark gives the audience a high-energy re-telling of some of his highest and lowest moments in this story. He discusses the aforementioned shame, his relationship with his parents, both support and betrayal from friends, and the struggles of love, of needing to feel wanted, all with a breathtaking earnestness. Mark Keller’s performance is nothing short of a masterclass in vulnerability. “Nobody asks you if you’re okay when you keep telling people you are.”
Keller’s performance is complemented by the only other actor in POZ, Alan Shonfield. In the program, Mark Keller is credited as playing himself, while Alan is credited as “Everyone Else”. This is a big task that the actor makes look fun as hell. While Mark travels the stage relating his journey, Alan is in constant movement, onstage and off, performing as Mark’s friends, lovers, and even an exhausted heat-stroke vision. The multiple roles Alan assumes through the production could come across academic in other settings, but the professionalism of both performers, and excellent writing, provides us with a flawless execution.
This is the most appropriate time for me to address the lighting and sound design of POZ. This production is not simply a labor of love for Mark Keller, but as the program indicates, director Nick May, a well-experienced Fringe creator, has been with this production since its earliest moments, leading POZ to its award winning Toronto Fringe run. Sofia Di Cicco is credited as Stage Manager, as well as Lighting and Sound Designer. In a production with ever-changing sets and scenes, she skillfully utilizes simple audio and lighting cues to transport the audience from scene to scene, from time to time, from space to space fluidly, allowing for Mark’s story to remain the primary focus.
The crux of the POZ is that Mark joins a fundraising bike ride from Toronto to Montreal. 600 kilometres in 6 days, raising money for the PWA, the People With AIDS foundation that helped him in the earliest days of his diagnosis. These are some of the most vulnerable moments in the play, as Mark elaborates on the isolation that accompanies an HIV diagnosis, and the community he was welcomed into with the Friends for Life Bike Rally.
My notes for this production far exceed the word count I’m already surpassing with this review. There are redeemable, rewarding moments in every scene of POZ. This piece is destined for a stage far beyond Fringe, and it would be in the best interest of the reader to see this before it’s out of reach.
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HETEROCHROMIA
Heterochromia plays out like two tired, sober people reading the transcript from their coked-out conversation the night before. It is full of big, broad ideas, but strung together by seemingly intoxicated, self-deluded confidence in storytelling. Written by, directed by, and starring Livia Belcea and Sean Carrie, Heterochromia promised a piece about meaning, connectivity, and specifically Quantum Entanglement, as advertised. A synopsis like that had me hopeful entering Mission Santa Cruz for the second time that day, but within the opening moments of this production, I was deflated, confused, and never recovered.
The set for Heterochromia is on my level: there is a bar set up stage right, with a small neon sign indicating the name of the restaurant the play is set: I’d love to tell you the name, but from where I was sitting, it was illegible, and the production didn’t provide a program. (NOTE: Hey, Fringe Artists, it’s really easy to provide a program. You don’t have to print anything. Just create a free splash page on any number of websites and provide information your audience probably needs for your obscure production. A simple QR code gets us there. No paper needed. Just a little bit of effort.) So yes, there is a bar stage right, and a table and chairs mid-centre stage. I was particularly drawn to everything on set being painted black, the water pitcher, the glasses and cutlery, etc. Unfortunately, that’s where the artistry ended.
The entire production was suppressed by a droning, pseudo-creepy audio landscape, a low and rumbling bass. It’s understandable to think that this was intended to increase the discomfort of the audience, but it was nothing more than a distracting noise often drowning out the low-energy performances by the writer-director-star duo.
A production that claims to deal with a concept as complicated as Quantum Entanglement, Heterochromia should, at the very least, have educated things to say about the theory. At this point, I’d like to make something very clear to theatre creators: research is part of the work. Unless you’re writing a deeply personal memoir, it is integral that you research and educate, particularly when writing so far outside yourself. This production is an unfortunate demonstration of a lack of research, on display in the barely functional narrative.
In Heterochromia, Livia Belcea and Sean Carrie play a couple finishing dinner at a restaurant. This restaurant, as I’ve mentioned, has a very intriguing all-black motif. The story begins with Livia’s unnamed character relating a convoluted story of a woman with a baby on a balcony. I’m not sure if the text positions these characters as being together for any significant period of time, or if this is their first date. Why? Because it seems as though the writer/director duo is struggling with their own simple text, as if this is the first encounter, an entirely blind date.
After the confusing story of a baby, which appears in their advertising, absolutely baffling me considering its useless place in the story, the couple then discover that they are, in fact, trapped in the restaurant. Do they show this? No. They tell this, in what becomes a frustrating deluge of expository dialogue, underwhelming, absent of any sense of urgency. Do either character try to actually escape the restaurant, to prove that they are, in fact, trapped? No. No, they don’t.
After what seems like ages, Sean Carrie’s unnamed character begins to recollect his time trapped on a mountain underneath snow, unable to be heard by rescuers. This provides us with the only shift in light or sound throughout the production, as ..the man.. describes to his companion his horrifying encounter with the energy of someone genuinely suffering from hypothermia.
Then! Oh, then! Suddenly the inconsequential waiter returns to the set with an hourglass. He sets this on the bar and promptly exits. Oh no, I thought, this is going to indicate to me how much of my life I’m wasting right now, in real time. Livia’s character then walks over to the hourglass, mutters a phrase that would send any sci-fi fan into a frenzy, and then somehow helps her date (husband? boyfriend?) out of his memory, with the both of them realizing that they must be connected over time and space. This is when you realize that the co-writers of this production wholeheartedly believe that they are brilliant, bringing you material so profound, you probably don’t even immediately get it.
I’m going to go back to the idea of research right now. I couldn’t be more serious in addressing any current and potential theatre creators: if you’re going to write a story outside yourself, you MUST do the research, it’s part of the process. Unfortunately, Livia Belcea and Sean Carrie created a piece wherein an interesting concept is thought of, and entirely abandoned in lieu of obnoxious, false platitudes feigning dialogue. In fact, the creator’s understanding of Quantum Entanglement is entirely wrong, at least as they attempted to portray it in their heavy-handed narrative.
Down to the very last groan-worthy line, this production is an exercise in creating theatre with no sense, no reason, and no research. To the bored audience in attendance tonight: I’m with you.
