Dawn’s Reviews - FringeMTL 2025
100mLs or Less: Confessions of a Pat Down Expert
It was Saturday afternoon, and the streets were bustling. St. Laurent and Mont-Royal are closed to traffic, and it was the first weekend of true Montreal summer. I headed into O Patro Vys for 100 mLs or Less.
It was a quick portal to another world as I stepped from the noisy, sunny street into the cool, dim quiet of the space. My timing's on point, and it's not long before Darren Millar takes the stage in his airport security uniform. It's a great start, as this is exactly what I envisioned. I'm a sucker for what might be behind these “employee only” signs, and the weird and wild encounters that only happen when working with the public. This one man show serves them up on a silver platter.
Somehow, I had imagined it would be catty verging on cruel (think Andy Cohen after a few drinks), but it wasn't that at all. Despite mentions of cocaine and butt plugs, Darren comes across as a wholesome person who sees weird stuff. He's patted down rock’n'roll legends, and learned interpersonal tricks to de-escalate conflicts quickly, but there's more to this show than that. It's not just a gossip-fest (please invite me to all the gossip-fests), but the story of a man on a path he didn't foresee. After teacher's college and a life planned out, his stint at the airport was meant to be temporary.
How do we navigate the detours we didn't see coming? How do we embrace a new destination when we were already en route? Darren has walked that path, and while he might not have an instruction book to offer, he shared his story in a way that offered hope for unseen futures, and personal growth along the way.
This show is short and fun, and serves far more than tea. Catch it to switch up your perspective on how you got here, and where you're going next.
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Evie & Alfie: A Very British Love Story
I try not to get my expectations up for Fringe shows. In general, I endeavour to experience the shows with open curiosity, armed only with the production's own writeup. But I think I've gotten better at calling dibs on the gems, because I got my hopes up y’all, and I was right.
Evie and Alfie: A Very British Love Story is co-written by the co-stars of this touching and charming theatrical duet, Alex Dallas, and Jimmy Hogg. As soon as I saw Jimmy Hogg’s name, I knew I wanted to see it. I missed his show last year, but heard rave reviews about the multiple Fringe award winning performer. I did catch him doing a set at FTB’s On The Boulevard series, and he was fantastic.
I wasn't familiar with Alex Dallas before, but she's a multiple Fringe award winning artist, and her performance tonight was a testament to her decorated status.
Dallas and Hogg, play a husband and wife creeping toward 80 years old. The simplicity and mundane comforts of this present life are interspersed seamlessly with memories of their glory days, their hardest days, the pivotal moments that mark time, the tales of how they got here. Here is their living room. They peer out their front window, they do crossword puzzles, they discuss the neighborhood goings-on.
There is none of the resentment so often played up in couples created for stage and screen. They have no secrets, they harbour no hate. They are, in fact, in love in the most time-tried way. They have chosen each other every day, through all the hopes and hardships, and they have earned their quiet ease together.
All of this plays out before us as we journey with them over the course of 50 years: from their first chance encounter, through the weights and wonders of a lifetime of love. Enough weight that their relationship might've been crushed, but the wonder was stronger, you see. Enough to keep them loving for the long haul.
Kudos to Alex Dallas and Jimmy Hogg for writing this bad boy. It's clever and touching, heartfelt and hilarious. Double kudos to them for performing such a simultaneously vulnerable and adorable show.
After the show, Jimmy Hogg announced that this was the first time they had actually performed the piece in front of a live audience, which made it feel extra special, and also extra impressive: they inhabited those characters.
Go see it. This thing’s gonna win loads of shiz, bet.
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Harlem of the North
It was the evening of my First Fringe show of the season, so I was of course hanging out with Andrew Jamieson until minutes before showtime. His studio is arguably more convenient for pre- and post- shows than Fringe Park, and as we embark on our 3rd year of Fringe coverage together, there was no better place to be.
A hop, skip, and a jump later, and I was in line for Harlem of the North at La Chapelle. (Andrew was right, I have been there before, but I have no idea when or why).
Inside, as the seats filled up, the stage was dark, waiting for action. In fact, to mark the beginning of the show, the room was so steeped in darkness that writing became briefly impossible, and I held my hand close to my face to try a cliché. Yep, so dark that I can't see my own hand. Check.
Harlem of the North was a wonderful experience. A layered tale of a recently emigrated black family taking place between 1920 and 1927. There's love, death, coming of age, societal expectations, and deep rooted obligations.
The stage decor was fluid: actors moved furniture and set tables, usually with the light dimmed, but a few times they were still setting up as that scene’s players took their places. It was mesmerizing to watch the usually unseen action. They were precise, but not rushed, invisible to the other actors.
The play takes to heart the adage of getting to the scene as late as one can, and getting out as quickly as possible. The characters don't want to linger: they are there for a purpose. While there were no words wasted on the dialogue, it was natural throughout, with believable characters making understandable choices. We watch the characters grow as time passes, and we watch a few chairs and a table go from a family home, to a church, to a jazz club, to a boxing ring.
There's so much I want to say, but I must skip straight to the music. Damn. It was everything I'd hoped for. Jemima Charles as Ella sings her first piece acapella, the richness of her voice reverberating through the space. *Checks arm* yep, I got full fledged goosebumps. Later in the show musician Anthony Aka-Anghui steps ever so slightly into view, his saxophone gleaming in the light as the first strands of music played. He punctuated the songs, never competing for attention, letting the voices take center stage. In another scene he pulls out his guitar (how many instruments can this guy play?!) adding movement and ambiance to a fight scene with only one boxer in the ring (trust me: it works flawlessly).
And just when you think all the songs have been sung, Jayleen McCarty belts one out, and more goosebumps appear, and more pitch perfect soul fills the room.
*Wipes sweat off brow* I'm out of words, y’all. I mean, not out of words of praise, I could rave all day about Harlem of the North, but rather I've blown through my word count, and you should just go see this for yourself. Top to bottom, it’s a great show by a fantastic cast.
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THE biscuiteater
Google Maps notified me that the venue I'm headed to, the Conservatory of Music, might be closed by the time I get there. I shrugged it off; this is Fringe, closing times aren't real. Walking in, the space is expansive and almost completely empty. The security guard at the front desk doesn't even look up as I lock in on the FringeMTL arrows, and make my way upstairs. There's a bit more action here, the adjacent room closing its door as another show begins. I check in and ask where the restroom is (I'm running on weed and caffeine, and I can't stop peeing). The bathroom is downstairs (ffs).
Ok! In my seat, and ready to watch! The stage is set with four boxes, the backdrop is made up of two printed cloth panels, one of a cross, the other of a crow on a fence. Jim Loucks comes onto the stage. He is mature, ruggedly masculine, sleeves of tattoos creeping beyond his rolled sleeves. His southern drawl creates immediate intimacy, his voice rolling like Bill Clinton's (not current Clinton, think roguish, sax playing Bill). All of this belies the vulnerable and heartfelt truths he's here to share with us.
His timing is impeccable, and the audience hangs on every word; you could hear a pin drop. Because of that, when he froze for a moment, we held our collective breath, waiting for the next beat. He walked off stage, and we stayed silent, on the edges of our seats. Just as we began to wonder, but before we made a sound, the director rushed from the back of the room, across the performance space, disappearing backstage. She returned a moment later, with a smile and a quick apology, and Jim returned to the spotlight, taking up where he left off.
I don't mention this in any way to detract from the performance; in fact, it struck me as a moment of emotional overwhelm fitting for the personal nature of the piece. His eyes were red, and I wondered if he had cried. He looked like he might at any time, despite the melodious confidence of his voice. He cut a compelling figure, this macho, soft hearted man, telling what surely were once seen as his family’s secrets.
It's a story of his southern upbringing, a tribute to his grandfather, a retired police officer who lives with the shadow of having killed a man in the line of duty. It's the story of a scared boy wrestling with his helplessness as his parents fight, a boy eager to become a man, struggling with the expectations of manhood and the common confusion of violence and power as signs of true strength.
Jim tells the story from various points of view, his shoulders falling, and his voice softening as he speaks his mother's words. It was subtle, but also everything. His ability to find the humanity in each of his characters surely speaks to his understanding (at least now) that even our most admired adults are flawed and humans trying their best.
A beautifully told story that restores our faith in happy endings.
