REVIEWS: FringeMTL 2026
iPhoto caption: Uma and Selma Gahd at Les Prix Frankies. Photo by Cindy Lopez.
Hot off covering Festival TransAmériques, Intermission is back reviewing Montreal theatre at this year’s FringeMTL, featuring 105 shows in more than 25 venues.
Mostly selected by lottery, the festival’s productions span several genres, with scripts primarily in untranslated French or English.
Critics Liuba de Arma and Megan Hunt will write a total of 10 capsule reviews — responses that will appear below as they come in, with new entries added to the top of the post for ease of navigation.
Past Grievances (Chesterfield Productions)
by Megan Hunt
A blend of science fiction and family drama, Past Grievances, a new play from co-directors Gabe Lezza and Gill Hurd, is commendable for its experimentation, even if the results are mixed. A story told through two interconnected timelines, the drama follows two scientists overseeing a new medical experiment, as well as Carter, a jaded man on a journey to find his estranged brother and former business partner.
The script, written by Lezza, at times seems intentionally vague, expecting the audience to fill in the blanks around the medical experimentation at the heart of the play. An example is Tlig, a not-quite-human who seemingly lives within Carter’s mind, providing him guidance. The character left me with more than a few unanswered questions, but what wasn’t ambiguous was Oliver Ocampo’s performance in the role: it was a highlight of the entire show.
Lezza and Hurd’s use of multimedia storytelling also had me feeling somewhere between befuddled and curious — several scenes were pre-filmed and projected onto a screen instead of performed live, and I couldn’t find a clear answer as to why. In fact, the show concludes with a pre-recorded scene and an empty stage, a choice that only punctuated the bleakness of the final narrative turn. As someone who appreciates risk-taking in theatre, I found Past Grievances’ attempts to break theatrical conventions commendable, though at times I felt more confused than entertained.
Seeing Red (Conservatoire de musique et d’art dramatique de Montréal, English)
by Liuba de Armas
Seeing Red opens with protagonists Frankie (Darragh Mondoux) and Liam (Rahul Gandhi) narrating their first meeting in tandem as they strip to their underwear. Their mutual attraction is palpable. Their tempo quickens, their pitches rise; they finish each others’ sentences. They bring their hands together and, to Frankie’s delight, they’re the same size. Liam disagrees, but opts for silence. The matter of hand size will become a recurring quarrel. Their enthusiasm dampens as they describe their life as a couple: separate bedrooms, unspoken compromises, resentment. They dress again in new, more constraining costumes as if to signal the transition from passionate to companionate love.
This dark comedy from writer-director Misha Nye, a familiar fringe festival face, presents a romantic relationship contending with competing interests and mounting — perhaps insurmountable — incompatibilities. Mondoux and Gandhi have undeniable chemistry; the show’s promotional materials note they’re a couple offstage. Mondoux’s husky voice and self-assured physicality anchors her performance as the confident, career-driven painter Frankie. Gandhi brings a gentleness to Liam which lends depth to insecurities that I would have otherwise dismissed as fragile masculinity. Elisabeth Nyveen’s costume and set design complement the story: bright red tones in costumes and upholstery heighten the visual drama, while minimal domestic props, such as a plush winged armchair and well-maintained vintage wooden cabinet, suggest the characters’ cultural and class aspirations.
Seeing Red was the most polished production I attended at this year’s festival and a must-see for those drawn to well-paced, well-executed simmering dramas.
At Our Feet (La Chapelle, English)
by Liuba de Armas
It’s the year 2060 or so. A totalitarian governing body known only as “the Sector” has sentenced oil lobbyists, sustainable fashion designers, and other eco-criminals to years of hard labour in environmental cleanup crews. Beef is rationed, clean air days are rare, and microplastics abound. Roommates Tyra, Mouse, Fern, and Ari are barely getting by when they receive a life-changing offer from the Sector. But the price may be more than they can bear, both psychologically and physically.
At Our Feet is my platonic ideal of a fringe show. The premise — an eco-conscious, post-apocalyptic chamber drama with a moral dilemma — is zany, ambitious, and just about executable within a modest indie budget. Elly Pond’s script is topical and well-researched, teeming with socio-ecological considerations, plausible future technologies, and zingers like “it’s not conspiratorial to not trust the government.” Cyndy Bastien, Noah Singer, Elly Pond, Julien Jung, and Olivia Ridgely, who make up the ensemble cast, each inhabit their characters convincingly while dynamically playing off one another. Ridgely is particularly compelling as the disembodied voice of Shiloh, Ari’s government-issued AI companion surveillance device. The costume and set design by Chelsea Singer is thoughtful and resourceful. Ren Critton-Papp’s upcycled plastic jug hazmat masks are ingenious. The glitchy electronic soundtrack by composer Adel Kazi-Azoual, while initially grating, grew on me over the show’s one-hour runtime. There’s even a campy lipsynch number worthy of Canada’s Drag Race.
Overall, the show reworks post-apocalyptic tropes to deliver both progressive social commentary and a humorous outlet for ecological anxiety. If you ever get the chance, run, don’t walk, to see At Our Feet, and while you do, consider that 2060 is only a few decades away.
Splatterpunks (Petit Campus, English)
by Megan Hunt
If campy, maximalist fun is what you’re searching for, Home Theatre Productions’ Splatterpunks is a theatre experience that delivers.
Telling the story of a fictional pop star trying to make her film debut in a popular horror franchise, Splatterpunks is a musical-meets-slasher that embraces both genres’ capacity for hamminess. On its website, Home Theatre stresses its reverence for pop culture and “all things geek,” and that shows up onstage. The script from Lucas Amato and Alex Meleras has a tongue-in-cheek tone that’s playful rather than mocking — the kind of ribbing that can only come from a place of sincere love. While the satire isn’t always razor-sharp, the show does make some astute observations about the fickle nature of Hollywood and its social climbers.
What really makes this musical work is the commitment of the cast and core creative team. As director, Steven Greenwood creates an engaging production with extravagant lighting and sound design and opportunities for audience interaction. The five performers are all great at singing, bringing a confident flair to the showtunes, and are even better at comedic timing; the script is full of jokes that wouldn’t land without excellent delivery, and the risk paid off when I went, with the audiences in stitches for most of the show. I would bet even the most jaded of theatre-goers would find themselves struggling not to have a great time.
Sore Loser (Théâtre Sainte-Catherine, English)
by Megan Hunt
A Zoom therapy session devolves into a kangaroo court from hell in Sore Loser, a new play written by Cédrick Mulcair and directed by Kerrin-lee Whyte. The show follows Lev, a young man reluctantly caring for his drug-addicted father, as he confronts a demonic jury set on punishing him for his resentments and shortcomings as a son. It feels more like A Christmas Carol than a standard courtroom drama, with the jury forcing Lev to relive moments from his strained relationships to his parents, sister, and best friend Seb.
It’s an intriguing format that allows for non-linear storytelling, but the narrative structure is dampened by a predictable third act plot twist that slows the show’s momentum.
San Choi and Benny Garisto are solid leads as Lev and the judge respectively; a late scene between Choi and his father (portrayed Nguyen Dinh) is an emotional highlight. But it’s the supporting actors, Jacqueline Levitan and Yu Quing Cha, who steal the show. As jurors (there are only two in this courtroom), the duo is impeccable at walking the line between creepy and hilarious. Levitan’s line readings in this role were my favourite moments in the show. The actor also brings emotional depth to the part of Lev’s sister Stef, while Quing Cha takes on two additional roles: the immediately likeable Seb and Lev’s mother, whose behaviour is harder to stomach. It’s a show that’s a little weird and off-kilter — which is exactly what I’m looking for during the Fringe.
Painting Moments, The Portrait of an Artist as a Young Gay Man (O PATRO VÝŠ, English)
by Megan Hunt
This hour-long solo show explores the life of Nick Palazzo, a Montreal artist whose career was both prolific and far too short. Written by Mary Melfi (who published a book in 1998 about Palazzo’s work) and Sharon Malone, the show introduces Nick as a struggling 23-year-old painter from a downtrodden neighbourhood, and follows his artistic development until his death from AIDS in 1991, around his 30th birthday.
Painting Moments works best when it’s telling Palazzo’s story through his personal journal entries and his paintings, which are projected on a screen behind performer Nick Fontaine. All of Palazzo’s featured work is emotionally stirring and idiosyncratic, but my favourite painting is a portrait of his lover Andre, which is revealed slowly on screen piece by piece as Fontaine describes the nuanced and ultimately tragic relationship between the two men. At other times, the script relies too heavily on excerpts of reviews of Palazzo’s art. While Fontaine does a commendable job with accent work as he embodies different critics, this narrative device interrupts the otherwise deeply personal storytelling.
There are also times where director Anton May places Fontaine on stage in a way that obscures the projected paintings, and an overwrought soundtrack in the play’s darker moments makes potentially heartwrenching events feel somewhat melodramatic.
Although the show isn’t perfect, it makes a strong case for why Palazzo is a name that the public should remember, paying tribute not just to the strength of his work, but to the potential artistry we collectively lost to the AIDS epidemic.
Tango Entre Hombres (Conservatoire de musique et d’art dramatique de Montréal, French with some English and Spanish)
by Liuba de Armas
Tango Entre Hombres opens with a lesson on the gender politics of traditional tango: men lead, women follow. Actor Daniel Galicia playfully demonstrates “el cabeceo” (the nod), a gesture by which leaders invite followers to dance. In response, followers can use “la mirada” (the gaze) to accept or ignore an invitation, or subtly elicit one. Like most partnered dances of patriarchal origin, tango presumes heterosexuality. Yet, there is room for subversion. After all, what’s queerer than a lingering gaze?
Through a mix of dance and theatre, the work offers vignettes that explore toxic masculinity, racist and homophobic prejudice, and the threat of violence that can underlie male same-sex desire. Writer-director Art Babayants narrates compellingly: his voice lends immediacy and depth to the script’s autobiographical elements. Alexander Latorre’s mesmerizing choreography is the highlight of the show. Tango punctuates each scene, delivering the affective impact and aesthetic throughline that holds the production together. It’s rare for me, as a queer woman, to be invited to take pleasure in men’s beauty and sensuality. This queering of roles and gazes is precisely what makes this production memorable.
Tango Entre Hombres is Babayants’ love letter to the emerging world of queer tango and its local supporters. The work contends with how an art form, adapted to suit its practitioners, can offer a space of sensuality, joy, and communal healing. As with all love letters, it is written with a specific audience in mind and at times indulges in sentimentality; its emphasis on convention and machismo detracts from the story’s more liberatory potential. Nevertheless, Tango Entre Hombres makes a case for why we should all try tango, and Montreal’s upcoming Queer Tango Festival (running from June 26 to 28) provides a perfect opportunity.
We All Died at The Lesbian Bar (Petit Campus, English)
by Liuba de Armas
The worst ex-couple you know is publicly rehashing their drama in We All Died at The Lesbian Bar. They’re not bad people individually; they just bring out the worst in each other.
Written by Silas James and directed by Natalie Harrison, this intoxicatingly turbulent play-à-clef weaves an extended metaphor of the queer bar as church: a place of communion, abuse, hypocrisy, and dubious redemption. Charles (Gabriel Gaston), probable narcissist and self-avowed unreliable narrator, wants to rewrite his relationship with Simon (Sebastian Legault), his ex, in what he dubs “ontological repair.” Simon, described by the former as “not dangerous but emotionally loud,” is fed up but unable to walk away. Max (Alex Deac), Charles’ new boyfriend, insists on drafting the script with a realist’s precision. The steely-eyed bartender (Emma Free) oversees all while enforcing bar rules, namely that “house policy is self-serving remembrance,” and occasionally announcing last call on truth. The plot unfolds iteratively. Time loops as each character recounts their version of events over the course of a particular night.
For all the personalities onstage, Victor’s, the titular lesboqueer bar where the action unfolds, has the most compelling presence. Dressed in secondhand furnishings and kitsch decor, the stage at Petit Campus (designed by Sofía López-Asselin and lit by Sol Worsnip) could be mistaken for local queer bars Champs or Notre Dame des Quilles. The clientele is much the same.
“Wild question,” Charles says at the close: “Do you believe in confession?” I don’t believe this production is making a case for redemption; it hasn’t been earned. While Charles’ final bid to sanitize the narrative drips with cynicism, it does beg the question: who gets the last word in this story?
Existential Lingerie (Petit Campus, English)
by Liuba de Armas
In her latest one-woman cabaret-style musical comedy, Montreal singer, comedian, and storyteller Lou Laurence wants to get some things off her chest, figuratively speaking. The story follows Laurence’s musings over the course of a week as she contends with endless rejections; the eternal quest for a bra that fits; an irresistible offer of a full-time permanent salaried position at Big Bad Bedfellows, the fictional AI company where she gigs to make rent; a lukewarm first date with Carl, a patient but milquetoast executive senior associate data systems analyst; and the latter’s question: “Is this the life you’d always imagined?”
It isn’t. But it’s a work in progress. Laurence takes stock of her life, from her childhood dream of being a singer-actor-dancer-novelist to the reality of exploitation and social isolation in the capitalist grind. The singer exudes charm, punctuating her story with punchy musical numbers featuring such refrains as “you can’t fuck a man who doesn’t read fiction,” and “please don’t Google me while I pee.” Existential Lingerie ultimately offers an optimistic outlook: life is hard, but we can keep going.
The show features an Emotional Labour Discount whereby patrons can enjoy 20 per cent off the $19 ticket price on the condition that they bring the artist a handwritten love letter, which need not be addressed to Laurence. On paper, this might seem an eccentric indulgence. From Laurence, it’s par for the course in a performance that insists — with neither cynicism nor sentimentality — on the vital power of love.
Therapy Fund (Ctrllab, English)
by Megan Hunt
Without props or other performers to aid her, Merry Ross proves with her solo show Therapy Fund that you don’t need a lot to pull off a successful Fringe show — just a story you feel compelled to tell, and maybe a little bit of ABBA. Situated somewhere between stand-up comedy and autobiography, the 45-minute show is structured as a series of anecdotes from Ross’ family life from her youth to middle age, including hilarious impressions of her grandmother offering her a cigarette at 13 and her teenage daughter getting kicked out of prom for attempting to smuggle in alcohol.
The world of Therapy Fund feels rich and easy to visualize thanks to Ross’ knack for storytelling and scene-setting. One moment she’s a young mother dancing in the kitchen with her family and the next we’ve been transported years ahead in time, and she’s embarrassing her children by being naked in a hot tub at a backyard party. All of it flows seamlessly.
Despite the show’s strengths, however, I was left wanting more, especially when it comes to exploring the theme of mental health. Ross mentions numerous times that she attended therapy to prepare for motherhood and address her intergenerational trauma but she never clarifies what this trauma is or what these sessions looked like — nor does she connect her therapeutic journey back to her own career as a California-based drama therapist. I get the impression she glosses over these details to keep the show lighthearted, but it left me wondering where we could’ve gone if she had dug a little deeper and left room for discomfort.
FringeMTL runs in Montreal until June 21. More information is available here.
Liuba de Armas and Megan Hunt are covering FringeMTL as part of Page Turn, a professional development network for emerging arts writers, funded by the Canada Council for the Arts and administered by Neworld Theatre.
Intermission reviews are independent and unrelated to Intermission’s partnered content. Learn more about Intermission’s partnership model here.
Liuba de Armas
Liuba de Armas is a working-class arts writer and curator based in Montreal, with roots in Ciudad Nuclear, Cienfuegos, Cuba. She holds a Master's degree in art history from McGill University and has curated exhibitions at Latitude 53, MSVU Art Gallery, Hermes Gallery, and the Khyber Centre for the Arts. She is one of two co-editors of Beyond the Gallery: An Anthology of Visual Encounters (Laberinto Press, 2021) and is a member of Neworld Theatre's Page Turn program (2025-27).
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Megan Hunt
Megan Hunt is a Montreal-based writer, editor and dramaturge. Her work has been featured in outlets such as This Magazine, Culture Days and IN Magazine, as well as festivals including the Women's Work Festival in St. John's, Newfoundland. She is one of the writers selected for the first cohort of Page Turn, a program facilitated by Neworld Theatre to support emerging voices in criticism and arts writing.
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