Nostalgia buffs get ready to flip out. With this winner you’ll be transported to the golden days of the American Songbook and the golden days of TV’s “Your Hit Parade.”
By Gary Smith | Special to The Hamilton Spectator
September 25th, 2025
I hate tribute shows. Why would I want to watch performers pretend to be someone else?
That’s what I always thought, until “Memories of The Rat Pack,” Christopher McHarge’s terrific celebration of the irreplaceable Frankie, Dean and Sammy.
Nostalgia buffs get ready to flip out — with this winner, you’ll be transported to the golden days of the American Songbook and the golden days of TV’s “Your Hit Parade.”
Remember when you could understand every word your favourite star sang? Remember a world when music wasn’t just a thumpity-thump-thump of four-letter words? Remember when gold-plated stars had personalities that reached right off the stage?
Instead of assaulting your ears, they invaded your heart.
Well, get ready for Frankie, Dean and Sammy, three of the greatest male pop stars in the world of entertainment.
This is no cheesy imitation show with three phoneys struggling to create sketchy impersonations. No, this is an honest-to-goodness reminder of how terrific the old stars were. It’s all about the way they caressed the lyrics of those wonderful old songs by the likes of Cole Porter, Jimmy McHugh and George Gershwin.
And it’s also about the fun they had on stage, performing at those great watering holes of yesteryear, the Copa Room at the Sands, or The New Frontier in Las Vegas. Or maybe way back east in New York at Jules Podell’s Copacabana and those lavish hotels, such as the Waldorf and The Plaza .
Of course, it’s pretty much all gone today. Places like Toronto’s Imperial Room, where stars like Peggy Lee and those cuties The McGuire Sisters held sway, have turned into boring convention halls.
That’s why a nostalgic look at the likes of the guys known as The Rat Pack is so much fun.
For one thing, they could really sing. There was no messing around about that. When they cut loose on any one of their hit tunes, it was every bit as good as the record you treasured at home.
Thankfully, the stars of the show now in Port Dover mostly don’t try to imitate their voices. They don’t have to, they’ve got terrific voices of their own, so instead they interpret, rather than impersonate, the fab three.
When Dean Hollin leans into Sinatra’s “My Way,” “I’ve Got You Under My Skin” and “One More for the Road,” you know those songs have been superbly sung. Hollin has an ingratiating — no, make that charming — way about him. He fills the stage with his voice and his presence. He makes you glad you’re listening.
Originally from Hamilton, where he sang in a handful of musicals at Hamilton Theatre Inc., and acted the hell out of some dramatic shows at Burlington Little Theatre, Hollin is worth the trip to Dover all on his own.
But then, so are the guys who share the stage with him.
Derek Marshall is the real cutup of the trio, finding both the comic zest of Dean Martin, as well as the wonderful laid-back quality of his voice. He has fun with “That’s Amore” and “You’re Nobody ‘til Somebody Loves You,” and he conjures perfectly the charm of Italy with “An Evening in Roma.”
Shane Phillips comes into his own as Sammy Davis Jr. with “Mr. Bojangles” and “What Kind of Fool Am I.” And when the three singers come together on one of the oldies but goodies, they rock the roof off the theatre.
The show is supported by a live six-piece band led by Stephen Ingram, a Hamilton lad who’s well on his way to becoming a super hot musical director and pianist.
Things deflate a little late in the second act, when McHarge tries to resurrect the kind of madcap comedy the original Rat Pack did on the Vegas stage.
Imagine sitting ringside at The Sands after a few drinks, watching Sammy, Dean and Frank kibitzing on stage, pulling down each other’s pants, interrupting each other’s big numbers, and generally acting like goons. Of course it worked.
But it’s not easy to create that same supercharged atmosphere on stage in Port Dover. The guys work a touch too hard to be funny and the nonsense goes on a tad too long. Worse yet, this distraction interrupts the show’s build at a crucial point, so it takes a while to get things back on track.
It’s the songs, and the way these guys sing them, that holds “Memories of The Rat Pack” together, and fortunately there’s plenty to enjoy.
For my money, cavils aside, this is one of the best entertainments I’ve seen this year. Go celebrate the genius of three of the best male entertainers in Vegas history. This one deserves full houses all through its run.
Opinion articles are based on the author’s interpretations and judgments of facts, data and events. More details
Gary Smith has written about theatre and dance for The Hamilton Spectator, as well as a variety of international publications, for more than 40 years.
