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The following review is a conversation between theatre critics Liam Donovan and Shivani Nathoo. On January 24, 2026, both attended the world premiere musical All the Cows Are Dead, produced by Barrie’s Talk Is Free Theatre (TIFT).
In a piece of embedded criticism published six days earlier, Liam wrote about observing the production’s rehearsal process. Shivani viewed the musical without having read Liam’s article or attended rehearsals.
The following is a transcription of Shivani and Liam’s conversation, which took place immediately after seeing the show, on the foggy drive back to Toronto from Barrie. It has been edited for length and clarity.
Liam Donovan (LD): Well, that was a wild experience.
Shivani Nathoo (SN): Yep!
LD: I knew most of what was coming, so I’m curious: how would you describe the world premiere production of Ben Page’s All the Cows Are Dead?
SN: I would say interesting, moving, and emotional. The show follows the yearslong relationship between a butcher, Anton (played by Mike Nadajewski), and his reluctant apprentice Louis (played by Taylor Garwood), who happens to be his nephew. Louis would rather be a poet than an apprentice, but that’s not the life that he is given.
LD: The plot is hard to describe further because it’s mostly character-driven and very existential, but the recurring thing is that Anton is teaching or beating or berating Louis.
And there’s music!
SN: There is! I really liked how the music follows that relationship, evolving and changing as the relationship does. In the beginning it’s a lot more combative. They’re not seeing eye to eye — and there are some dissonant harmonies to convey that. As the musical goes on and Louis learns from Anton, he starts to sound more like him, and their songs become more conversational and playful.
LD: What was your impression of the physical space, designed by Alessia Urbani?
SN: The physical space is set up as a butcher shop and the setting is very clear. As you walk in you’re greeted by harsh lighting and red, pink, and brown balloons hanging from the ceiling, resembling meat in a meat locker. There are also important phrases from the show on the walls.
LD: And this is all in a narrow room in an office building in Barrie, which feels very liminal.
SN: There’s also the really cool use of one-way glass.
LD: Right, there’s another off-stage space that sort of feels like a backroom, where things happen that you either can’t see or can half-see.
SN: It’s very, very immersive as well.
LD: Because there’s only one row of seats!
SN: The actors will be singing at you and speaking at you — constantly breaking the fourth wall.
Which parts of the rehearsal process did you see?
LD: The last thing I saw was a stumble-through, so things were still coming together on a technical level.
Now that they’re in costume, one thing I really felt is how much Anton is a master of his craft, with how sharp he looks — he wears sort of 1950s garb, and has a well-groomed mustache. His clean-cut appearance contrasts Louis’ initial starving-artist vibe, which underlines the master-apprentice dynamic.
SN: Other than the technical aspects, did any parts of the show change substantially?
LD: “I Am a Butcher,” which is the quasi-opening number introducing us to the shop, used to be very Broadway, with lots of dancing. It’s still fun and uptempo, but it’s a bit more grounded in reality. And then there’s another song that became more heightened — it’s where Anton is singing about the different cuts of meat, and almost doing jigs as he carries the balloons around the room.
It feels like Will Dao, who directed the show (and is a friend of mine), calibrated those two songs to be more truthful to Anton’s psychology. Butchery is what gives his life meaning, so it makes sense that he’s most excited when meat is in front of him, ready for cutting.
Are there any images from the show that are staying with you?
SN: The climactic final sequence, which we shouldn’t spoil — the physicality of it, paired with the music and the lighting changes.
Throughout the whole show I loved how they use lighting and the “ding” of a butcher-shop bell to show time progressing. But it’s used in a very clever way in that scene in particular.
LD: There’s no lightning designer credited, and just three lighting sources. But in that scene, they create a stunning cinematic effect by quickly alternating through them.
What do you think Anton and Louis want from each other?
SN: I think Anton wants Louis to be his successor. But he also wants Louis to grow up and live in the real world. Nadajewski plays Anton as a very gruff, pragmatic character. His movements are rough but precise, reflecting that groundedness. In contrast, Garwood’s Louis is dreamlike and fantastical. He talks about wanting to be a poet but he doesn’t really try — he just complains while halfheartedly doing his work.
LD: Yeah, Louis says he wants to be a poet, but he has never written a poem. It’s like artistic inspiration is his Godot.
SN: He’s also an orphan, and I think he really wants that parental kindness and approval.
It’s a very hot and cold relationship — at times he does seem to be getting that from Anton, but then the tone will switch. Garwood and Nadajewski navigate these shifts skilfully and organically. It never seems forced.
LD: During this viewing, I started thinking about our current Kirkified moment, with toxic masculinity running rampant. And I almost want to say Louis’ journey is one of being radicalized. Especially because there’s this scene where Anton is teaching Louis to literally “charm” or seduce people — there’s male influencers that sell this to people!
But I also don’t want to paint Anton’s butchery as nefarious, because in the end he’s more of an artist than Louis. After all, he actually practices his craft. And unlike Elon Musk, he has so much empathy — for the cows, that is.
SN: Another thing the show brought to mind for me was that intimate relationship you have with your local butcher. Right now, with big chain grocery stores, you don’t have that familiarity. Everything is mass-produced, and you’re separated from the meat. Anton kept reminding Louis that this is a living being you’re serving up. It had a life, ate grass, and was happy.
LD: Do you think the balloons as meat works?
SN: I do.
LD: It was interesting to learn that in an early workshop for the show, lighting design represented the meat, but Will thought it wasn’t tangible enough, and he had the idea of balloons — in a dream, actually!
I love that the different types of meat transform in different ways.
SN: One part that requires a stretch of the imagination was when Louis acts out and intentionally pops a balloon, causing Anton to get angry at him for ruining the meat. Because before that point, we look at the balloons and we understand them to be meat, and then in that moment, we are made to see them as balloons again. We’re invited into the world with the props used one way, and then they’re used a different way.
LD: I found it exciting that the rules changed in that way, but I knew it was coming. And if a balloon never popped, there might be an unresolved Chekhov’s balloon effect. But it’s definitely a very sharp shift in theatrical vocabulary, and also just, like, loud in that small space.
Was there anything else in the show that you found unclear or unsatisfying?
SN: There were a number of timeline jumps in the show but we aren’t told how much time has passed, which made it a bit confusing to figure out how much the relationship had progressed. It also led me to feel like the ending wasn’t earned. The final turn felt very sharp, because I felt like I hadn’t seen the relationship evolve enough for the characters’ motivations in that scene.
Another thing that made the relationship development difficult to follow is the fact that Anton was so hot and cold, but in some scenes he was only kind or only cruel — I couldn’t tell if he was growing as a person or not.
LD: For me, since the show is so economical, and the turns in tone happen so fast, it’s almost Grimm- or parable-esque, which I’ve grown to really embrace. And this sort of fits the fact that when Ben was first writing it, they were considering it a kind of “clown opera” — not realistic at all.
Who would you recommend the show to?
SN: When I first came in and saw the set and the knives, my mind went to Sweeney Todd, because it’s a musical about butchery and meat. Even though it’s about killing cows, not people, I think I would still recommend it to someone who likes Sweeney Todd, because there’s an absurdity and abstraction to it that almost requires you to take the musical for what it’s giving you. It’s definitely not for everyone.
LD: Is it for you?
SN: The abstractness and absurdity is for me. Where I found it challenging was where it wasn’t consistent, where the rules changed and then changed again. I was kind of saying “OK, this is what I’m accepting, and this is the frame I’m using.” And then I had to readjust my frame, and then I had to readjust again.
I think had I been in your shoes and read the script before, I would have been prepared for it.
LD: Yeah, I almost feel like someone who has listened to a cast recording over and over again until they’ve absorbed a show’s rhythms. So I’m biased, but I really love it. With the balloons and postmodern visual approach, the show feels so theatrical. It definitely couldn’t be in any other medium.
On a less subjective level, let’s say it out loud again: we just watched a two-person musical about a butcher cutting up meat-balloons in an office building in Barrie. Musicals of that scale and inventiveness are super rare in Canada. It felt so unique.
SN: It did. And I think the music was really, really good.
On the surface, this is a musical about how to be a butcher. But it’s also so much more. We’ve talked about the ways in which it relates to modern life, and the symbolism. But they’re also having these deep discussions about happiness, and the meaning of life. There is definitely another layer to it around how to live and what makes a good life.
LD: As it says on the wall: “This is the way it should feel.”
All the Cows Are Dead runs at 80 Bradford Street in Barrie until January 31. More information is available here.
This article is the second entry in a two-part embedded criticism series, which Talk Is Free Theatre supported financially.
WRITTEN BY
Liam Donovan
Liam is Intermission’s senior editor. He lives in Toronto.
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WRITTEN BY
Shivani Nathoo
Shivani (she/her) is an engineer and an interdisciplinary artist. Growing up, she floated between many mediums, including fibre and beading arts, music, and writing. As an adult, she carries this curiosity with her, continuously trying new things and growing her artistic practice. She was a participant of the Toronto Fringe’s New Young Reviewers program in 2025. She also runs the blog Arts in the City, where she publishes reviews and essays on the Arts scene in Toronto. She is passionate about equity in the arts and STEM, and an avid fan of live performance. When she’s not working, you can find her in the audience at a theatre or concert hall.
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