The Toronto Theatre Review: Three Ships Collective’s A Christmas Carol
By Ross
The house remembers us. Or at least, that is how it felt stepping again into the Campbell House Museum for this year’s remount of A Christmas Carol, a Three Ships Collective production with the support of Soup Can Theatre. The air seemed unchanged yet sharply awake. Polished wood, watchful corners, and that quiet breath of history lingered like the faint vibration of a violin string. I arrived expecting a familiar journey, but found a staging still tender and alive, full of the finely drawn storytelling that made last year’s version such a quiet revelation.
In a season crowded with retellings, from the exquisite 1951 Alastair Sim classic to the joyous “Muppet Christmas Carol“ to the grimly atmospheric FX adaptation with Guy Pearce, this immersive Campbell House production continues to claim its own intimate corner. Even on a return visit, its magic feels almost secret. There are no bold re-inventions here, no theatrical gimmickry, just a profoundly attentive company guiding the audience through Dickens’s tale as though the building itself has chosen to speak.
Thomas Gough’s Ebenezer Scrooge remains one of the most nuanced interpretations I have encountered. He is sharp-edged, but the frost seems to form around old injuries rather than cruelty. Watching him this year revealed more of the tremor in his silences, the way small defeats have slowly hardened into habit. It is a beautifully restrained performance that grows richer each time it is seen.
The largest shift comes from the ensemble surrounding him. Several roles have changed hands, yet the cohesion is unbroken. Michael Dufays offers a striking new Marley whose silence becomes a form of authority. Last year’s Marley leaned into charm and wit; Dufays creates something calmer, yet more persuasive. A tilt of the head, a sardonic shrug, a ghostly gesture curling us forward all become guiding signals. He conducts the audience through the rooms with such precise, playful authority that I found myself watching him even when he wasn’t the focus. When he finally spoke to Gough’s Scrooge, the effect was almost shockingly sincere. The two felt perfectly matched, one man and one ghost, old partners bound by regret and haunting each other in their own way.
As the Ghost of Christmas Past, Keren Edelist brings a luminous calm. She carries the weight of memory with steady grace, and her scenes with both the young and older Ebenezer have a quiet solemnity that feels rooted in care. Then Autumn Davis sweeps in as the Ghost of Christmas Present, with wild warmth, wit, and a beautifully layered sense of empathy. She has a firecracker knack for holding a room as she leads us from chamber to chamber, and her presence deepens the production’s emotional register. And though the details of the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come are best left unspoiled, Kendelle Parks shapes the role with elegant restraint. The tableau of veiled spirits remains uncanny even when one knows it is coming.
Another standout is Benjamin Thomas taking on both Fred and Fezziwig with effortless charm and a kind of full-bodied holiday spirit. His Fred radiates sincerity without slipping into sentimentality, and his Fezziwig is pure joy; buoyant, generous, and infectiously alive. Jacob Klick delivers a wonderfully textured Young Ebenezer: awkward, hopeful, and eventually hollowing out as his fear begins to calcify. His scenes with Shannon Pitre’s tender, grounded Belle are quietly devastating, and achingly sincere. And the Cratchit family: Justin Hay’s beautifully gentle Bob, Brianne Tucker’s steady and heartbreaking Emily, and the surrounding constellation of Cratchit children, create the emotional center that every Christmas Carol needs. Their scenes land not because they aim for sentiment, but because they play everything simply and truthfully.
On the surface, little appears different in this year’s staging. Justin Haigh’s script remains a masterclass in adaptation. It is faithful without being reverential, inventive without gimmickry. Sare Thorpe’s direction still moves the audience through Campbell House with elegant stealth, using the architecture not as a backdrop but as a living collaborator. Alecia Pagnotta’s musical direction, alongside Pratik Gandhi’s compositions, continues to lend the evening its emotional pulse. But the real power lies in the production’s consistency. The production knows exactly what it wants to share, and the house feels willing to reveal it.
I walked in expecting appreciation and left moved all over again. The lump in my throat returned at moments I thought I had braced for. The familiarity has not softened the experience; it has sharpened it. Three Ships Collective and Soup Can Theatre’s A Christmas Carol remains one of Toronto’s most affecting holiday offerings. It is modest in scale, rich in spirit, and made with uncommon care. Campbell House may remember us, but this staging remembers something more important: that Dickens’s story is not about spectacle, but invitation. A hand extended in the dark, guiding us room by room toward the light.
