The Hamilton Fringe Theatre Review: A Canadian Explains Eurovision to Other Canadians + The Heterosexuals
By Ross
“This story is my truth“, our guide tells us, right before admitting that he also tries to sing, but wouldn’t call himself a singer. This is a framing that I both completely understand and align with, about the art of carrying a tune, but also in the last two shows from the Hamilton Fringe that I’m writing about. Yes, it’s a delayed response, but when you see ten shows over three days, it takes some time to write about them each, giving them the respect, time, and thought they each deserve. And these last two are exactly the shows I love to lean into—gay, proud, and outspoken solo renderings that unpack parts of the community I’m either unaware of (like Eurovision) or find completely relatable.
Inside the hilariously authentic unpacking (that I wasn’t aware I needed), Cant Stand Sitting Productions‘ A Canadian Explains Eurovision to Other Canadians is an affectionately delivered love letter to a certain very specific music festival that I must admit I have never watched nor paid much attention to. I’ll also add that, beyond the final of the first season of “American Idol,” I don’t really watch any of these ‘talent’ competitions that the world loves so much. I’m not sure why, but reality television is not my thing, and that includes competition shows and Eurovision.
“Part stand-up, part TED Talk, part glitter-fueled existential crisis“, this solo show finds its unique flavor in this Euro-song competition, taking us through its history while paying close attention to all the queer joy, sequins, and songs that have floated out, with force, from all the participating countries that send their brightest stars. Abba is really the only one I know about, but there’s a ton of fascinating outtakes that our devoted creator and performer, Matti McLean (CSS’s Solo Painting), has in store. “Facts matter,” he pokes, as he delivers these teaching moments with flawlessly festive fierceness. It’s a whirlwind tour of Eurovision history, excitedly pouring out more details and information than one would ever really need to know, from out-and-proud, sexy songs performed sometimes by our confident guide, to demented and perfect Finnish “cha-cha-cha” performances.
“My dad, he strums“, informs our fearless leader, and “my sister sings.” Still, McLean, after growing up performing in musical theatre, has found his true calling, walking us through his world using Eurovision and honest reflections as the one-person show’s solid guideposts, decorated with an endless well of showbiz pizzazz, engaging wit, and wonderful “Hold Me Now” energy. Much like the other solo show I saw on my last day at the Hamilton Fringe, Redheaded Stepchild Productions‘ The Heterosexuals, which expertly and wryly “spills the T on what The Queers really think about The Straights“.
It’s a deep dive with plenty of steam heat and prompts, delivered slyly, like a good challenge, by the wonderfully witty and clever writer and performer Johnnie McNamara Walker (Gaylord). Walker doesn’t hold back on discussing the serious problem put forth, about the shocking world of Heterosexuality and how they walk among us, pushing forth their tricks, traps, and tests, policing our behaviour, and trying their hardest to indoctrinate with their “Heterosexual propaganda“. Taking us down a wonderfully constructed queer road that was simply born that way, Walker finds sharply performed satire emanating from the secret queer hive mind that lives inside all of queer boys, fighting hard against the straight machine that wants us to conform.
They are afraid of us, Walker rightly informs us, and “vice versa” as he unpacks all the Coors flavours found in The Heterosexuals and their complete obsession with us. He goes wisely and cleverly undercover to do his research, while gathering and posing so many questions, like “Where did they come from? And what do they think they’re wearing?” Each moment has clarity and an informed feistiness, and even when a tossed-out answer throws the talented performer off-balance, hilariously and momentarily, the queer engagement never fails or falters in its investigative storytelling. Always and forever humiliating, Walker, like his Eurovision counterpart, knows exactly who they are talking to, and why they are delivering forth their expert ramblings that are as sharp and witty as they are wise. And both are much needed.
