Hilary Wheeler, James Jordan, Chloé Castrucci, Anthony Palermo, Photo by Raymond Chan
Presented by Dead Raccoon
It’s the summer of 2021, that blurry time between lockdowns when the collective headspace was super weird. People were coming back together, desperate to be human again and finding themselves no longer sure what that even means.
At RETROGRADE: The Concert Experience, the audience becomes a small crowd of dazed, expectant Torontonians wandering into a jam session at the back of a Kensington Market bar. And there we witness the lives of four young musicians unfold around us.
One woman, still reeling from the recent death of her boyfriend, is trying to reclaim herself. A “poetess” gives up on her artistry for more lucrative social media opportunities. A homeless, hipster conspiracy theorist spews outlandish takes that contain sporadic wisdom. A non-binary philosopher drifts into their sphere like a whimsical Gen Z elf. They gather weekly, calling themselves a band, though the term becomes increasingly loaded as their drama unfolds.
Inspired by the community’s support during a difficult time, creator Jackson Doner’s story, an examination of chosen family, radiates affection. Though each of these Kensington types has personality traits that could, under other circumstances, grate on my nerves; I found myself fully crushing on each of them. And it made me wistful for my early 20s.
Hilary Wheeler (Barber), James Llewellyn Evans (Kale), Chloé Castrucci (Cyan) and Anthony Palermo (Bo) are nuanced, persuasive and endearing. The cast mines their interactions to offer up revealing little nuggets of insight. Some moments hit with surprising emotional force, drawing on a well of feeling I didn’t realize was being tapped.
As a site-specific venue, Supermarket provides authentic atmosphere and immersive detail so we feel caught in a very real moment. Moving around us constantly, the actors inhabit the space with astonishing verisimilitude. They hit emotional beats with precision while maintaining a breezy, spontaneous vibe. The songs are pretty great too—each one feeling like an impromptu, musicalized rant.
At 90 minutes, this is a long Fringe entry, but every second feels honest.