Preceded by Deceitful Above All Things and Dark Heart, Heartless completes Genevieve Adam’s New France Trilogy. With research into the experience of Indigenous communities providing vital context, Adam has crafted an intimate and compelling portrait of Canada’s colonial history. Delving beyond the Euro-centric, settler perspective that has prevailed for generations, this story is a refreshingly holistic representation.
In 1689, Wendat warriors Sheauga (Montana Adams) and Oheo (Theresa Cutknife) finally catch up with a fugitive priest, Nicolas (Scott Garland). He holds a precious secret—the fate of Marinette’s (Darcy Gerhart) missing husband, whose fur-trading company she’s taken over. Marinette’s brash and enterprising mother Anne (G. Adam) also has a stake in this secret. A fur-trapper named Lionel (Jordan M. Burns) is Marinette’s smarmy current suitor and an ailing Jesuit nun, Catherine (Brianne Tucker), is searching for a lost ancestral city. Of its many thematic strengths, the depiction of robust and determined women holding fort is a definitive aspect of the story.
We never meet Serge—Marinette’s late husband—though we get a sense he was a nasty piece of work. Even when their intentions and behaviour are ultimately benign, anyone here seems capable of brutality. Adam’s script is thoroughly convincing in its evocation of the harsh circumstances that require good people to adopt monstrous shapes.
The darkness is balanced with restorative moments of forgiveness and plenty of humour. As always, Adam’s presence here is a comic highlight, bringing a trademark bawdy humour to her portrayal of the feisty and commanding Anne. As Sheauga, M. Adams’ was particularly compelling to me, her understated intensity and restraint hinted at a multitude of emotions held at bay.
Overall, though, too much of the production fell flat for me. The performances hit the crucial marks, but feel under-rehearsed. Director Tyler Seguin’s stylized vision has a number of vivid and intriguing elements that don’t quite stick the landing. Compared to his earthy production of Dark Heart, which conjured a palpably menacing wilderness, I was disappointed by the relative lack of atmosphere.
Kalina Popova’s period costumes are detailed and authentic, but her set feels like a fanciful misfire. The draped pinkish fabric that provides a whimsical sort of proscenium is certainly artful, especially in Imogen Wilson’s vibrant lighting, but seems rather incongruous. My eyes kept drifting towards the sinewy texture, but I couldn’t parse the intended significance.
The impact of the violence is also hit or miss. Matt Richardson’s fight choreography is often convincing, though some moments are stilted. It doesn’t seem as if full realism is intended anyway, as each of these episodes are heightened with melodic stings composed by Alyssa Delbaere-Sawchuk. The rest of Maddie Bautista’s sound design is well-integrated and persuasive.
As a theatrical experience, this staging isn’t as cohesive as the previous two productions, but it still has significant narrative power. Most importantly, it is an emotionally satisfying conclusion to Adam’s poetic, resonant and distinctly Canadian epic.


