Jonathan Wilson in A Public Display of Affection | Photo by Dahlia Katz
Though I’ve most recently enjoyed him in the two consecutive Toronto Fringe hits Gay for Pay with Blake and Clay and its sequel, Blake and Clay’s Gay Agenda, I first saw Jonathan Wilson in his heartfelt, auto-biographical solo show My Own Private Oshawa. His achy theatrical memoir about queer adolescence in rural Ontario resonated. This was the late 90s, I was 19 at the time and had only been out a couple of years. A Public Display of Affection, presented by Studio 180 Theatre and Crow’s Theatre, is an inadvertent, though very direct, continuation.
Inspired by ACTRA‘s invitation to speak on the subject, Wilson juxtaposes his teenage years and early adulthood in Toronto’s burgeoning gay village with his current status as a gay elder. Wilson’s affable, playful demeanour betrays a sort of bewildered astonishment at finding himself… well, older. It’s the most natural thing, right, but remembering my own youth and having now reached middle age, I get it. His intimate portrait of a life lived and his bubbly manner give me some hope of continuing the aging process with a semblance of grace and whimsy.
Wilson takes back to the late 70s, early 80s. I wasn’t around for those early, violent episodes that galvanized the gay community and laid the foundations for the privilege I enjoy now—the luxury of not considering my sexuality all that interesting. His reflexive awe at a public display of affection—two men casually holding hands in a Starbucks—is understandable. It is still, in his eyes, a profoundly political act—its current mundanity a hard-won, slightly bittersweet, success. The payoff to this brief encounter is his own nonchalant hand-holding with his partner, having just certified their two-decades long union—a tender moment of gratifying peace.
Throughout his personalized guided tour, Wilson conjures landmarks both geographic and emotional. The St. Charles Tavern. The AIDS crisis. The bathhouse raids. He evokes an image of blood drops on concrete, an emblem—the human cost of progress. A Coke bottle to the forehead immediately followed by a sweaty night of defiant, dance-club revelry captures the urgent, surreality of the circumstances beautifully. Of the many anecdotes, my favourites fixated on the relationship with his first boyfriend, an adorable Italian named Tommy, and their mutual friend Orchid, an Indigenous trans-woman. I love his affection for their shabby digs, a roach-infested halfway house, lacking in niceties, but rich in community.
I greatly appreciated the candor of his admission of less than heroic behaviour. His openness about abandoning Tommy as disease ravaged his body adds relatable human weakness to his personal mythology. The self-preserving instinct is a powerful force and too often stigmatized without examination. His empathy is apparent in the tone of this confession. Their brief, final re-union is heartbreaking and hopeful in equal measure. Reciting the names of friends lost to AIDS has an understated, cumulative impact.
Mark McGrinder’s staging offers some evocative visual flourishes that compliment Wilson’s stage presence rather than distract from it. The well-integrated design elements include Denyse Karn’s bank of projection screens depicting a motif of city lights and grainy, nostalgic archival photos. André du Toit’s lighting is subtle overall yet erupts in garish colour when Wilson’s reminiscence of an exuberant club scene demands it. Lyon Smith’s sound design features some iconic needle drops that place us firmly in the era.
While acknowledging that “trauma-centred” storytelling is discouraged in favour of a more uplifting promotion of “queer joy,” Wilson honours both here. There were moments when it felt like Wilson was speaking directly to me. In such an intimate venue, that is bound to happen, though it sometimes feels either contrived or accidental. Wilson fosters a genuine sense of warmth and acknowledgement here, inviting you into this vulnerable space with disarming humour and honesty.
A Public Display of Affection
running March 25 to April 20, 2025
Streetcar Crowsnest, Studio (345 Carlaw Avenue)
running time: 80 minutes (no intermission)
Jonathan Wilson in A Public Display of Affection | Photo by Dahlia Katz