Cast of Fyre | Photo provided by the company
Theatre Ya Knowww’s latest offering is scrappy bit of devised theatre. Conceptually, Fyre is a mini-tribute to the Fyre Festival debacle. Inspiring two documentaries in the same year, that outlandish episode offered peak schadenfreude for those watching from the sidelines, though understandably more traumatic for those in the thick of it. The exploited Bahamian locals, the investors, the thrill-seekers and influencers who spent exorbitant amounts of money to find themselves without food or entertainment, faced with haphazard accommodations and inadequate bathroom facilities—this disaster unfolded in real time on social media. It has been compressed here into a short, mostly goofy skit that director Ethan Persyko has molded into a loose adaptation of Eugene O’Neill’s Thirst.
Intriguing. Ambitious. Not entirely successful.
I’m not familiar with Thirst, though some cursory digging reveals the influence. Persyko has borrowed the shipwrecked trio from that bizarre play—named The Gentleman, The Dancer, The Sailor—and transplanted them to this disastrous luxury event as trapped influencers. Christopher Nesbitt, Arshida Zohari and Diego de Garay enthusiastically scramble about, falling all over each other as they come to terms with the reality of broken promises and strategic incompetence. A Bahamian resident and outspoken festival employee is represented by Lawrencia Effah. Real life organizer (and eventual criminal!) Billy McFarland is represented here as “The Billy”(Matthew Orlando), an obnoxious, deceitful and grossly irresponsible scoundrel. Caught in between the outraged victims of his scheme and the schemer himself is another “Billy” (Jonah Lipson), a more sensible fellow who’s job it is to oversee the functional details. He is, by far, the most sympathetic figure here.
Hilarity ensues. Sort of.
Though similarly rough-around-the-edges, TYK’s first production earlier this summer—a South Asian adaptation of Othello called Omkarra—had a strong script. The ensemble here don’t have such a solid text to ground them. It has all come together a little too quickly and feels more like a unpolished, sporadically funny sketch than a nuanced and compelling examination of a real-life fiasco. I did enjoy some of the physical humour with the three influencers knocking over then getting all tied up in the collapsed tent (a sheet and some sticks) that they supposedly spent thousands of dollars on.
Aside from the charming farcical shenanigans, the actors plow through (mostly improvised?) dialogue that feels forced and disorganized. As energetic and committed as the they are, dashing on and off, confronting each other with cartoonish gusto, it’s hard to really invest in the situation. Kudos to Ava Lewis for minimal yet memorable props and scenic elements. The handheld Polaroid Insta frame is on point. The glow sticks and horrendous sandwiches—stale bread and Kraft singles (still in the plastic wrapper)—handed out to the audience provide some cute immersion. The crackle and clang of empty water bottles and soda cans getting stomped on and kicked about is effectively jarring and atmospheric. Together with the crumpled remains of the tent, the ambiance is appropriately squalid.
There is no theatrical lighting for this outdoor show, save for some string lights and phone flashes, so as the evening progresses, the actors do get somewhat lost in the murk—though even this adds to the uncomfortable sense of disorientation and delirium. On the subject of delirium—I wasn’t sure exactly what to make of the dream sequence where the influencers are tormented by a nightmare version of Billy with a giant cheese on his head, called, uh, “Cheese Head Billy.” Perhaps it’s inspired by something in Thirst or just Persyko’s creative whimsy meant to convey the characters’ fraught state of mind.
It’s not a particularly well-crafted piece of theatre, though it has the charms I’ve alluded to. That unhinged, sketch comedy quality does carry us through the favourably brisk, 30-minute runtime. I think it’s fair to acknowledge certain similarities between this production and the event that inspired it, though with far less dire consequences—awkward dramatization as an inadvertent metaphor for grand catastrophe. Fyre concludes with a wild tone-shift as the actors, in a contemplative coda, provide contextualizing information on the real-life event. I don’t think it offers enough information or insight to justify the mood kill, but it is definitely a striking choice.
Fyre
September 29 to 31, 2025
Gallanough Library Amphitheatre
(1 Brooke St, Thornnhill)
30 minutes
Cast of Fyre | Photo provided by the company