Andrew Broderick, Hailey Gillis, Giles Tomkins, Jacqueline Thair, Damien Atkins, Alicia Ault, Ben Carlson and Zorana Sadiq in Octet | Photo by Dahlia Katz
“We are so fucked.”
Yeah.
By the time we get to “Actually,” Toby’s (Andrew Broderick) rant-song about how rigged the system is, how absolutely far gone we are and complacent we’ve become with this new opiate of the masses, I was already fully on-board. This is where shit got very real for me though, where the cynicism crystallized. This was mucky-bottom wallowing in the noxious quagmire of internet culture and Broderick fervently nails that frustration and sense of doom. But even the fact that Toby is telling us how awful things are is, in itself, hopeful.
Octet is, ultimately, a declaration of hope and healing potential. Despite all the disturbing truth-bombs and relatable admissions of doom-scrolling and trolling and the acknowledgement of myriad avenues of instant, stupefying gratification, viral embarrassment and the bleak awareness of how much of our humanity is being eaten up by this ravenous beast—despite all that, Dave Malloy’s a cappella musical about internet obsession is genuinely uplifting. Because it is both honest and fun. Because it is so clever and insightful. Because it sees us and cares.
After the massive success of Natasha, Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812—Crow’s Theatre’s recent collaboration with The Musical Stage Company (which went on to become part of the Mirvish season) and a Malloy musical directed by Chris Abraham—I’m sure we were all buzzing with anticipation, wondering: can they do it again? They can. And have! Soulpepper joins in for this venture, and I’m thrilled to report that this production exceeded my expectations.
Toby is one of eight members of a internet addiction support group called the Friends of Saul. We never meet Saul. Perhaps Saul is a bot—that would be an amusing irony. Congregants come and go, but it must always be eight. A haunting and hilarious ceremony involving some, uh, special tea suggests this might actually be a cult! And for 95 minutes, we listen to musicalized disclosures and witness human connection during a session held in a church basement.
Abraham once again offers up innovative and intimate spectacle. Joshua Quinlan’s set captures the quaint charm of a church basement, but it’s got some high-tech, integrated surprises in store with Nathan Bruce’s video design. The parquet flooring quickly gives way to dynamic displays that convey the glowing, digitized world the characters’ have found themselves adrift in. As this ensemble’s rousing eight-part harmonies pull us into the communal vibes, Cameron Carver’s choreography seems to emerge organically out of the stirring vocals—arranged so intricately by Malloy and maintained by Ryan deSouza’s music direction. The gestalt is both scintillating and ominous in its evocation of cyberspace creeping into our psyches and reshaping our neurology.
And what a cast too! With the aforementioned Broderick, there’s Damien Atkins, Alicia Ault, Ben Carlson, Hailey Gillis, Zorana Sadiq, Jacqueline Thair and Giles Tomkins. Each has their moments to hold our attention as we invest in their struggles with flashy games, dating apps, rabbit holes and all the swiping, refreshing, robotic and dehumanizing motions we now accept as natural and inevitable.
On the opposite end of the spectrum from Broderick’s jaundiced number, is Velma’s “Beautiful.” Leaping from gentle, almost timid revelations to absolutely belting it out of the park, Ault’s performance really touched me. With its consoling observation that this treacherous and alienating tool can also offer intimate human connection, it is a perfect antidote to the toxic noise they’ve all been lamenting.
A perceptive and aching exploration of how dangerous our screen-time is for us as individuals and a society, Malloy touches on so many interrelated human phenomena—religion, intellect, loneliness, resentment, sexuality and a whole slew of quirks and fixations. It is an exposé, a lament, a celebration, and goes to some thrillingly unhinged places. The overarching motif of the internet as a beast, hunting us down, with a forest being our refuge, feels apt and resonant—a galvanizing reminder to go out and touch some grass.
Octet
September 9 to October 12, 2025
Guloien Theatre, Streetcar Crowsnest
(345 Carlaw Avenue)
95 minutes (no intermission)
Alicia Ault, Andrew Broderick, Giles Tomkins, Damien Atkins, Hailey Gillis, Ben Carlson and Zorana Sadiq in Octet | Photo by Dahlia Katz