Cyrus Lane and Kirstyn Russelle in Blackbird | Photo by Dahlia Katz
Theatre is such a versatile creature. When you see as much of it as I do, you’re struck by the whiplash of going from a mega-musical surrounded by twelve hundred other people, to snuggling up with twenty in the basement office of a church, staring at an overflowing can of trash. Talk Is Free Theatre has truly mastered the art of these intimate, immersive experiences and I get so excited for each one. True to form, David Harrower’s Blackbird, their most recent, is a deeply compelling two-hander (mostly, a third surprise guest appears late in the game) that goes to some discomfiting places without batting an eye.
The first thing we notice is the squalor. The aforementioned trash can in the corner of this office break-room is one of many details you could fixate on in the stifling verisimilitude established by Lauren Cully’s set and props. Abandoned take out food containers spill out from there, and a table, onto the floor. A notice board exhibits an array of random paraphernalia inviting us to speculate on the mundane daily routines of this place. When Ray (Cyrus Lane) ushers Una (Kirstyn Russelle) into this cloistered space, we sense the shame and tension immediately. And we are suddenly privileged spectators to this covert interaction.
Sequoia Erickson’s costumes tell us a lot about this situation. There’s something off about Ray’s generically nice suit. It’s not stained or ill-fitted yet it somehow seems pathetic, like he’s trying to camouflage himself in the monotony of business as usual. At first, Una’s got her own suit of armour—a protective trench coat that paradoxically screams both defiance and vulnerability. She’s the aggressor here, demanding his attention when her presence is clearly disturbing. When she removes the trench coat to reveal a very pretty summer dress, that we start to see the twelve-year old girl whose life was derailed.
Fifteen years ago, Ray and Una were lovers. It feels gross to call them that because she was an adolescent and he was just hitting early middle age, but that is how each of them understood their situation. Of course, the law didn’t align with their feelings. Those feelings, then and now, are also conflicted and complex. Removed from the heat of carnal urgency and Una now an adult, both acknowledge the destructive nature of that affair. He always knew he was doing something wrong and she has grown into the awareness.
In many ways, their talk of the experience seems to suggest an equilibrium of power. As he gradually softens to her presence and opens up, there is a tenderness that flows between them. Russelle and Lane, mere feet away from us, are urgent and convincing as they navigate the fluctuating, turbulent-then-gentle water of their recollections. The emotive quality of their interaction is varied and authentic. Ray isn’t a monster and Una isn’t a victim without agency. Director Dean Deffett ensures the charged atmosphere in that tiny room never falters.
As details emerge, about the past and present, we see that their mutual affection is real, we recognize it; but we also must acknowledge that, even though Una was the supposed instigator back then, it was Ray who held the responsibility. But people fail all the time and the play asks us to consider the humanity of that failure.
There is a palpably eerie sense of danger just outside the door of this cramped room and the hallway we imagine beyond. Ray’s co-workers, who know him as “Peter,” are an unsettling presence in our minds. There is no explicit altercation, yet when Lucy Janisse appears as someone from Ray’s current life, the impact feels catastrophic. The situational specifics are left ambiguous, but some chickens have certainly come home to roost.
Blackbird
October 1 to 18, 2025
Hope United Church
(2550 Danforth Avenue)
80 minutes (no intermission)
Cyrus Lane and Kirstyn Russelle in Blackbird | Photo by Dahlia Katz