Promo for dance production of Make Banana Cry by Andrew Tay and Stephen Thompson, at UQAM in Montreal, 2022| Photo by Manuel Vasson
I’m on board with people dressing weird and doing wacky shit. It can be done with varying degrees of intentionality, pathos, wit and finesse, but for an hour or less, I can find outrageous behaviour, on its own terms, quite compelling. Presented by Toronto Dance Theatre and Buddies in Bad Times, Make Banana Cry offers enough giddy and flamboyant spectacle to satisfy me, but co-creators Andrew Tay and Stephen Thompson have considerably more ambitious mischief up their sleeves.
In its structure and aesthetics, this bizarre journey is both formal and anarchic—a playful balance. The performers (Francesca Chudnoff, Hanako Hoshimi-Caines, Winnie Ho, Cynthia Koppe, Sehyoung Lee, and Thompson) parade a circuitous route through the audience as runway models, showcasing a variety of cartoonish modes of being as fashion for our amusement and contemplation. While so many of the individual props and outfits seem random, a logic gradually reveals itself.
Opening ominously in the dark, the sound of a helicopter puts us on edge. The troupe begins tortuously slow, fully bundled up in winter gear and trudging along reluctantly. We start to pick up on quirks of movement that suggest distinct attitudes towards their repetitive motion along the runway. As layers of clothing are shed and replaced, the light brightens, the pace picks up and colour emerges. Brandishing disparate objects—a dented metal lampshade, plastic fly swatters, poop emoji slippers—round and round they go, while the soundtrack offers a medley of pop culture asian-ness.
Of the many references, most were white gaze concoctions like “Turning Japanese,” “The Siamese Cat Song” from Lady and the Tramp, the Miss Saigon overture, dialogue from The Karate Kid, though I did notice the haunting theme from In the Mood for Love, so there is some room for authenticity here. Grotesque stereotypes abound, however, as abstracted camp caricature. I wonder how cathartic this is for asian folks. I certainly felt the critique here, not so much as a reckoning with racist attitudes, but as a funhouse mirror reflection of the dodgy cultural artifacts we’ve embraced. Blending nostalgia and satire, we’re invited to scrutinize and enjoy.
An essential aspect of the performance is the awkwardness of facing our fellow audience members as we all try to process these shenanigans. We make eye contact, avert our gaze, wait for the next performer to round the bend to be our focal point, to distract us from our very undignified assemblage. We’re required to don pink plastic booties on our feet, y’see, a small gesture that unites us in buffoonery and incorporates us into the spectacle.
As the outfits and behaviour become increasingly audacious, the performance maintains a rather consistent pattern. The troupe will up the ante, the crazy will plateau, then ramp up again. The periods of monotony are relatively brief and augmented by the fun of eccentric antics and attire. Assuming you vibe with it, of course, the pageantry, textures and personae are exhilarating on their own terms.
Dominique Pétrin’s art installation provides a blue and pink, Keith Haring-eque backdrop to the festivities. It is bright and whimsical, though there are some cultural provocations. The runway itself, for instance, features a field of swastikas. Their impact is somewhat softened by the colour, layout and re-contextualization. The symbol has a rich history that extends far beyond the Nazi’s use of it as a political emblem and our ugly associations with it. There is a significant sense of cleansing to this, seeing it disarmed and reclaimed as a buoyant and affirmative symbol.
After a whirlwind of flashy visuals and exuberant flailing, the finale is a logical and intensely vulnerable conclusion. Having witnessed outlandish expressions of identity erupting, fluctuating then collapsing upon themselves in eccentric waves, those identities finally disintegrate—leaving us to contemplate the exhausted aftermath and the exposed humanity splayed out at our feet. I appreciate Tay and Thompson’s choice to have us sit in attentive silence and stillness for such a prolonged period, demanding we be present and intimately aware.
Make Banana Cry
January 14 to 17, 2026
Buddies in Bad Times Theatre
(12 Alexander Street)
60 minutes
Cynthia Koppe in Make Banana Cry | Photo by Diana Agunbiade