William Ellis & cast of The Herald | Photo by Albert Hoang
Do you like it weird? I do. I like it very weird. I’m currently reading a novel by Renaissance woman, Miranda July, an artistic hero of mine. She holds a similar place in my psyche as David Lynch. (It’s really nice she’s still around.) But anyway, I’m reading her offbeat novel and its weirdness resonates because, like all her work, it’s so tender and mundanely human. In her conspiratorial, whispered voice, she invites me to see some weird part of life more clearly and understand it in a whole new light.
Jill Connell’s The Herald, presented by It Could Still Happen and Buddies in Bad Times Theatre, was kinda like that for me. It opens in the form of a lecture, which may not thrill everyone, but I love lectures. Love. Them. It’s a weird lecture, contrasting astrological day and night charts, meditating on Antonio Banderas’ weird choice to leave a successful acting career, return to school and become a fashion designer so he can bring capes back. Except he didn’t bring capes back. Standing at her lectern, Connell’s opening spiel made me laugh out loud several times. It is also astonishingly moving as she interrogates this notion of being haunted by the things we don’t create, convincing us (me, at least) that they are as real as the things we do.
Connell strikes a delicate balance between whimsy, academic rigour and sincere investment in random-ass, insightful observations. From her opening lecture and the “principles for work” projected onto a background screen, the piece explodes out from this contained format as the ensemble (William Ellis, Stephen Jackman-Torkoff, Jackie Rowland, Rose Tuong and Fan Wu) fills the stage to embody this absurdist, mythological and meta-theatrical portrait. Hovering in a poetic, abstracted space between Ancient Greece and our Contemporary World, we meet the Herald, who hilariously explains his job which is simultaneously real and unreal.
I suppose now is as good a time as any to mention that the crucial theme that ties all of this together is labour. With scholarly references woven in, this notion of labour—what we do and why—is a through-line that unites the ancient world with our own, blending real life with narrative invention. The Herald’s lover, Herakles, takes several differently gendered forms as the same scene plays out between them, again and again. My favourite incarnation of Herakles was Jackman-Torkoff’s, who is always exceptionally compelling in this sort of playfully physical, impulsive mode of being. Unlike the Herald who just stands around all day and night, Herakles’ labour(s) take him on demanding adventures. The moments they have together are a brief respite between these labours before he joins Jason on his quest to reclaim the Golden Fleece.
And we get to meet Jason. In a very funny video, Ishan Davé portrays the mythological hero in a recruitment ad for his band of Argonauts. The production quality of this video is a bit janky, but clearly deliberate and part of its charm. The frivolous, homoerotic vibes are endearing. Like the whole aesthetic here, the period garb juxtaposed with the blah sight of a residential neighbourhood in Toronto is both jarring and purposefully silly.
There were times when I was quite baffled and wondered if I was just too obtuse to fully appreciate the point of certain segments. I don’t have a solid grounding in Greek mythology or academic discourse about labour. But I don’t think Connell or her collaborators are expecting their entire audience to be fully in the know. At one point, as the performers dismantle the tent set—made of gauzy fabric suspended from metal piping—they discuss the potential confusion of the previous scenes. Feeling out of the loop, the play itself indicates, is a key aspect of the journey.
My attention ebbed and flowed throughout the latter segments of this artfully ambitious production. And I pretty much tuned right out during a whole chaotic runway sequence set to Connell’s steam-of-consciousness poetic ramblings. I confess, I hadn’t a clue what the fuck was going on, but that didn’t actually bother me all that much. In a traditional play, this checking in and out would be disruptive to the overall experience, but not here. The hyper-stylized and self-aware aesthetic and giddy sensibility of the whole thing creates a space in which you’re allowed to engage with it intuitively, on your own terms.
Theatre is consistently collaborative, but some shows just feel more deeply connected to communal exploration. There is a whole slew of artistic contributors you can identify on the show page. I’ll shout out Davé again who is credited with scenography. From the stage mist collecting just above Connell’s lectern through to the gauzy cubical for the Herald and Herakles’ interactions, the artifice here has an understated majesty.
It won’t be everyone’s cup of tea, but I have great affection for the indulgent, performance art insistence of this. My favourite part is the opening lecture with its musings on how we value different forms of labour and what that reveals about us. I’m also very fond of this lyrical, contemplative device where the performers talk us through the immediate, bodily experience of being a physical entity in a particular space. Mundane. Specific. Human.
Oh, yes, remember those capes Antonio Banderas never got around to making? ORXSTRA has stepped up and designed some truly gorgeous specimens that are featured here. In all sincerity, I am very comforted that they exist. Is that weird? Yes. But that doesn’t make it any less real.
The Herald
March 4 to 14, 2026
Buddies in Bad Times Theatre
(12 Alexander Street)
85 minutes (no intermission)
Stephen Jackman-Torkoff & William Ellis in The Herald | Photo by Albert Hoang