Natalia Bushnik & Darius Rathe in síofra | Photo by Jack Woolfe
I’ve caught a few things from Spindle Collective and have really enjoyed their moody, folk horror offerings. Their collaboration with Eldritch Theatre at the beginning of the year for Dead of Winter: Toronto’s First Horror Theatre Festival was an eerily fruitful partnership and a novel contribution to the local theatre scene. síofra, though, is on a whole ‘nother level of narrative intensity. The second instalment of their “Dark Mother Trilogy”—a dark, folkloric exploration of motherhood (which includes SAMCA, set in Romania, and the Germanic SpilleHOLLE)—takes us to nineteenth century Ireland, where a struggling rural community must contend with sinister forces.
The specific nature of those sinister forces is the crucial, resonant ambiguity of the story. Written by Natalia Bushnik and Kathleen Welch, síofra immerses us in a stifling world of Catholic superstition, Celtic legend and acute mental illness. Mary (Bushnik) and Michael (Darius Rathe) are newly-weds, making a home on a rumoured “fairy mound” beneath the infamous Knockma Hill.
Poverty, cultural expectation and domestic stresses conspire to warp their perceptions. Of the many searing bits of poetry in the writing, I can’t stop thinking about Mary’s unsettling yet strangely relatable description of her young son’s form—“his shape is wrong.” Has their newborn child been stolen by malicious fairies and replaced with a malevolent changeling? Or is he just a normal baby, crying out in response to malnutrition, harsh living and a tense home? Is Mary’s brutal response a sacred act of protection or the abject flailing of broken mind?
In the thick atmosphere of director Welch’s feverish production, any or all of these things can be true at once. Ciarán Connaire’s set has a simple, rustic charm. With little more than some twigs hung from black curtains and a raised platform to represent Mary and Michael’s home, the stage is set for the actors to make Bushnik and Welch’s ominous, heartfelt and urgently insightful text flesh. Across the board, the performances are vivid and deeply compelling.
Bushnik is painfully convincing as a young mother ill-equipped to deal with the persistent cries of a newborn—or, possibly, the awful dark magic of fairies. Her face and body language fluctuate persuasively between guileless wonder, paralyzing frustration and entranced drifting. Rathe, who I’ve taken notice of recently, gives a thoroughly captivating portrait of strained integrity here. I was transfixed by his playful, defiant and eventually heart-wrenching presence.
Though I found Rathe particularly beguiling, the whole ensemble is solid. Jeanie Calleja, Susan Wesson and Claire Haig-Halsall are a compelling trio of gossiping women with a rich dynamic that betrays a history together as well as their own distinctive idiosyncrasies. I loved the drunken camaraderie Rathe has with Eric Woolfe’s Dr. Ferris and his brother-in-law, Thomas (Justin Otto)—all very affecting evocations of vulnerable masculinity.
Woolfe’s performance strikes an uncomfortable balance between creepy and charismatic. In his moments as narrator, his pronunciation of “Knockma Hill” feels like an amusing, melodramatically sinister tip of the hat to his various Eldritch Theatre personae. His moments with Mary, as doctor and confidante, are subtly distressing as we sense his barely concealed lust underneath the paternalistic reassurances.
Rachel Offer, as Mary’s sister Siobhan, provides yet another very moving portrayal. There is an intensely poignant scene between them, when Mary first confesses her gruesome act, where Offer’s face changes with quiet, stirring suddenness—an internal shudder that reverberates throughout the theatre. Finally, Brian Taylor’s Jim, Mary’s sickly grandfather, adds a curmudgeonly, very human texture to this potent gestalt.
The structure of the script further strengthens the tension by having the folks who are witnessing the dire scenario address the audience in portentous interstitial asides—having their unique say and alluding cryptically to the dreadful events to come. The lilting rhythms of the Irish dialect, the understated gloom of Brendan Kinnon’s lighting and the sorrowful, folksy songs by Welch—all conspire to conjure and maintain the dense, febrile ambiance.
Dress light, because it gets mighty hot there in the Red Sandcastle Theatre. That mugginess though, the moist intimacy of shared sweat, really completes the experience!
síofra
June 17 to 28, 2026
Red Sandcastle Theatre
(922 Queen Street East)
90 minutes (no intermission)
Natalia Bushnik & Rachel Offer, Justin Otto & Rachel Offer, Claire Haig-Halsall & Rachel Offer in síofra | Photos by Jack Woolfe