Mischief, now playing at Tarragon Theatre, is the kind of production that lulls you in with wit and warmth before quietly — and then forcefully — pulling the ground out from under you. It’s funny, painful, visually arresting, and deeply uncomfortable in ways that feel deliberate rather than gratuitous. By the time the lights go down, you’re left not with tidy resolution, but with a heaviness that lingers long after you leave the theatre.
At the centre of the piece is Lisa Nasson, who wears two demanding hats as both playwright and lead performer. Her Brooke is sad, stuck, and simmering with a frustration that feels perilously close to eruption. Nasson’s performance is grounded and restrained at first, allowing humour and awkwardness to do much of the work — but as the play progresses, that restraint fractures. Brooke’s turn toward “mischief” isn’t sudden; it feels earned, fuelled by grief, anger, and the weight of inherited history pressing against modern-day inertia.
One of the production’s great pleasures is Trina Moyan as Tammy, the flaky neighbour who initially registers as comic relief. Moyan’s timing is impeccable, but what makes the character resonate is the undercurrent of guilt and longing beneath the jokes. Tammy wants to matter. She wants to be taken seriously, to be an activist rather than just adjacent to one. Moyan deftly balances silliness with sincerity, making Tammy one of the most unexpectedly layered characters on stage.
Jeremy Proulx’s Uncle Chris leans hard into humour as a shield against loss. His justifications — including the memorably absurd “the Creator wants me to have a boat” — are funny until they’re not. Proulx captures the uneasy blend of tradition, capitalism, and self-deception, especially as his character raises prices on fireworks that pollute the skies. It’s a performance that invites laughter while quietly indicting the compromises we make to avoid confronting pain.
As Emily, the spirit, memory, and conscience of the play, Nicole Joy-Fraser brings sharpness and sass. She floats between worlds, persistently nudging Brooke toward ancestral truths and unresolved grief. Joy-Fraser’s presence keeps the past from becoming abstract — Emily insists on being seen, heard, and remembered.
The dual role played by Devin MacKinnon — fisherman and “nice guy” — introduces some of the play’s most uncomfortable moments. His performance allows ignorance and stereotyping to surface plainly, offering a glimpse of how everyday encounters can carry casual harm. It’s not exaggerated; it’s unsettling precisely because it feels familiar.
Visually, Mischief is striking. Set in a corner store whose walls and ceiling resemble the bones of a whale, the space is transformed through evocative projections that move the audience fluidly between present-day reality and the ancestral world. It’s one of those designs that quietly does a tremendous amount of storytelling work.
Structurally, the play feels like two distinct experiences. The first half, though dramatic, is lighter and more accessible, buoyed by humour. The second half darkens, growing increasingly uneasy and emotionally demanding. The ending tempts you to believe in something righteous and resolved — but what lingers instead is sadness, not certainty.
The play’s historical context sharpens its impact. The shadow of figures like Edward Cornwallis — whose violent legacy against the Mi’kmaq people remains officially unresolved — hangs heavily over the story. Mischief doesn’t lecture, but it refuses to soften the truth. It asks Toronto audiences not just to watch, but to sit with discomfort.
Powerful, moving, and deeply thought-provoking, Mischief is theatre that challenges as much as it entertains — and that’s precisely why it’s worth seeing.
Tickets available for performances until February 8 via purchase.tarragontheatre.com
Cover photo by Jae Yang
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