Masque of the Red Death: "if the world was ending, you'd come over, right?"
08 Apr 2025 - Photos by Hayley Hruska

This is precisely the time when artists go to work. There is no time for despair, no place for self-pity, no need for silence, no room for fear. We speak, we write, we do language. That is how civilizations heal.
- Toni Morrison

I'm all about supporting the arts.
- Darius Prospero

Darius Prospero, who made his billions as a nepo-baby using AI, has invited us to sit out an environmental collapse — raging fires and flooding — in his luxurious walled compound. We are informed that there is a bountiful supply of food and champagne and that we will be totally safe, possibly the only human survivors. He tells us not to think of our surroundings as a shelter but rather as "an incubator" for the future of society. And to while away the days, possibly months, there is entertainment. Prospero has had his assistant Ariadne round up a curated collection of artists who will create cabarets and performances for our delectation and amusement. The artists have been told that their families and friends will be able to join them in the compound but as the days pass, that seems to have been forgotten. Or ignored. And it is getting worseoutside the compound. The artists, already feeling culpable, begin to plot revenge on the privileged. 

Before Prospero's invitation shows up on the screen stage left, there are a series of graphics that document the huge inequality between the one percent and the rest of us. That has already been demonstrated by the trek through the reluctantly gentrifying Parkdale — where corporations and boutiques are displacing the homeless, the hopeless and the hopeful — to the Assembly Theatre. The cast and crew of Masque of the Red Death are taking the Morrison quote, which is one of the graphics, to heart. For the length of the run, the Assembly Theatre is an outpost of artistic resistance. Writer, director and performer, Stella Kulagowski has taken Poe's classic gothic tale and repurposed it to today with billionaires replacing nobility and a ragtag troupe of performers as the conscience, as the red death. The artists wrestle with the time-honoured revolutionary quandary, to subvert from within or to attack from without, and decide to try to sway the elites, Prospero and us, through their art. That is the cabaret that we see, along with backstage action and interjections from Prospero and Ariadne.

At this point I must make it clear that I saw a preview performance of Masque of the Red Death, so I hesitate to point out the awkward transitions and line readings even though they were more than compensated for by the strength of the individual acts. Everything was scrupulously choreographed and rehearsed, it just hadn't settled into a naturalistic rhythm. I also suspect that the acts will benefit even more from a more enthusiastic full house, participation in our own indictment is definitely encouraged. The preview I saw was dogmatic and a little ramshackle but completely engaging. If I might be so bold as to suggest that the production lean a little more into the camp side of horror and scifi, rendering any wooden line readings perfectly appropriate and leavening the necessary emphatic exposition with a touch of wry. Virtuoso burlesque, drag, contortion, vocal and dance artists are not necessarily thrilling thespians, but they do win us over when they get to strut their stuff. Some even before: Rosalind Saunders as Dawn also functions as an innocent, all wide-eyed charm as she tap dances with a ukulele, before questioning the morality of her situation. Her full act, featuring a trunkful of surprises including a trombone, self-exploits that innocence before shockingly upending it.

There are powerful vocals from Bryna Bella who swirls onstage in an erotic cloud of orange veils before unveiling her true thoughts. Nailah Renuka tests the boundaries of how far an artist will bend to the whims of their patron. Rennaldo Quinicot is smarmy simmering MC before busting some impressive dance moves that are more pointed that the plotline can handle. Joy Thompson brings real pathos to a vocal interpretation of the clever musical mash-ups by Yahenda. Kulagowski stuns with a burlesque performance that questions our use of the earth and what we refuse to accept or reveal. Her number is the crux of the Masque of the Red Death as the tease and glee become commentary and critique. Through it all Parham Rownaghi is the slimingly charming Prospero, a genial host who simmers as the artists become more daring and scathing. Rachel Manson as Ariadne functions as the moral dilemma we are asked to confront, at what point does proximity and participation in evil become complicity? Her ex, who she is trying to keep safe, has the answer, and Eli Holliday brings down the house in a clown drag extravaganza that is mesmerizing. A mime crossed with Anonymous in a red ball gown becoming Carrie. If only theoverarching plot held together a little more tightly, Prospero would surely have cancelled the artists well before we reach the moment where audience participation becomes indictment. We are asked to choose. Are we passive observers in the world's destruction or are we revolutionaries? 

The moment is similar to the mirror moment in Cabaret (and Paul Mula's choreography makes many subtle references to Fosse), where the audience is forced to confront their role. We are there to be entertained, and we are, but by being a guest, we are also conveniently ignoring the atrocities that our privilege allows. Kulagowski has a lot of anger towards the inequality that our system is now exploiting apocalyptically, and the cast has the chops to express it artistically. The disconnect between what a production put on by a billionaire would be, certainly slicker and more sequinned than Masque of the Red Death, and what the production actually is, may be the point. The revolution will never happen from within, we know that trickle down economics and trickle down artistic prowess are fallacies, it has to happen in the streets. And the theatres adjoining those streets. When Prospero insists that "I'm all about supporting the arts," he means keeping the "weirdos" at a distance, as diversions for their betters. It doesn't occur to him that they might bite the hand that feeds them. But as Kulagowski and her troupe of artists know, that's how civilizations heal.