Before we announce the winners of our 2024 Critics’ Pick Awards, we’re proud to present our annual Nominee Interview Series.

 

If you consider their Artist of the Year nomination as acknowledgement of both Dandelion Theatre/William Shakespeare & Friends Collective’s Timon of Athens and Soup Can Theatre/Three Ships Collective’s Christmas Carol (which you should, that’s the intention), we’ve nominated Nicholas Eddie for something pretty much every time we’ve seen them. A nuanced yet distinctive performer with a broad skill set and diverse taste in projects, Eddie is an unmissable force in the re-emerging Toronto indie theatre scene. They join the Nominee Interview Series armed with stories about their standout 2024 and an already eventful 2025.

 

Do  you remember your first experience with theatre?

I remember going to the orchestra with my grandparents, listening to The Planets by Gustav Holst. It was pretty boring. I learned later that they started with boring music to warm the audience up, and then they got to the first movement of The Planets, which is: “Mars, the Bringer of War”. It was extremely awesome. I remember being so moved by the piece that I started raucously applauding—the only one in the audience of probably 1000—my grandparents stopped me. You’re not supposed to clap between movements, apparently. I was probably 9.

 

You were nominated last year for your solo Fringe show One Night Only. Tell us about that piece and its creation.

One Night Only was written for me, mostly. That is to say: it was written because I observed a distinct lack of stories being told about mental illness, and I wanted there to be a play that filled the void I was feeling. There are innumerable works that use mental illness as a plot device (i.e. Konstantin shooting himself in the head in The Seagull (spoiler)), but so little that seemed to go much deeper than the effect it has on the person’s environment. I wanted to really tuck into what was actually going on in the mind of a person on the brink of doing something really unsettling.

 

The creation of that show was the biggest challenge of my life, thus far. Not only to attempt to write honestly from that place of crisis, but the attempt to bring myself to that place every night so that the story didn’t feel hackneyed or hollow—it cost me. But I learned a hell of a lot that summer, and don’t regret what I take with me from those accursed lessons. It was like theatre school all over again.

 

What are some  of your favourite memories from your theatre work in 2024?

Least favourite memories? Great question. Opening night of Timon of Athens I accidentally locked myself out of the area I needed to enter from at the climax of the show. By the time I realized my mistake, I was desperately listening at the door of a different entrance, hoping to hear my cue. Upon hearing nothing, I entered in a panic, knowing I was late. If I close my eyes I can still see the eyes of the confused audience watching me unconfidently open the door: “Timon is… dead?”. Apparently I was only 6 seconds late, but it’s enough to haunt my dreams.

 

You stood out playing multiple roles in Dandelion Theatre’s ambitious Timon of Athens at the Theatre Centre. Tell us  about that process and how you fleshed out and differentiated so many characters.

Thanks! Honestly I had a lot of doubts about my work in that show leading up to opening. I often feel like I can never really “find” a character until I get in front of an audience and feel the real time reactions. To use a cliche: the audience really is the last and most important character in the scene. And in a play like Timon, I knew that my main job as a smaller role was to have a lot of fun in my parts so that the audience wouldn’t get lost in the play’s themes of antipathy. As far as differentiation goes: I’ve played a lot of wacky roles in my day. For better or for worse I’ve got a deep bench of odd ducks. I also have to give credit (whether I like it or not) to Max Ackerman and my most common scene partner Mo Zeighami, the former of whom was a very reactive and supportive director when I went off the rails, and the latter of whom was always willing to journey with me into chaos. It’s a miracle it worked out, in retrospect.

 

In Soup Can’s site-specific Christmas Carol at Campbell House, you took on a different role this season. Tell us about both Marley and Young Ebenezer and what inspired you to change things up this year.

I loved playing Marley, but I can never resist a new challenge. To quote my friend Amanda Cordner: “I never take a role unless it’s an olympic event”. I unfortunately can’t boast that level of selectiveness, but I never take a role unless it’s at least a steep set of stairs.

 

Young Eb was a romantic lead, an archetype that I don’t get to play very often, but a role that I was always typecast in in theatre school—and adored. It’s a specific muscle group that I think ought to be flexed every once in a while. Because who doesn’t want to fake fall in love every night! And then have their heart ripped out! Twice a night, actually. So maybe that’s two sets of stairs.

 

What are some  of the rewards and challenges of doing a site-specific piece?

I love site-specific theatre, both as an audience member and as a performer, because we are all right there. There can be no hiding or faking your way through it one iota because the audience will smell it—conversely, if the audience is with you, you can feel that vibration in the room.

 

There is a special kind of intimacy in a site specific piece, and that for me is such a magnificent part of theatre. There is a distinct challenge in moving the audience from place to place, because with every movement you risk uprooting the momentum that was (hopefully) cultivated in the scene prior. But I think Sare and Justin do a good job of keeping the transitions engaging—there’s an excitement about where we will go to next.

 

You’ve just finished a run in Bad New Days’ Last Landscape. Tell us about that experience.

I mean, fantastic. To go from Shakespeare to Dickens to Paolozza is a real treat. I’ve worked with Bad New Days before—on Italian Mime Suicide—so I knew what I was getting into, but a show with no words whatsoever is a challenge no matter how prepared you are (the other actors and I would joke about warming up our voices before the show (“MAH MAH MAH”)). Adam’s got great vision, though; he sees the forest through the trees. Obviously a show about recreating nature isn’t going to be for everyone, but many many people seemed to have been really taken by it, which I think is a testament to Adam’s direction. He really drilled into us that the ensemble is more important than any individual performance—an annoying sentiment for an attention hog like me, but I suppose it paid off.

 

What are you working on now/next? Anything to plug?

I’m not sure if I’m allowed to announce it but I’m leading a run of Bug by Tracy Letts at an exciting new theatre company in October. It’s a collaboration that I’m really excited about and a play that will get the blood pumping for Toronto theatre audiences: thought provoking; high octane; sexy. I probably shouldn’t say where it’s happening, but anyone curious about it can follow me on instagram—I’ll be sure to inundate the internet with information about it: @nicholas_eddie

 

Is there anything you’d like to add?

I think we’re in a really exciting time for theatre in Toronto. Everyone is complaining about the lack of bums in seats post-COVID, but I’m a Dora juror for independent theatre so I see a LOT of shows, and I have to say I’ve been amazed by how often I have to book tickets weeks in advance because a run is selling out. It seems that people are hungry for the new, the raw, and the unadulterated, and indie theatre is giving it to them. I’m proud to be a part of this community and I can’t wait to see what weird shit blows it out of the water this year. Am I allowed to say shit? It’s with love.

 

Photos by Max Ackerman & Laura Dittmann