In Toronto, “people of the city” isn’t a single category : it’s an infinitude of different voices and vantage points, true tales and wild confabulations — and, in the right hands, it’s also an infinite laugh generator. People of the City, Bad Dog Theatre’s Armando-style high-wire act, produced in association with Factory Theatre, bottles all of that plurality and possibility, pops the cork, and sprays it wildly.
As the Director’s note clarifies, People of the City is an Armando (formally, The Armando Diaz Experience, Theatrical Movement and Hootenanny). In this especially elegant improv engine, a guest monologist drops lived stories. The ensemble detonates those sparks into spontaneous scenes using itchy “yes-and” triggers and the C4 of their imaginations. In the process, themes recur, mutate, and unexpectedly cohere. Inevitably, laughter explodes.
In People of the City, the ensemble bounds onto the stage, christens themselves first—and then us—as “People of the City”, and then cedes the mic. The night I attended, CBC Radio One’s dry, sly Ify Chiwetelu spun tales of her initial Calgary-to-Toronto odyssey, her perplexity with uncanny local wayfinding, a vexed hunt for a basic grocery store, sublet perils, and a raucous visit to a Black church with her spotlight-loving mother. After each beat, two or three of the players launch an initial madcap sketch, then others start tagging in, Royal Rumble–style—with new sketch ideas entering, then evolving, then bowing out to their replacement the instant they’ve run their time.
Not every volley lands—and that’s by design. The Bad Dog Featured Players (Season 8)—Alex Cabrera-Aragon, Alexa Mackell, Alfred Chow, Amrutha Krishnan, Janet Mac, Jared Wonago, Lance Oribello, Liz Cyrus, Maddy Atamanchuk, Patrick Ronan, Shane McLean, Sachin Sinha, and Stevey Hunter—are fearless, fast, and visibly delighted to try anything. They have each other’s backs, and the swap is their safety net. Amid the swirl and the churn and the laughter, something alchemical happens: certain confected characters solidify, and then boomerang back in reappearances—like anonymous faces becoming real city neighbours. Among them: Alfred Chow’s cigar-chomping oil-and-gas tycoon; Stevey Hunter’s God, who is keen to be exclusive with… everyone; Maddy Atamanchuk’s mystic direction-sensing guru; and Liz Cyrus’s mourning sister, who wields prayer like insult comedy. Alex Tindal’s (pre-?)direction somehow gives all this anarchy shape and clean return paths.
The set is functionally sharp. The monologist delivers at floor level to the right. On the stage are three simple playing zones—table-and-chairs left, couch center, lectern right—which provide distinct spaces for the improvisation and help keep traffic clear. At back are three tall bulletin boards crowded with black-and-white photos of Torontonians (show title emblazoned across), the center board hiding a TV that springs to life for projections of “TV shows” improvised backstage, which couch-bound watchers provide real-time commentary on.
It’s hard reviewing a great improvised show because the simple fact is that you had to be there to catch the precise jokes. That’s the covenant of improv. But with just a few more chances to see People of the City, and with the promise of a different monologist each night, let me say that you should be there if you want to watch civic imagination and community coming to riotous life, as the city of Toronto recognizes, celebrates and laughs itself into being.
Reviewing great improv is tricky because you really had to be there. The precise jokes evaporate with the night — that’s the covenant. But with only a few chances left, and a different monologist each evening, you should go be there. It’s a singular opportunity to watch civic imagination and community conjured in real time: Toronto recognizing, celebrating, and laughing itself into being.
People of the City runs through February 28, 2026, with Mayor Olivia Chow scheduled to be the monologist on Friday February 27, 2026. Tickets and info: factorytheatre.ca.
© Scott Sneddon, Sesaya Arts Magazine 2026
