The Toronto Theatre Review: Gregory Prest’s Bremen Town

By Ross

There’s a quiet magic that shimmers through the fascinating Bremen Town at Tarragon Theatre, brought forth into the light by an accordion played carefully center stage, setting the whimsical scene. It paints a cut-out shadow-puppet framing with clever ease; the kind that belongs to telling stories passed down from one generation to the next, gaining weight and wisdom with each telling. Written and directed with luminous care by Gregory Prest (Oscar Wilde in Jail), the play finds its solid footing on a long rocky road of tradition, drawing on the whimsical traditions of German folk tales and, surprisingly, “The Wizard of Oz“, yet transforms them, spiritually, into something far more poignant: a meditation on aging, loss, and the stubborn resilience of hope against despair. It’s a fable for adults who have forgotten how to fly, dream, or who have been punished for trying.

Walking forcefully at the play’s center is Frau Esel, played magnificently by Nancy Palk (Tarragon’s Withrow Park), who, after forty-five years of loyal service as a housekeeper in a grand estate, finds herself abruptly dismissed, thrown out, and alone, with nothing left but her pride. But there is no time for feeling sad or distressed, so she sets out on foot for Bremen Town, where her son, a celebrated musician, lives — or so she believes. Along the way, she gathers, some willingly and some not, a makeshift band of fellow travellers and lost souls: Herr Hund (Oliver Dennis), Herr Katze (William Webster), and lastly, Frau Henne (Sheila McCarthy). Together, these four discarded old souls become a kind of unlikely family, trudging toward a place that might exist only in their imagination.

“You learn something new every day,” we are told. Namely, folklorist Wilhelm Grimm once described fairy tales as “fragments of ancient faith whose purpose was to awaken the feelings of the human heart.” And we can see how clearly Prest has invested in that framing, as Bremen Town does exactly that. Drawing on myths, fears, and inherited beliefs passed down like heirlooms, Prest rearranges them into something both timeless and intimate, filled with humour, melancholy, and startling emotional truth, like the “junk on a table at a flea market” that suddenly reveals their hidden value when you look closely enough, or given the space to grow. These are the emotional relics of human experience: envy, loyalty, regret, love — all gathered here, worn but gleaming. And utterly absorbing.

Prest’s direction and writing carry the play forward with a dreamlike rhythm, at once funny, tender, and precise. It stomps solidly on that stage impeccably created by set and costume designer Nancy Perrin (Native Earth’s Niizh), with lighting by Logan Raju Cracknell (Stratford’s The Art of War), and music and composition by Tatjana Cornij (Soulpepper’s (re)birth: ee cummings in song). The bold framing is strongly abstract yet grounded, nostalgic yet deeply contemporary. He resists the temptation to make Bremen Town cute or moralizing; instead, he lets it breathe in contradictions, letting its whimsy collide with a darker psychological truth. Frau Esel, as embodied by Palk, is her own worst companion — bitter, angry, unable to accept the kindness of others. Her emotional defensiveness is heartbreaking in its familiarity, capturing the sad shape of unresolved trauma: the way love, when long denied, can feel more like a threat than an embrace.

The three companions she meets, Dennis’s tender, steadfast Herr Hund; Webster’s sly, self-aware Herr Katze; and McCarthy’s warm, world-weary Frau Henne, each offer shades of possible connection and grace. They mirror the aspects of humanity Frau Esel has forgotten or refused to acknowledge within herself. Their astonishingly smart performances balance the play’s surreal sense of humour with a clever brand of emotional truth, and the chemistry among them makes the ensemble, which includes Cornij, Farhang Ghajar, Veronica Hortigüela, and Dan Mousseau, pulse with vitality. There’s a generosity in their acting — an openness that stands in gentle contrast to Frau Esel’s bitterness and rigidity.

“Beware of the bandits”, we are wisely warned, and about wolves and bears. Yet, it is the conclusion of Bremen Town that feels almost too light on its feet, evasive, or undefined, as Frau Esel floats toward something like forgiveness or finality. Yet perhaps that ambiguity is intentional. Life, after all, rarely resolves cleanly, and fairy tales too often end with a shimmer rather than a clear consensus of closure. The ultimate destination may be uncertain, but the journey, full of authentic humour, pain, and flickers of transcendence, feels complete and honest.

Lingering after the lights fade, this simple and complex story of one woman’s passage through grief and pride finds grace in its free-floating finality, gifting us with a compelling sense of participating in something ancient and profound. Bremen Town awakens the connective feelings of the heart, just as Grimm promised, gathering our shared fears and longings into a collective act of seeing and remembering. It’s whimsical and wise, filled with laughter and cut-out shadow, leaving us with the gentle reminder that even our most broken myths still have the power to guide us to hope and home.