The Toronto Theatre Review: Little Willy at Canadian Stage

By Ross

There’s a little ditty of the most adorable kind that ushers us into Canadian Stage’s production of Little Willy, a pseudo-one-man wonder-ama of hilarious and unexpectedly epic proportions. Created and performed by master puppeteer Ronnie Burkett (Wonderful Joe) and produced by his Theatre of Marionettes, this latest outing from the Daisy Theatre troupe playfully pretends to stage Romeo and Juliet. In truth, the tragic romance is only the flimsiest of frameworks. What Burkett really offers is something far more heartfelt: a joyous and deeply affectionate celebration of the marionette performers who populate his long-running cabaret world, and the community they inspire.

The evening opens with a gleefully outrageous striptease monologue that tells you everything you need to know about the show ahead. It has very little to do with Shakespeare, yet it displays Burkett’s virtuosic skill and comic timing with dazzling confidence. It’s absolutely miraculous what he does in that opening. Moments later, the stage fills with the familiar inhabitants of Daisy Theatre, each marionette brought vividly to life through Burkett’s extraordinary ability to deliver life and love so astonishingly. The characters, each meticulously constructed, hang along the sides of the miniature stage like a lovingly curated troupe waiting for their cue. It’s a visual that evokes the “Lonely Goatherd” puppet sequence from “The Sound of Music,” and from that moment on, the performance becomes less about retelling the Bard’s tragedy and more about allowing these eccentric personalities to step forward and claim the spotlight.

Much of the show’s pleasure lies in its gleeful unpredictability. Burkett’s running commentary is sharp and spontaneous, tossing off jokes about the “ham and cheese” productions that often play the Berkeley Street Theatre stage while gleefully derailing the narrative at every opportunity. Audience members are frequently enlisted into the mayhem, whether assisting with a delightfully ridiculous Italian-dancing wiener routine or being pulled into the unfolding story in ways that are both bravely nerve-wracking and irresistibly funny. The line between puppeteer, puppet, and spectator begins to blur, and the room fills with the kind of communal laughter that only live theatre can conjure.

Yet for all the delicious and devious raunch and mischief, the evening is threaded with surprising emotional warmth. The Albertan widow Edna Rural delivers a prairie love story as Juliet’s unlikely nurse, ending with a piece of simple wisdom: “life is gonna come tap you on the shoulder, don’t be afraid.” Debbie the Witch appears, twice, only to be gleefully booed off stage (a schtick longtime fans seemed to know well from past productions), while the young fairy Schnitzel takes the stage with a sweetness that earns genuine affection from the crowd. These characters feel less like comic sketches than like old theatrical friends returning for another curtain call, and the feeling was both affecting and delightful.

By the time the play reaches its mock-Shakespearean crypt scene, complete with a very alive “happy dagger” and an unexpected emotional flourish, it becomes clear that Little Willy is less a puppet parody of Romeo and Juliet than a love letter to theatre itself. In Burkett’s hands, the Daisy Theatre marionettes become more than mere puppets; they become partners to us all in a shared act of imagination. The result is an evening that is riotously funny, tender, and ultimately a Schnitzel-sized reminder that the magic of theatre lies in the collective joy of the room, not only in the one-man remarkable artist standing above the stage guiding the strings.