Abstract

Summer in Toronto is disgusting. It’s sticky, smelly and bloody hot. Its severity demands escape, air con or a total surrender to a constant sweaty film. The mid-size theatre companies end their seasons, and aside from Shakespeare shows crammed into any cavity or waterfront space the city will agree to, there is opportunity aplenty for the penniless, inspired, emerging, established, desperate and different to take over in festivals such as Dusk Dances, the Fringe (Theatre and Dance) and Summer Works.

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