Jonathan Wilson reflects on his “queer elder” status in new solo show

What does it mean to be a queer elder in the theatre?

Toronto theatregoers are about to find out as Jonathan Wilson debuts his new solo show, A Public Display of Affection, at Crow’s Studio this week.

The play — a Studio 180 Theatre production, in association with Crow’s — can be looked at as a companion piece to Wilson’s My Own Private Oshawa, which (with its titular nod to Gus van Sant’s classic film) chronicled his childhood and closeted coming-of-age in the east end suburb.

A huge hit at the 1996 Toronto Fringe, Oshawa got remounted the next year at the Tarragon (where it was nominated for new play and lead performance Doras) and even adapted into a feature film.

I was lucky enough to see that original staging and, as someone who also grew up closeted in the suburbs, it blew my mind; funny, honest and poignant, it remains one of the cornerstones of queer Canadian theatre.

Public Display promises to pick up where Oshawa left off, showing us Wilson’s move to downtown Toronto at the tender age of 15 and how he navigated what was then called Boys’ Town in the late 70s and early 80s.

Wilson’s other stage credits include the Second City Mainstage, the improv troupe Not to Be Repeated, which inspired a short-lived Comedy Network show with fellow SC alums Kathryn Greenwood and Ed Sahely), The Lion King (Dora Award), The Normal Heart and My Night with Reg.

He’s done a ton of TV and film, including the cult classic Kids in the Hall movie Brain Candy and dozens of voice roles in animated series.

Most recently, he had a full circle moment with the Toronto Fringe hits Gay for Pay with Blake and Clay and Blake and Clay’s Gay Agenda, both written by Curtis Campbell and Daniel Krolik, the latter who co-starred with him.

What was the genesis of A Public Display of Affection?

The genesis was being asked by ACTRA to speak as a queer elder, and then unpacking theatrically what that meant and what the expectations might be. What does “elder” mean? Wisdom? Also, what parts of my life do I share? What do I have to say? Do I fantasize? Do I edit things out? That seemed like a great jumping off point for a play.

A few years ago, I was frustrated because I hadn’t got into the Fringe. I couldn’t get into SummerWorks... they kept asking me stuff, and I felt rejected and lost. I ran into Mark [McGrinder, who’s directing the current show] and he said, “Bring it to Studio 180, we’re developing scripts.” He helped me develop it from there, through readings and even a video capture during COVID. Now I get to actually share it with an audience, which is exciting.

It’s being called a “companion piece” to your breakthrough play My Own Private Oshawa. Do you get that?

I didn’t at first. Maybe I was in denial or distancing myself from it. The word “bookend” also came up — which made me think of a farewell [laughs]. But it is a companion piece. It’s a revisiting of me at 60 versus 30, and it is a solo piece, and it is kind of a bookend, or... what’s another word for something in the middle...?

“The next chapter,” maybe?

Yes. Let’s hope there’s another one, maybe when I’m 80.

Are you okay with the term “autobiographical”?

Yeah, I am okay with all that. One of my earliest inspirations was Harvey Fierstein. When I was young, before I went to theatre school, I saw his Torch Song Trilogy on Broadway. It’s still imprinted on my mind, the idea of “Is this his story?” The two are so interwoven. Also, I saw Lily Tomlin’s work, which felt similar.

Because I come from Second City and stand-up, I’m used to blurring what is autobiographical and what’s just playing a character. This is definitely autobiographical. It’s me telling my story. But every time we attempt to tell our personal stories, we’re curating, right?

The idea of being a queer elder talking to younger artists reminds me of that scene at the end of The Normal Heart when Ned Weeks visits his alma mater and sees how far things have come for queer students. You played Ned in the Studio 180 production. Did you think of that scene?

Yes. All of that absolutely went through my mind. And that idea of, well, talking about bookends or markers, because I’m writing it as myself as a getting-to-be-older person, that every day that I get older, my perspective changes, and what I want to say changes.

I definitely think of that in The Normal Heart, and I can’t believe that predatory politics is on the rise again [as it was during the Reagan era], with politicians using the queer community as a punching bag, which is shocking and horrifying.

Do you deal with the recent attacks on LGBTQ+ rights in the show?

Yeah. Because I come from Second City and the stand-up world, it’s nice to be able to use what’s in the headlines. It’s important to be able to say to the next generations of queer youth, “Yeah, we’ve been here before, guys, and they’re going to try to do this and this and this to you. This is a path we’ve been down before.”

How has your connection to the Gay Village changed? Because the Village seems like a shell of its former self.

Before I was asked to give that ACTRA speech, I walked around and saw all the reminders of places I once knew. They’re gone or are disappearing, of course. Because I came out and came to Toronto at 15, after Grade Nine, I was here before Church Street even was the village. It was really Yonge and Wellesley up to Yonge and Bloor. All the bars were along there: the St. Charles, the Parkside, the Quest... I’ve always had a bit of an outsider perspective on it. I saw it getting built up and then co-opted and now destroyed, like all examples of gentrification.

Something I struggle with in the work is whether the village is a recreation of something authentic, or is it this Disneyfication of an idea of an idea of an idea of a gay village.

Back in the late 90s and early 00s, it seemed like you were going to be a mainstay on the Toronto theatre scene, writing your own plays (Oshawa, Kilt) and acting in plays by others (The Duchess, Possible Worlds). Was the lure of TV and film too great, and lucrative?

To be honest, when Urjo Kareda (the influential dramaturg, critic and former artistic director of the Tarragon) passed away, the Tarragon door was closed to me. I tried to get many plays produced there, but it just stayed closed. I don’t think Richard [Rose, Kareda’s successor there] was a fan of my work. That happens with writers. It wasn’t my choice. I would like to have had 20 years of more plays and development. Factory Theatre wasn’t into my stuff. I submitted things to Canadian Stage for a while.

Also, there was the assumption that because I was a queer artist, I would work at Buddies, but that door wasn’t open either.

Were these things assumed, or did people actually say these words to you?

Yes. After Oshawa, people said I was a commercial or a stand-up guy, even though I told them I really just wanted to write plays. Others thought I wasn’t “queer enough.” One director or artistic director said to me, “You know, Jonathan, I just don’t get a queer energy from you.” It was all a bit of a mind fuck.

You won a Dora Award for playing Timon in the original Toronto production of The Lion King. So that must have taken you out of the not-for-profit scene for a while. What was that experience like?

Back then, it was the third production of the show in the world. Julie Taymor was around, and the creative team was finessing things every day, having learned things from New York and London. It was unlike anything I’d done before, especially physically. We rehearsed for four months and then I did the show for a year and a half — I just got exhausted.

What goes through your mind when you see the show now?

The Mirvishes invited the original cast to the recent opening, and it was just so beautiful. I felt nothing but joy. I am so lucky and grateful to have been inside that show.

Being painted green was... you know the idea of making a deal or wishing to be in a big Broadway musical, but what if you were in a puppet and were painted green? Damn. Any show that I do now where I get to walk on in pants and shoes seems pretty easy.

Studio 180 has produced or co-produced many shows that you’ve acted in, from The Normal Heart and My Night With Reg to your new play. What do you like about the company?

I love the choices they make in terms of plays. I have Joel (Greenberg, Studio 180’s former artistic director) to thank for hiring me for The Normal Heart. Because people only knew me as Timon or from my comedy work or Oshawa, I asked Joel if he really thought I could do this. And he said, “I wouldn’t ask you unless I thought you could do it.” I’m so thankful to him and the company for seeing that I could do many things.

I see it sometimes in New York theatre artists, where someone like Nathan Lane can do Angels in America and The Producers and The Lion King. In Toronto, we’re a little more segregated; the feeling is: that’s your lane, stay in it. Being in The Normal Heart was one of those experiences where I finally felt, “Oh, I can use all my training and bring everything to this role.”

It was great to see you return to the stage in the Blake and Clay plays at two Toronto Fringes, a quarter century after Oshawa. How did you get involved with Curtis Campbell and Daniel Krolik, two younger queer artists?

Daniel and I got to work together on a Studio 180 piece based on a David Rakoff book, and we just connected and clicked. Later he created some online stuff with Curtis, and they started to write the first show. And then — this is so Daniel — he said, “I don’t suppose you’d ever want to do a Fringe play with me, would you?” I said yes, tell me when. And he went, Okay, well, we’re doing this thing, and it’s called Gay for Pay with Blake and Clay, and I said I was in.

I read the first draft, I remember thinking it was so good, so funny — and kind of dangerous. I’m from the generation of queer people that wanted to make things safe and harmless for audiences. I would ask them, “Do you really want to say this?” And they were like, “Yes, Jonathan. Yes, we do.”

Any final thoughts on being a queer elder?

When I was developing the piece with Studio 180, we presented the show for some arts high school classes, and they were wonderful. So smart, and the feedback was incredible. They came with no baggage. They were like, “Wow, I didn’t know about that. That’s so cool.” They didn’t know anything about the AIDS crisis, or Toronto back in the day.

So come young, come old, come everyone to the show! We’re lucky enough to have a few talk backs — with the AIDS Committee of Toronto and the ArQuives (formerly the Canadian Lesbian and Gay Archives), making sure that our history is not burned and cut out of the history books. Also, the show is fun. You’ll have fun.

A Public Display of Affection begins previews March 25, opens on March 28 and runs to April 20 at the Crow’s Studio (345 Carlaw). See information here.