Double bill features Julie Andrews tribute and an actor who doesn’t speak

Julie Madly Deeply

Written and performed by Sarah-Louise Young

Directed by Russell Lucas

3 stars

At the Panasonic Theatre in Toronto

The Best of the Edinburgh Festival is the name of the double bill Mirvish Productions is presenting at Toronto's Panasonic Theatre this month – a title of which the savvy might ask, "But which Edinburgh festival?" Every August, Scotland's capital city becomes a festival of festivals – with ones devoted to art, books, high art and military marching-about.

The answer, of course, is that this double bill is culled from the Edinburgh Festival Fringe, a free-for-all of live performance that, to a greater extent than the theatre-heavy Canadian Fringe Festivals inspired by it, is a mecca for cabaret artists and comedians.

Julie Madly Deeply, as its performer and star Sarah-Louise Young is at pains to regularly remind us, is a cabaret, one devoted to the supercalifragilisticexpialidocious singer Julie Andrews. So, if you find yourself feeling that the show doesn't explore Andrews's biography particularly deeply, or Young's fandom that profoundly, don't worry – the point is to sing some songs and tell some stories. That's the beautiful thing about being honest upfront – it's hard to be let down by what follows.

Young, dressed in a wig and dress that suggests she's off to a Sound of Music sing-along, introduces herself as the ultimate Andrews aficionado and then takes us through the basic outline of Andrews's life, interspersed with excerpts of tunes the British actress sang in hits such as Mary Poppins and My Fair Lady, with the occasional curveball thrown in (Could I Leave You? from Stephen Sondheim's Follies is a highlight).

Rather cleverly, Young dispatches a large swath of Andrews's youth by calling it as if it were a horse race to fame – speed-talking her way through her vaudeville days and royal command performances and constant threats to her progress by alcoholic parents and low self-esteem. ("Come on Julie, move your blooming' arse!" she calls, as Julie approaches the finish line, in a nice nod to Eliza Doolittle.)

We get introduced to many characters from Andrews's life as we hit her Broadway and then film years – whether director and playwright Moss Hart or Andrews's husband Blake Edwards. Young paints them in broad strokes, but charmingly turns her poor impersonation skills into a running gag. (Her Canadian accent as Andrews's drunk of a stepfather, Ted Williams, is deliciously awful.)

Indeed, Julie Madly Deeply – a rather obvious attempt to capitalize on the desire to hear a much-loved talent who can no longer sing as she did – is most commendable in how cheerfully and self-effacingly Young approaches her task, along with her helpful accompanist Michael Roulston on piano.

As for Young's voice, she can pull off a passable impression of Andrews's accent and tone down low – though her upper notes are wobbly, where Andrews's were as confident and certain as nanny announcing nap time. Of course, as Young reminds us throughout – no one can sing like Julie Andrews. Again, honesty is the best policy.

The Boy With Tape on His Face

Written and performed by Sam Wills

2.5 stars

At the Panasonic Theatre in Toronto

From Fringe cabaret, this Edinburgh double bill moves on to Fringe comedy (though tickets for the two are available separately). While Julie Madly Deeply is primarily about an audience yearning for a voice we can no longer hear live, The Boy With Tape on His Face is about self-imposed voicelessness – that's because the boy of the title, New Zealand street performer Sam Wills, does his shtick with the titular tape affixed across his mouth.

I guess that makes Wills a mime – an oddly literal one; the style of comedy he practises, however, is more a mix of prop comedy and insult comedy than Marcel Marceau.

Bug-eyed, Wills attempts to throw a spoon into a teacup placed on his head, or performs a solo pas-de-deux to Lady in Red, feeling himself up with one arm in a crimson dress (an older bit, you will not find, though it is well executed). But it's audience members that Wills uses as his primary props – ordering them up on stage with a snap of his fingers, then making them pose in odd ways, put on funny outfits or perform bizarre choreography that will only make sense once the music kicks in.

The insult part of his act is: If the audience volunteer does his or her part poorly, Wills will roll his eyes and make wild gestures as if that person is an idiot; and if the audience volunteer does his or her part well and applause follows, he'll direct his gesticular disdain at the clap-happy audience.

Though this leads to many gleeful guffaws, in the malevolent manner of a playlist of fail videos on YouTube, the approach is definitely lacking in generosity. When Wills brought one woman up who deigned to add her own spirit into the show on opening night – i.e., declined to be a prop – he turned away from her sight line and made a gesture suggesting that she was high. His decision, meanwhile, to make a line of white volunteers don black fright wigs as they danced to the Jackson Five, or his repeated impersonation of African-American singers with inanimate black objects, suggests a performer who hasn't put a lot of sophisticated thinking into his act. The Boy With Tape on His Face is one dumb thing after another – and I enjoyed it until it grew tiresome.

The Best of the Edinburgh Festival runs until Oct. 19 (mirvish.com).