Never would I have imagined to be writing about acquaintance or relationship with actors! But today – as so often transpires – a number of coincidences have collided in true Thomas Hardy script, “capturing the indifferent forces that inflict the ironies of life”. Actors are a select breed of people especially where – as in the case of Justin Hay – he is aligned to the acme of theatre William Shakespeare. Justin is the son of our dear friend Bunny.
Justin Hay is a Toronto-based actor, writer, and director known for his extensive work in theatre, including his solo Shakespeare show My Own Private Shakespeare, and roles in productions like A Christmas Carol, alongside appearances in TV/film like Hallmark’s The Perfect Setting and CBC’s See You Tomorrow, with credits spanning from the Fringe Festival to major theatre companies. He’s an active member of Toronto’s arts scene, often performing and leading workshops in Shakespearean performance.
Today I received an unanticipated email from the wife of a former prep school colleague. She wrote to share her recent discovery of the filming industry in Almonte. As I confessed to her in reply, I wasn’t aware of the breadth of filming in Almonte perhaps because until lately we’ve wintered down south for half the year.
Her son Austin Ball is an actor who I understand visits this area on occasion.
Meanwhile this afternoon we spent a couple of hours at the home of my sister and her husband with their daughter (my niece) Julia Hladkowicz and her husband Matt O’Brien from Los Angeles, California. Normally I restrict my label of them both to “stand-up comedians”. However today we learned that they have also devoted themselves to acting. As I shared with them upon hearing this, I fully expect them to advance in this professional calling. My bias is not however lineage or family; they are diligent, sober, talented people who also happen to be easy to look at (which, I know, sounds trifling in this context but my instincts tell me it doesn’t hurt).
Knowing that within the orbit of our limited exposure we share the aspirations of these talented young actors is a welcome gift this season! Stage entertainment is the peroxide of the masses. When chatting with my niece this afternoon we concurred that the traditional subterranean caverns for stand-up comedy are imperative to escape the punishing brilliance of sunshine.
“Peroxide of the masses” is a sharp bit of wordplay—opinionated, faintly cynical, and very much in the tradition of cultural sneers dressed up as wit.
It riffs on “opium of the masses,” Marx’s famous jab at religion as a soothing, mind-numbing comfort. Swap opium for peroxide and the target shifts: not spiritual sedation, but bleaching.
The phrase is commonly used to mean:
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Artificial brightness in mass culture
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Manufactured cheerfulness that strips away depth or nuance
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A kind of cultural hair-bleach—making everything lighter, blander, safer, and more uniform
Peroxide doesn’t dull pain the way opium does; it erases color. So the criticism is different but related: popular media, politics, or entertainment isn’t anesthetizing people so much as whitening complexity out of existence—simplifying, sanitizing, and flattening thought until nothing dark, difficult, or demanding remains.
There’s also a faint echo of the peroxide blonde stereotype: false innocence, shallow glamour, loud optimism—brightness without substance.
In short, it’s a contemptuous way of saying:
This isn’t deep, nourishing, or truthful—it just makes things look lighter so no one has to think too hard.
A phrase a retired lawyer might admire for its efficiency—and quietly enjoy for its cruelty.
Touché, Billy. I’ll take smart pants as a compliment—creases sharp, cuffs deliberate, pockets full of mischief.
Good to hear from you.