Back when Good Morning Apocalypse was firing on all cylinders, we were operating on a very specific frequency. The sketch comedy and short films we made leaned heavily into the absurd—the kind of subversive, slightly unhinged comedy where you break social norms just to see the fallout.
When you’re trying to market that kind of energy, a polite promotional flyer isn’t going to cut it. Our event posters had to act as warning labels just as much as advertisements. They had to tell the audience exactly what kind of weirdness they were buying a ticket for. Designing for this troupe was basically a license to embrace late-night Photoshop delirium and just make whatever made us laugh.
Escape to L.A. (and the Hollywood Spoon)
A perfect example of this was our Escape to L.A. showcase. This was a massive milestone for the troupe. It was a local short film revue built around celebrating Spoons—the short I wrote, directed, and edited that somehow ended up screening at the Directors Guild of America in Hollywood.
Fringe Festival Fever Dreams
Then there was 13 Ways the World Ends at the 2017 Toronto Fringe Festival. When you’re competing for attention at a massive festival like Fringe, you have to stop people in their tracks on the sidewalk.
Our approach was peak GMA energy: apocalyptic flames, ransom-note typography, and a slightly exagerated (via Photoshop) image of writer Brendan’s head with tiny versions of the troupe performing on his head. It made absolutely no sense out of context, which is exactly why it worked. It was chaotic, loud, and captured that disruptive, sketch-comedy vibe perfectly. We didn’t need to explain the show; we just needed people to know it was going to be a loud, ridiculous ride.
Subverting the Holidays with Coal Patrol
Later, we put on Coal Patrol, a Christmas comedy revue at the Midland Cultural Centre. Playing it completely straight for the holidays felt wrong, so the vibe for the event was less “heartwarming winter wonderland” and more “deeply uncomfortable family gathering.”
We marketed the show with a weirdly voyeuristic, slightly threatening festive energy—like you just stumbled into a room and interrupted a mall Santa who knows way too much about your personal life.
Looking back at this era, it perfectly encapsulates a time when we were just throwing everything at the wall. We were embracing the absolute chaos of local indie comedy, making things that cracked us up, and daring people to buy a ticket to see what happened next.
