Walking into The Shadowbox Theatre in Windsor feels like stepping into a pressure cooker of local expectations. It is a tight, black-box space where the air gets thin and the laughs hit the back wall with a thud. For Dave Merheje, this isn't just another stop on a tour circuit. It is a homecoming. The Juno Award-winning comedian is scheduled for two shows on Dec. 22, and the buzz in the city is less about his Netflix credits and more about the fact that Dave is back in the 519.
Merheje is not the kind of comic who forgets where the bodies are buried. He carries the weight of Windsor with him, a city that is as much a character in his set as his own father. When we sat down to talk, he was quick to point out that his early days weren't spent trying to mimic the Toronto scene. He was looking at the faces in his own neighbourhood.
“You know, I think back then, I was probably talking a bit about my family or gravitating towards speaking about my culture. And in Windsor, there’s a significant Lebanese community. That has always been, and still is, a major source of my material—my family, all of whom still live in Windsor. So, definitely, the city and its culture have had an influence on my act and on me as a person,” Merheje says.
The Lebanese-Canadian experience is not a monolith, but in Windsor, it has a specific grit. It is about the friction between old-world expectations and the industrial reality of a border town. Merheje leans into that friction. He does not polish the edges; he lets them stay jagged.
And that connection to the pavement of Windsor is not something he has outgrown. You see it in the way he carries himself on stage—a restless energy that feels like it was forged in a city where you have to work for your dinner. He stayed in the city long enough for it to get under his skin.
“Oh, 100%, I carry my Windsor roots with me. Growing up there, spending my formative years, leaving only after college—I was around 24 or 25 when I left. So, I spent a significant part of my life there. It’s a dear place to me, and ever since I left, I’ve tried to come back at least once a year to do a stand-up show in the city. I’m there every Christmas, with maybe one exception,” he explains.
There is a certain brand of nostalgia that usually feels cheap, but with Merheje, it feels like a necessity. He needs Windsor to calibrate his internal compass. But before the Juno and before the Hulu series *Ramy*, there were the VHS tapes. This is the classic origin story: a kid, a VCR and a list of legends that would make a modern HR department faint.
“I remember hanging out with my cousin Danny and my sister Mary, just wanting to perform. I didn’t know it would be stand-up comedy then. My uncle used to show us tapes of Richard Pryor, Andrew Dice Clay, George Carlin, and Eddie Murphy’s ‘Delirious.’ That’s where I grew a liking for stand-up comedy,” Merheje recalls.
Watching Pryor or Murphy in a Lebanese household in Windsor creates a weird, beautiful alchemy. It teaches you that the specific is universal. If you talk about your dad long enough, eventually everyone realizes your dad is their dad too. Merheje has mastered this. He draws from the well of his family, but he does it with a lens that has sharpened over the last decade.
“Story-wise, my family is where I get a lot of my material. Stories about how we were raised, about my dad, situations from growing up, school—just all of that. Even now, going back and having conversations with them, I find out new quirks or experiences from their lives that I can draw from. In the last seven or eight years, I’ve talked about it a lot more, expressing the love I have for them through my material,” Merheje says.
It is a shift from the typical "my parents are crazy" trope to something more nuanced. It is about the "quirks" and the "experiences" that only reveal themselves once you reach a certain age. It is a more mature form of comedy, one that values the truth over the easy punchline.
But let’s talk about the sensory overload of growing up in Windsor. It is a city of festivals and food, a place where the smell of the river mixes with the scent of baking bread. Merheje’s memory of the city is visceral. It is not just a map; it is a collection of sights and smells that still haunt his writing.
“There are so many memories. Visiting my grandparents, attending the Lebanese festival, the Polish festival, the Greek festival, the Italian Fest, and the Carousel of Nations. Playing road hockey, walking down Ottawa Street, going to the cinema in Forest Glade, and that old arcade by the water—it’s all so memorable. And the Lebanese bakery, where you could smell the pita bread being made and see it coming down the conveyor belt—those are wonderful memories,” he reminisces.
I think back then, I was probably talking a bit about my family or gravitating towards speaking about my culture. And in Windsor, there’s a significant Lebanese community. That has always been, and still is, a major source of my material—my family, all of whom still live in Windsor. So, definitely, the city and its culture have had an influence on my act and on me as a person.
That pita bread conveyor belt is a metaphor for the Windsor grind if I have ever heard one. It is consistent, it is hot and it never stops. Merheje took that work ethic to the national stage, eventually landing a Juno Award for his album *Good Friends Bad Grammar*. In a country where comedy often takes a backseat to music, winning a Juno is a heavy-duty validation.
“It meant a lot. Watching musicians and artists win Juno Awards, you admire them and see them being rewarded for their work. The stand-up category had been gone for a long time and had only recently come back. So just being nominated was exciting and something I was grateful for. And then winning? That’s a memory I’ll cherish forever,” he says.
The award was a signal that the industry was finally paying attention to the specific, frenetic energy Merheje brings to the mic. But stand-up was just the entry point. The transition to acting felt inevitable. Whether it was the sitcom vibes of *Mr. D* or the prestige drama-comedy of *Ramy*, Merheje proved he could hold his own without a microphone in his hand.
“I’ve always wanted to act, to do stand-up and then find my way into acting. I was able to get some experience on ‘Mr. D,’ which was on CBC and is coming out on Netflix Canada. That experience gave me comfort in front of the camera. Then, getting ‘Rami’ was amazing. The show is great, the actors are top-notch, and I learned a lot from them. It helped me grow as an actor, which is something I want to continue pursuing,” he explains.
Working on *Ramy*—a show that redefined how Muslim-American lives are portrayed on screen—gave Merheje a new set of tools. It taught him the value of the quiet moment. But stand-up remains his first love, and the upcoming Shadowbox shows are a chance to see him in his rawest form, alongside the brilliant Courtney Gilmour.
“We’re doing a co-headlining thing, and we have some guests as well. I’m looking forward to it. You’re going to get a performance full of energy. It’s not just about the Internet; it’s about giving everything I have on stage,” Merheje says.
The "Internet" comment is a sharp jab at the current state of comedy, where 15-second clips often replace the craft of a 60-minute set. Merheje is an old-school technician in a new-school world. His process has evolved from the rigid structure of a notebook to the fluid nature of a digital age.
“When I started, I used to write everything out fully. Now, I jot notes down in my iPhone and then have a couple of points and an idea of where I’m going to go,” he explains.
This isn't laziness; it is confidence. He knows the rhythm of the room. He knows how to find the joke in real-time. “The more times I repeat it on stage, it gets fleshed out into something complete,” he adds.
Performing in Windsor offers a unique psychological advantage. There is no "getting to know you" phase. The audience already knows his uncle, his dad and the bakery he’s talking about. That familiarity breeds a different kind of comedy.
“Windsor is different because I feel such a comfort being from there, with family in the audience. There’s a certain comfort in the things I can talk about,” he notes.
But don't mistake comfort for playing it safe. Merheje is a firm believer in the Carlin school of thought. You can talk about anything, as long as your intent is honest. In an era where everyone is terrified of being "cancelled," Merheje stays focused on the empathy behind the joke.
“If it’s in good taste, you can push boundaries. It’s about not being mean about it,” he says.
It is a fine line to walk, but it is the only one worth walking if you want to say something that actually matters. “If it’s not mean-spirited, I think you can tackle those issues. You’ve seen Carlin do it,” he remarks.
The most compelling part of Merheje’s current evolution, however, is his openness about the mental toll of the industry. The "sad clown" is a tired trope, but the "healthy comic" is a relatively new concept. Merheje is leading that charge by being vocal about his time in the therapist's chair.
“Comedy can contribute to discussions around mental health,” Merheje says. “I’ve seen a therapist for the last five years. It’s probably been the best thing I’ve ever done. Honestly, it was the best thing for me.”
There is a pervasive myth in creative circles that if you fix the machine, it stops making the art. Merheje is living proof that a healthy brain actually writes better jokes.
“Getting therapy has helped me do comedy better and be healthier,” he acknowledges. “I have that tool now to help me rethink things or think things through before reacting. It helps being up there, doing stand-up, or even acting. It’s therapeutic for me personally. So that does something as well where I can just get things off my chest.”
He is dismantling the idea that you have to be miserable to be funny. It is a dangerous lie that has claimed too many voices in this industry. Merheje is done with it.
“There was a long time where I believed that if I didn’t fix myself, my funny would go away. But that wasn’t true at all. That was something I told myself,” he admits.
As he looks toward the future, Merheje isn't waiting for a gatekeeper to hand him a key. He sees the landscape for what it is—a wild west where you can build your own kingdom if you have the stamina.
“There’s more opportunity now, especially with the Internet. You’re not waiting on someone; you can make your own lane, create your own fan base, and reach people all over the world. It’s a great time for comedy,” he concludes.
Dave Merheje is at the height of his powers, but he’s still the kid from Forest Glade who remembers the smell of the pita bread. On Dec. 22, Windsor gets to see that journey come full circle. Tickets are $28.25 and available at The Shadowbox Theatre. Don't expect a polite evening of observational humour; expect a collision. Merheje wouldn't have it any other way.
Get Tickets
