Reuse YOUR illusion
At Ready Set Recycle, Toronto TV and film props and costumes find a second life, even if the shows themselves do not
It would be easy, on first glance, to mistake the hodgepodge of dishware, clothing, lamps and throw pillows inside a Toronto parish hall as simply the contents of a rummage sale.
A closer look reveals this is anything but.
Dozens of identical blue jumpsuits hang on a rack. Bizarre foxeared masks that wouldn’t be out of place in a sex den sit on a back table. Fake deputy sheriff badges and a name tag for someone called Wendenal are priced to sell.
And littered on the floor throughout the room are hundreds of pairs of ballet pointe shoes.
This is where set dressing, props and costumes from movies, TV and theatre find a second life, even if the shows sometimes do not.
Ready Set Recycle is the brainchild of Grant Heggie, a veteran of the entertainment business and a man who says he “hates waste.” Crewing on sets decades ago, he got fed up with seeing perfectly good materials go into the dump once a show shot its final frame.
His vision now finds him here, in a large overstuffed room in St. Anne’s Parish Hall on Dufferin Street in Little Portugal. It’s a pop-up venue he has rented for his latest sale. Doors opened in February and will close at the end of March or until nearly everything goes.
The bulk of the goods are from “Robyn Hood,” the 2023 Canadian TV series that reimagined the classic tale and was excoriated by online trolls upset that a Black woman was cast in the lead role.
There is stuff from other shows as well. Overnight, a new shipment arrived, although Heggie is closemouthed about its origins. Not all production companies allow him to disclose show titles, even if doing so might attract interest. When Ready Set Recycle shared the news last summer that it had items from Season 1 of the popular TV superhero satire “The Boys,” which is shot in Toronto, “everyone wanted a piece of it,” he says. But to him that fandom was of no import: “I don’t like dealing with memorabilia; I like the focus to be on the recycling.”
Sustainability has been on Heggie’s mind since the 1990s, when, with a previous partner, he launched a business that warehoused used sets so they could be repurposed for future productions. Increasing costs and city red tape brought an end to that. But in 2010, he resuscitated the idea with a twist: instead of providing storage, Ready Set Recycle, an arm of Heggie’s larger entertainment company Octopus Works, would harness social media promotion and his expertise to help production companies sell or give away set properties.
The business really took off in 2021, when a pandemic-era, curbside-pick-up sale generated decent earnings and industry attention. Since then, Ready Set Recycle has handled sales for 41 shows, mostly in Toronto, but also in Vancouver, Montreal, New York, Los Angeles and England.
Heggie advises production companies on what can be sold and what needs to be given away. Last June, for example, he decided it would be more economical to rid a trailer full of cheaper Ikea furniture by putting the word out on Instagram and having people pick up the pieces for free, rather than trying to find floor space to display it all.
Physical sales occur several times a year, either on-site at studios or at one of eight pop-up locations in Toronto, including theatres, providing them with a few weeks of rental income when their stages are dark. Certain expenses, such as venue rentals and cartage and garbage fees, are deducted from revenues — which are about $400,000 annually. Heggie takes a cut, and the rest goes to the production company.
“We have a reputation for getting things out of landfill and for making them a profit,” he says.
Last year, his company diverted about 66 truckloads of scenic materials and properties from the dump.
For line producer Mary Anne Waterhouse, turning to Ready Set Recycle to handle assets from five of her productions has been less about the money and more about the environmental impact. “Everything we do is temporary,” she says. “We make a thing, we photograph a thing and then we don’t want the thing anymore. All we wanted was the photograph. That is the nature of our business.
“And at some point it has to be gotten rid of, every single thing.”
Waterhouse says her shows generally produce between 16 to 20 trailers full of stuff to discard.
“Grant finds a place for everything, and that was really important to me.”
Items are usually priced at half or less than half of what a studio spent. Drones worth $10,000 each are selling for $2,000; designer beaded gowns that regularly cost $2,400 are going for $950. Cheaper deals include “never-used” toilets for $60 and planters for $5. Vintage car magazines are 50 cents.
Heggie acknowledges the pricing acumen of Janet Devins, a freelance wardrobe stylist who busily unwraps a new load of furniture nearby, fitting pieces into the room’s tight spots with ninja-like precision.
“She is spectacular, particularly for wardrobe,” says Heggie, who usually hires between 10 to 22 artists to work each sale. “You need people who really know their stuff.”
Luxury brands and custom-made costumes attract a certain clientele, and interior designers often stop by for rugs and unique pieces. But there are also teens who come for cheap hoodies and others looking to furnish apartments.
“This is quality stuff,” says Duraid Munajim, a cinematographer, who dropped by the sale with his 10year-old daughter Gwen. “An art director had to put these things together for a TV or movie set, so you know it’s going to be interesting and eclectic,” he adds, gesturing to some handmade ponchos while clutching a $6 toaster he plans on purchasing.
Gwen picked out a backpack and a candle. “I think it’s really cool how this could have been in a scene of a TV show or movie and now it’s going to be in my house,” she says.
All of the product needs to move, but you can’t sell too cheaply or you’ll go broke, says Heggie, who was inspired and once advised by the late Toronto entrepreneur Ed Mirvish. Handwritten signs throughout the parish hall are clearly a nod to Honest Ed’s landmark discount store.
And following the lessons of the Honest Ed school of business, Heggie has designated a loss leader to get people in the door: Pointe shoes that regularly run well over $100, and are still in their packaging from an unnamed show, are priced at $8.
“They were never put on a dancer’s feet. They just sat in the background as dressing. The idea of watching that go into the dump, I mean, c’mon, really?” says Heggie, who adds they are going like “hotcakes.”
A graduate student walks by holding two pairs. Having danced for 10 years, she has a laundry basket at home full of worn slippers. “I’ve spent an embarrassing amount on pointe shoes,” she sheepishly admits, happy to have found this deal.
Heggie notes there’s no shortage of stuff to sell — loads from three more shows are expected to arrive Monday. The challenge is finding homes for everything. Sometimes he ends up donating things: a backlog of clothing went to a local hospital that will use the items for patients, many of them homeless, whose shirts and pants were cut off during emergency care. Or he will start to slash prices as the sale comes to end.
Sometimes he’s surprised by what remains, like two colourfully painted mannequins priced at $150 each: “I thought they’d be long gone by now.”