Everything but the seagull
REALISM AT THE COAL MINE’S CLOSE QUARTERS IS MAGIC. — ROBERT CUSHMAN
Think Chekhov. That’s what critics do, what audiences do, what even playwrights do when, for example, a character in a new play wants to make a romantic declaration to another character and is too shy or inhibited to go through with it. The same is true of scenes in which a frustrated lover comes upon the object of his or her affections making out with somebody else. One play has just turned up in Toronto in which the resemblance is obvious, the influence or homage blatant.
In the case of Superior Donuts, by the American Tracy Letts, one hopes it’s homage. How else would you account for the scene of tongue- tied love being succeeded by one of a man getting drunk and announcing with a mixture of pride and shame that yes, he has bought the cherry orchard? Well all right, the property in question isn’t an orchard, but the resemblance is still pretty staggering. And, to seal the deal, the drunken purchaser is Russian.
He isn’t the protagonist. That distinction belongs to Arthur Przybyszewski ( Poli sh- American obviously), sole proprietor of a Chicago doughnut store that, come the year 2008 is fighting, though not very hard, for survival. The play was Letts’ gentler, shorter successor to his blockbuster August: Osage County, and it’s staged in Toronto at the Coal Mine, which last year gave us a brilliant production of Letts’ first and, on the available evidence, best play Killer Joe. The new production, directed by Ted Dykstra, is also excellent; the play is enjoyable but formulaic.
It begins with Arthur arriving late for work to find a male and female cop on the premises, summoned by a neighbour because some vandal has scrawled “Pussy” on t he window. Arthur greets the news as if it were just what he would have expected; he’ll tell us later that the Polish national characteristic is hopelessness. His ex- wife has just died; it’s been years since he’s seen his daughter, whom he obviously adores; his business is being killed by the conglomerates. His doughnuts, though, really are superior; he makes them himself and is proud of them. He impresses this on his new assistant: a young black man of student age called Franco, who talks himself into the job and could probably talk himself into anything. Employer and employee have a tonic effect on one another. Franco persuades Arthur to chat up the police lady who is clearly interested in him, and though at first he doesn’t succeed, as in Chekhov, he may get another chance, as never in Chekhov. Franco claims to have written the Great American Novel; Arthur reads it and is impressed. Just when things are looking good, we discover that Franco is in debt to a thug.
The play proceeds through a succession of set pieces and reversals, some less predictable than others; in that respect it’s like August: Osage County writ small. Arthur has a set of monologues, telling us about his marriage, his upbringing, and his past as a Vietnam draft-dodger, which enabled him ( Canadian- c ontent alert) to become the great reader whose j udgment Franco can trust. It’s a leaky device but it’s rescued here, like the play as a whole, by Robert Persichini’s wonderful performance as Arthur. Sadness, marrow- deep, is written on his brow and in his voice, and physically he’s jelly, but he has us rooting for his character’s intelligence and, eventually, determination. We root too for the actor playing, after years of treasurable supporting work, his first lead. He’s real in every fibre, as is Nabil Rajo’s Franco, whether bursting with ebullience or hunched in despair.
Realism at the Coal Mine’s close quarters is magic; Anna Treusch’s set design lets you walk out of the lobby right into the world of the play.
Alex Poch- Goldin’s Russian is too extravagant for the space and Ryan Hollyman’s vicious creditor too loud, though both are otherwise fine. Darla Biccum and Michael Blake as the police and Diana Leblanc as an alcoholic street lady are fine unreservedly; as are, in tiny roles, Jon Lachlan Stewart and Paul Dods. Simon Fon has directed a fight that goes, literally, all over the shop; it may not quite convince psychologically but as choreography it’s amazing. Watch out for flying doughnuts.