Chemistry between cast carries clunky script
The Chance
(out of 4) Written by George F. Walker. Directed by Wes Berger. Until Oct. 28 at The Assembly Theatre, 1479 Queen St. W. LeroyStreetTheatre.com.
The indie theatre the Assembly Theatre, a small, underground black-box setup in a former hair salon at Queen St. W. and Lansdowne Ave., was tightly packed on Saturday night. Firstly, it was an exciting evening for the new venue, as only the second production to take place there in its history — The Assembly — hosted the world premiere of the latest play from playwright George F. Walker, famous in Canadian theatre for writing about Toronto’s working class in the ’70s and ’80s, including his Suburban Motel series and for being one of the most provocative writers of his era.
If that wasn’t a big enough get for this new theatre and the co-founding company, Leroy Street Theatre, beloved actor Fiona Reid signed on as the matriarch of a cast of three women in The Chance.
Joining Reid in the cast are two more indie theatre names — Claire Burns, managing director of the Storefront Theatre, and Anne van Leeuwen, co-founder of Leroy Street Theatre and artistic director of The Assembly Theatre venue. And longtime Walker collaborator Wes Berger helms the production as director. In many senses, Saturday night’s opening was a collision between Toronto theatre generations, a heartening example of camaraderie, indie spirit, and above all, fun.
The Chance, which takes place in the low-income Parkdale apartment that Marcie (Reid), Walmart employee on suspension, shares with her stripper daughter Jo (Burns), is a joke-filled 90-minute romp that gives three women the opportunity to play with each other and the extreme, improbable situation their characters find themselves in.
The absurdity of the story — a onenight stand of Jo’s leaves behind his wallet containing a $300,000 cash cheque, which could fund a new life for Jo and her young daughter Suzy, pay off Marcie’s debts (including an intimidating loan shark named Rocco), and kick-start a pastry shop for Jo’s friend and colleague Amie (van Leeuwen), who gets wrapped up in the hijinks when she arrives to tell Jo their club has closed for suspicious reasons — is leavened by the likability of its characters.
As the three women argue over the fate of the cheque — to cash or not to cash, to run or not to run, to involve themselves with seedy gangsters or not to involve themselves with seedy gangsters — Berger keeps the energy high and the dialogue fast, playing on the strengths of Walker’s script, its humour and its empathy for these women. And the chemistry between Reid, Burns and van Leeuwen carry the script through its clunky mechanics, which rely on one-sided phone calls for exposition, descriptions of action outside their window, and above all, a far-fetched plot that builds to an undeservedly easy ending and a closing act that peters out after the frenzy is over.
Reid, it has to be said, is the standout as Marcie, a grieving debtor and eternal optimist with a dark side, who slowly lets her scheming skills out to rival those she’s indebted to. One of the country’s best comedic actors, Reid plays up Marcie’s sweetness to play off of Burns’s gruff Jo and her abrasiveness to coerce van Leeuwen’s impulsive Amie into supporting her cause, with the timing and ease of a seasoned pro. But there’s an ever-present exhaustion to Marcie, as she repeats the details of her and Jo’s hardships in quick, almost prepared speeches — bringing to mind all of the times in the past she’s had to argue her case to landlords, creditcard companies and lawyers.
Reid shows the constant defeat underneath Marcie’s constant determination clearly. Burns and van Leeuwen both hold their own, and van Leeuwen in particular benefits from a character that provides most of the play’s comic relief, relishing (get it?) Amie’s craving for ham and cheese sandwiches in this time of stress.
In a play that gives its characters such charm, it’s a little disappointing to see Walker’s antiquated portrayal of the stripping profession in Jo and Amie. The play positions their jobs as something to escape, something shameful — something that destroys ambitions of upward mobility.
The dangers of this kind of work are real, and many women who do it may see it as their last resort. But only presenting it that way only serves the stereotype of strippers as former or current addicts willing to sinfully expose their bodies as an easy get-richquick scheme — dehumanizing an already marginalized community. This mostly comes in a conversation between Jo and Amie while Marcie is at the bank, which is essentially time-killing dialogue anyway.
With not much of a conclusion afterwards, Walker might be interested in ending with an earlier, punchier finale in further productions. Even so, Reid, van Leeuwen and Burns make this Chance one to take while it’s here.