Coal Mine Theatre Ignites a Captivating Harmonious Re-Union in Hunter’s “A Case for the Existence of God” – front mezz junkies, Theater News

The Toronto Theatre Review: A Case for the Existence of God

By Ross

This is, as described from within, a story of two very different male melodies played together. On their own, separate from one another, they may be too difficult to connect to or understand fully. But played together at the same time, they form something bigger and better; something absolutely harmonious and utterly beautiful. It’s a historic musical framing that sneaks its way inside the engagement that is A Case for the Existence of God, and it works its metaphoric magic in more ways than we realize as the two-handed play by Samuel D. Hunter plays its miracles on us with every twist and turn on those rolling chairs.

Hunter, the playwright, has a way with these types of people, forging intimate stories that are held close to their hearts and shying them away from the day-to-day. As he did with the deliciously deep Greater Clements, Hunter unpacks a subtle human quality that few might see outside exposed to the light of day. Yet, somewhere in the surprisingly endearing engagement that brings factoryworker Ryan, dynamically embodied by Noah Reid (Broadway’s The Minutes; “Schitt’s Creek“), into the room to meet with a low-leveled mortgage broker (not direct lender) Keith, played with solid connection by Mazin Elsadig (CanStage’s Topdog/Underdog), aspects of self are revealed as grand as that title. It appears before us and starts to play quietly in the in-between electricity these two fine actors create.

“Can I walk you through it?” asks Keith, as we watch Reid’s Ryan struggle with the document before him. We have an instantaneous connection with the two, and as directed with solid clarity by Ted Dykstra (Coal Mine’s Appropriate), their differences are sharply obvious, yet deliver something that connects. We discover that the two men, who, as it turns out, went to high school together but had just reconnected at daycare when they were each picking up their young child. Ryan doesn’t quite remember their connection, but Keith’s memory is as clear as day. Yet, that is not the reason they find themselves sitting across from each other in the most corporate of offices one could imagine, formulated with a sense of purpose by set and lighting designer Nick Blais (Coal Mine’s The Effect) with perfectly unpacked costuming by Des’ree Gray (Obsidian/Crow’s seven methods of killing kylie jenner) and a solid sound design by composer Aaron Jensen (Armchair Confidential). There’s another draw, one that gets questioned later on when things start to get more complicated.

Their seated unity comparing kid pictures and personal stories, an energy that continues almost to the end of this one-act 90-minute play, is hypnotic. They come together over a mortgage that Ryan hopes to secure for a slice of property of 12 acres that once belonged to his grandfather. It’s an emotional need he has deep inside his soul, to help find a sense of belonging and a solid place to raise the young daughter he shares custody with. Yet his life doesn’t appear to be exactly in the right space for him to easily manifest this dream, but Keith takes on the challenge of finding a lender for this 30-something factory worker and his daughter with relish, and convinces both Ryan and himself that this dream is possible.

Yet something remarkable happens between the two, beautifully brought to the stage by these fine actors. A kinship is formed, nudged along but “a specific kind of sadness” Ryan notes they share. And they do, carrying it heavy on their frames, from years of internalized trauma and subtle isolation of very different origins. But the energy that they give us is undeniable. The recognition catches the tightly wound Keith off guard, and it takes him a bit to process Ryan’s statement. We see it played out in both, as Ryan speaks about his struggle with self-esteem and family/financial difficulties in a life that feels lonely and difficult. Keith has his own set of concerns that can overwhelm this anxious man with just one phone call. He lives in fear that his foster child daughter, who is basically the same age as Ryan’s daughter, will be reclaimed by the birth family, and he will lose his chance to adopt this child after bonding so deeply with her in the first 15 months of this child’s life.

The play is a clever construction of tightly wound scenes that deepen the compassionate connection with each formulation, especially when the bottle of whiskey first appears. The two actors basically never leave these two chairs (as I guess is instructed in the play’s stage directions), wheeling themselves in and out of numerous different locals with quick ease. The effect of these engagements on these two is profound. Each scene digs them in deeper with the other, sometimes awkwardly, and sometimes to a level that is “harrowing“. Reid is a complete gem of an actor, finding a way to deliver Ryan’s damaged self and complicated anxiety without going overboard. It seems Ryan used to be one of the popular kids in school, full to overflowing with confidence and clarity, or so it seemed to Keith. Keith, on the other hand, was the bullied gay Black kid in small-town America. But things aren’t as they once were, and what once was, was probably not the full and complete truth in the real world. These two tied-up men have lives and personas that now harmonize in a way they might never have known was possible, but through shared stories of family dynamics, both painful and privileged, their tender emotionality deepens to a level that surprises and enhances our sense of the world.

Even in the face of intense disappointment, particularly Elsadig’s inner debilitating destruction, these two find some form of union that ignites the space with heartfelt compassion, for the pain they have experienced, and for the hardships each of them has had to endure. Hunter’s title, A Case for the Existence of God, hangs curiously in the rearview mirror of my mind, wondering when and how the grand title will make sense. Is it in the guilt that Ryan has for taking for granted the formulation of harmony (both historically and metaphorically), or in the lost acute fear that seizes Keith’s body during key moments? “I can’t see the person I knew in high school,” one says to the other, but in a way, it’s true of them both. They compliment one another in more ways than just telling the other how good of a dad the other one is. It’s a deeper, more compassionate place, that takes us to the final scene, when grace and unity are truly unpacked most generously. We have to believe that things still make sense, we are told. And on this night, days after the heartbreaking American election, that tender sentiment and hand-holding are exactly what this man needed.