A Case for the Existence of God by Samuel D. Hunter
at Kitchen Theatre through November 24
The astonishing final scene of Samuel D. Hunter’s brilliant play will steal your breath, especially as played by the Kitchen’s two superb actors, Philip Kershaw and David McElwee.
Hunter weaves his plays from the heartland of his native Idaho, and populates them with complex characters that reflect the rural, and often (but not entirely) conservative populace. One could call him a regional playwright, but that would be in the same vein as calling Tennessee Williams regional for his Southern milieu.
Hunter roots his characters in highly naturalistic dialogue and behavior. His plays are not exactly “kitchen sink” dramas, but they do ring with the rhythms of daily, contemporary life.
At rise we find Keith (Kershaw), a mortgage broker, and Ryan (McElwee), the applicant seated at two sides of a cubicle desk. Keith is Black, Ryan is White. Keith wears a crisp shirt, tan slacks, dress shoes while Ryan sports a red jacket over a white t-shirt, jeans and boots (the spot-on costumes are by veteran Kitchen designer Lisa Boquist.) They appear to have little in common.
Except: they are both fathers—in fact they connected at daycare. Each has a daughter, approaching their second year, and each is ocean-deep in love with that child.
And there are problems. Both single and gay, Keith has gone the route of fostering a child (Willa) born to a mother struggling with addiction; Ryan is hoping to share custody of Krista with his ex-wife. The loan he seeks is for a piece of land that once belonged to his great grandfather, where he hopes to build a home.
Money flummoxes him. “I guess I feel like having money is the only real permission I have to be alive? Like without it, I don’t have permission to exist.”
The play moves in short scenes, the actors never leaving their chairs until the final moments. The effect is of time slipping, yet pushing forward. Each scene peels away the outer layers of these two as they fall into a guarded intimacy; there’s a delicious sequence in which the two get increasingly plastered; there is a gorgeous scene set on the edge of the playground as they watch their daughters at play.
Yet time is apparently not on either man’s side: a relative of Willa’s is expressing interest in taking her in, and Ryan’s wife is suing for full custody. The loan is less and less likely.
Poverty, class, race, sexuality: all get meticulously sifted through Hunter’s empathetic ear.
Eventually we find ourselves hoping deeply for these two to win as heartbreak hovers like the sword of Damocles.
Is there God in a broken world? The last scene is like sunrise after a flood.
Kershaw initially plays close to the chest, holding his professionalism like a shield. Deep currents surface as the play proceeds, and the actor rotates through panic, old wounds, betrayal and a sort of rage. McElwee orbits him, anxious, naive, friendly, perplexed, pissed off, heart on sleeve.
In such a close-up drama, the director is crucial and Artistic Director Emily Jackson gives her actors space yet keeps each moment nicely detailed. The pace is brisk (fairly typical of the Kitchen); I yearned for the longer pauses and silences, a sense of drift, of uncertainty.
Tyler M. Perry provides the apt set, tiny against an expanse of perhaps sky, and lights it with a graceful touch.
Comments are closed.