Istvan Dugalin ➤

The cast of “Come From Away” (Toronto Company 2024), Photo by Matthew Murphy

My cynical ass gets very down on humanity. I have some pretty dark thoughts about our present, let alone our dubious future, so most “feel good” entertainments do little to console me; I gravitate towards grimmer works for my catharsis. Irene Sankoff and David Hein’s folksy juggernaut would fall into the former category. Unlike the mollifying distraction of most crowd-pleasers, I fully trust Come From Away’s sincere and buoyant optimism. My first time seeing it, and not anticipating how deeply it would affect me, I was completely blindsided by this return engagement presented by Mirvish.

Gander, Newfoundland. September 11, 2001 and the week following. 38 planes are grounded at the small town’s airport, flooding the community with 7000 “from aways” who are all frustrated and scared. The show doesn’t wallow in the details of why, we know, giving us plenty of space to focus our attention on the best of us. Opening their hearts and straining their resources, the Gander locals welcome these disparate strangers from across the globe. It makes for a musical theatre experience both quaint and raucous—capturing those East Coast vibes of the place and its people.

Most of the original Toronto cast return here with a handful of newcomers, each portraying at least two distinct characters each—one of the “plane people” and one of the Gander locals—and sometimes several! Each of these people is entirely real to me. To give you an appetite-wetting little taste: there’s Janine, an endearingly nervous yet plucky first-day-on-the-job reporter (played with bright-eyed vigour by Steffi Didomenicantonio); local teacher Beulah (Lisa Horner) with her open heart and firm practicality; Gander’s dutiful and cuddly mayor (David Silvestri), Kristen Peace’s Bonnie, defying authority to help the animals from the cargo hold. The accents alone are almost enough to win you over, yet the grounded, rough-around-the-edges authenticity really clinches it.

Astonishingly, Sankoff and Hein’s book manages to pack in so many well-defined characterizations, establish blossoming relationships and crucial information about the overwhelming logistics of the scenario without it ever feeling rushed or cumbersome. Two relationships that help define the overall tone of the story are: Buelah’s commiseration with Saccha Dennis’ Hannah—an aching portrayal of a woman from New York who gets some tragic news about her firefighter son; Barbara Fulton and James Kall’s adorable Diane and Nick, older folks from Texas and England who clumsily flirt and find love amidst all the chaos. 

One of the most remarkable aspects of director Christopher Ashley’s production is how theatrically immersive it is without ever feeling like heightened spectacle. Kelly Devine’s musical staging provides purposeful movement throughout, a fluid and exhilarating sense of urgency that always feels essentially naturalistic. Beowulf Boritt’s unassuming scenic design has plenty of clever tricks up its sleeve—tree trucks lean protectively in from the wings as a backdrop of weathered wooden slats suggest a once sky-blue paint job etched away by years under the harsh elements. It’s also weirdly comforting to see a Tim Hortons sign and Shoppers Drug Mart baskets pop up in a Broadway and West End hit musical. 

In a soundtrack that has predominantly shanty musical textures, Cailin Stadnyk’s soaring “Me and the Sky” as Captain Beverly Bass is something of a outlier. It is the most overtly musical theatre song and feels like a narrative departure, taking us with her as she reminisces about her lifelong journey—from a girl dreaming skyward to the middle-aged realization of that dream as the first female captain for American Airlines commercial flights. Sankoff and Hein have a thematic purpose for this indulgence: the song ends on Beverly’s devastating realization that the object of her lifelong obsession is suddenly a weapon. 

Oh, I can’t forget to shout out a rowdy bar scene featuring yellow Sou’westers and cod-kissing, a delightful set piece during which the “from aways” are “screeched in” as honorary islanders. It’s a goofy, kinda gross, enchantingly specific bit of joyous mayhem.   

Why do I trust Come From Away‘s “feel good” charms so implicitly? For starters, it’s guileless. It isn’t interested in candy-flossing its way through a traumatic situation. It doesn’t pat you on the head and tell you everything is fine, because it isn’t. Loved ones die. The strain and heartache even end a relationship as shifting perspectives alter priorities. Xenophobia rears its ugly head. This story understands and acknowledges resentment and fear and distrust. It cuts through our jaded defences though (mine, at least) by showing us that, even though things are not—will never be—perfect, we can find and offer kindness.

Come From Away
begins September 22 to , 2024
Royal Alexandra Theatre (260 King St W.)
running time: 100 minutes (no intermission)

Steffi DiDomenicantonio and the cast of “Come From Away” (Toronto Company 2024), Photo by Matthew Murphy