Mazin Elsadig and Noah Reid in “A Case for the Existence of God”, Photo by Cylla von Tiedemann
Full disclosure: I fucking love this play. Lyrical mediations on the nature of human existence—acknowledging the agreed-upon facade of adulthood, the dutiful trudge and stumble through the motions—are woven elegantly into a naturalistic two-hander about modern existential angst and intimate male connection. Samuel D. Hunter’s A Case for the Existence of God drops us into an awkward discussion about a bank loan. The desk between the men serves as a professional and social barrier at first, but as these two single fathers, Keith (Mazin Elsadig) and Ryan (Noah Reid), deliberately make themselves vulnerable to each other, the context of their interaction expands exponentially. And then the sparks really fly in Coal Mine Theatre’s urgent and keenly felt production.
Hunter’s script takes us to a very metaphysical place by the finale. This is given physical dimension in some poetic visual surprises from set and lighting designer Nick Blais, which elegantly alters the space around the men, transporting us from the tangible wood and glass surfaces of an office to an abstracted, penumbral environment that seems to exist as both memory and projected future. Before we get there, though, the situation and dynamic is more commonplace and director Ted Dykstra’s production is deceptively unassuming. The elegant yet generic trappings of the set, allowing us to imagine both Keith’s office cubicle and well-appointed home, are essentially just a frame for the relationship.
Before we even understand the specifics of the situation, Des’ree Gray’s costumes establish, at a glance, the duo’s outward differences. We perceive a power imbalance from signifiers—Keith’s business causal and Ryan’s rugged, working class get up. With affable diligence, Keith works through his bemusement and frustration to provide mortgage brokerage to Ryan, a plant-worker down on his luck. He wants a loan to purchase a plot of land that belonged to his family generations ago. As we glean from the many words he needs Keith to explain to him, he isn’t as formally educated, but we gradually realize he has a great deal more emotional intelligence.
Of the many wonderful subversions of expectation the story provides, our initial fear that Keith’s revealed gayness might alienate Ryan is quickly assuaged. Ryan isn’t the bigoted hick his appearance might lead us to assume. In fact, it is he who first notices and addresses their shared humanity, “a specific type of sadness” and, eventually, offers a physical gesture of affection. It is in this episode that Hunter’s text and this duo convey a very particular sort of phenomenon that resonated deeply for me. Elsadig paints a nuanced portrait of a gay man flinching away from a straight man’s intimate overture. Burdened with the heavy baggage our culture places on conventionally masculine codes of conduct, his sexuality becomes an internalized obstacle. And Reid, in turn, nails the bafflement and stung feelings of a man desperately yearning to be fully present for his friend and rejected as patronizing.
Their chemistry on both sides of this specific interaction is authentic and endearing. There is a great deal of humour throughout, punctuated by tense moments like the one described above. Single fatherhood is the bond that allows them to transcend their differences—race, sexuality and financial security. These differences aren’t dismissed as superficial, because they aren’t, but the narrative and heartfelt performances demonstrate they are surmountable, that our common personhood is deeper if we allow ourselves to access it.
At the risk of belabouring a point, I’ll keep raving: Elsadig and Reid are fully compelling. While I think the opening scenes between them could have been staged to better intensify the initial claustrophobia of the situation—and provide more distinctive contrast for the expansive aesthetics of the finale—their connection is stirring regardless. As deceptions are revealed, plans thwarted and stakes raised, the pair’s relationship is thrown into sharp relief. The moment when Elsadig loses all composure in a violent, agonized torrent and Reid can do nothing but bear witness—well, it’s an abject spectacle that is truly (quoting a word Keith taught Ryan)… harrowing.
This play also showcases one of my all-time favourite story beats, a theatrical fetish of mine: characters getting drunk on-stage. From the moment the whiskey came out, I was fully on-board. And the journey A Case for the Existence of God took me on, full of humour and heartache, never lost its persuasive momentum.
A Case for the Existence of God
running November 3 to 24, 2024
The Coal Mine Theatre (2076 Danforth Ave)
running time: 1 hour, 25 minutes (no intermission)
Mazin Elsadig and Noah Reid in “A Case for the Existence of God”, Photo by Cylla von Tiedemann