Sophia Walker, Aurora Browne, Peter Fernandes, Gregory Waters and Fiona Reid in “The Bidding War”, Photo by Dahlia Katz
I’m a proud Michael Ross Albert enthusiast. He keeps delivering darkly edged, emotive and hilarious pressure cooker scenarios; inviting us to empathize with characters we don’t always like, but who are relatably trapped in the dehumanizing machinery of contemporary life. The Bidding War, presented by Crow’s Theatre, is his most recent deep dive into a mundane situation gradually turning ugly—because, well, people gonna people, especially as late stage capitalism tests our resilience and decency.
Ken Mackenzie and Sim Suzwe’s set is the vast, open concept living room and kitchen of a generic, upscale house. The vapid art on white walls and tastefully bland furniture provide a suitably wow-meh arena for abject wheeling and dealing. As a flock of buyers and real estate agents converge on this property, they collide spectacularly and an ordinary open house erupts into screwball chaos with bloody and anaphylactic consequences.
The first act is essentially a farce. It sends its eleven characters in and out, up and down, then crashing into each other as their alliances shift. From the sporty-casual look of a trust-fund pretty-boy to the pink cashmere and khakis of an elderly widow, Laura Delchiaro’s costumes provide a distinctive visual coding for everybody.
Because they are all scrambling to attain this 1.3 million dollar listing, we know these people are, uh, doing ok. The struggling, marginalized populace from which they are comfortably removed are glimpsed in a plot point about a local community soon to be displaced by development plans. Those unfortunates are acknowledged, though we aren’t meant to think too deeply about them. The nod toward gentrification escalates the stakes of this sale and establishes where these characters sit on the political spectrum. Aurora Browne’s Blayne—a agent and city official suddenly dropping her client to bid for the house herself—has a scandalous involvement with these development plans.
Brown’s dynamic with Fiona Reid’s retired Miriam is a highlight for me, especially after Blayne drops her as a client. Her impassioned diatribe against Boomer privilege cuts pretty deep. Reid’s affable doddering as she struggles with modern technology is endearing and her generational divide from the rest of the group further diversifies the ensemble. Both Peter Fernandes’ Sam and Sergio Di Zio’s Greg have a high-strung, try-hard energy that betrays their newness to the real estate game. Though each has moments of vulnerability in the second act’s more sombre, heartfelt mood, it is Fernandes whose twitchy charisma bookends the play. Even when playing a complete heel, he’s so adorable. The whomp-whomp Prosecco gag is *chef’s kiss*.
The two couples—Ian (Steven Sutcliffe) and Donovan (Izad Etemadi), Lara (Amy Matysi) and Luke (Gregory Prest)—offer compelling portrayals of contrasting domestic partnerships; one healthy, the other not, an illuminating juxtaposition. Gregory Walter’s buff and cocky Charlie is arguably the least likeable of the lot, though he is very amusing, especially in those goofy episodes where he… devolves. Sophia Walker’s Patricia, in her handsome suit, seems the most composed of everyone and adds an air of actual professionalism to the whole affair, though even she can’t help but be scorched by the heat of desperation. Veronica Hortiguela is, perhaps, the most easily sympathetic in her portrait of June, an angsty yet pragmatic artist whose life abroad has fallen apart. As the owner of the house, she too has skin in the game.
Albert provides plenty of striking details to build the world. June’s environmental art made of algae is something I’d love to see! The references to Glengarry Glen Ross are on point. The industry jargon and tension of David Mamet’s seminal work organically creep into the framework of this scenario. And those bug sculptures: iconic.
While the characters are well drawn and the antics escalate with a steady and naturalistic momentum, the energy, pace and structure falter somewhat during the second half of the first act. The biggest misstep is a scene split that pretends to be a perfect act break, but… isn’t. Though the absurdly horrific moment that punctuates the actual end of the act is perfect, its impact is somewhat diminished by the earlier scene’s button. It is here that Paolo Santalucia’s otherwise functional, sit-com aesthetic randomly lapses into a highly stylized theatrical mode—a slapstick transition and scene opening where lighting designer Christian Horoszczak spotlights a character as if they’re in a cabaret dream sequence. It’s visually interesting, I guess, but seems incongruous and unmotivated.
Overall, though, The Bidding War is the full package. It’s smart, resonant and tonally dynamic with plenty of gasp-inducing moments that feel earned.
The Bidding War
running November 12 to December 15, 2024
Streetcar Crowsnest, Guloien Theatre (345 Carlaw Avenue)
running time: 2 hours, 15 minutes (including intermission)
Peter Fernandes in “The Bidding War”, Photo by Dahlia Katz