Diego Matamoros and Charlotte Dennis in Job | Photo by Elana Emer
The phrase “User Care” may never again have the same vaguely pacifying appeal now that I’ve seen Job. In Max Wolf Friedlich’s play, presented by Coal Mine Theatre with director David Ferry’s understated and intimately distressing production, it is revealed to be as much a strategic lie as “Human Resources”—both maintain the comforting fiction that they exist to protect the many, but are, essentially, safeguards for corporate interests. Though Jane (Charlotte Dennis) feels differently, suffers from a purposeful connection to her job. It’s why she has a gun pointed at Lloyd (Diego Matamoros).
We know he’s worried, who wouldn’t be?, but he’s handling it all very well. With his soothing voice and comfy-quaint burgundy cardigan, a resonant choice by costume designer Ellie Koffman, he seems to have a solid handle on the situation. We recognize, in his arsenal, a crucial tool of his trade: empathy. And Jane trusts his vibe enough to put the gun back in her purse, making her seem less of a threat—well, no, more like a threat that can be contained, reasoned with, neutralized with kindness. And perhaps she wants to be, but what she needs from him gradually takes on a sinister, urgent shape.
Jane works for a big tech company. (As the synopsis states: You know the one.) She’s recently had a public meltdown, caught on camera and gone viral. Rather than firing her outright, the optics of which would be especially problematic in this age of performative mental health awareness, they will reinstate her if she gets an affirmative referral from a therapist—that’s Lloyd. And her job is important enough that she can’t leave without that redeeming document. The problem is, much to her chagrin, he wants to actually help her.
And so the play is a sort of real-time therapy session, hostage situation and character study. There’s talk of her family, her former boyfriend, her workmates and, yes, her job. Her initial description suggests it’s rather monotonous, but when the situation escalates, she reveals a horrid array of nasty realities she’s required to endure as routine.
Nick Blais’ set features elements that betray Lloyd’s sophistication and whimsy. His therapy office is modern, but fancifully so. There are classy touches, like the illuminated floating bookshelves and slick chairs that can recline stylishly. The hanging lamp fixtures are vaguely hypnotic, like gigantic crib mobiles, both garishly artsy and tastefully restrained. We recognize he’s put thought into this space, that everything is considered, that he is very good at his job.
As he prods her psyche, she’s also collecting intel. Seemingly trivial remarks and revelations from him trigger her. In these brief, jarring episodes, her headspace seems to explode suddenly out into the room itself. Designers Wesley Babcock (lighting) and Michael Wanless (sound) create a distinctly Lynchian motif of eerie arcing and cacophonous sound—as if a glitchy, intrusive internet signal has enveloped her reality.
The script posits them as representatives of a generational divide where the internet is viewed quite differently from where each of them stands. He treats it as a necessary evil requiring his tolerance, progressive attitude and willingness to adapt; whereas she has embraced it as essential fact of existence. I was surprised to find myself suddenly at an age where I lean more comfortably towards his—an elder’s—ethos. An aspect of the play I find particularly intriguing is how curious and wary it makes me about who I will be in the world of, say, twenty years from now.
I like Jane, feel very deeply for her panic and desperate need for purpose, especially as she is rendered so urgently by Dennis, but I felt more of a kinship with Matamoros’ Lloyd, which makes some late revelations especially disheartening. I don’t want them to be true. I want it to be an awful coincidence, delusional, the paranoid result of trauma and a radically vigilant mind. It might be. I fear it isn’t.
Both Dennis and Matamoros are fully compelling in this intense and articulate play that doesn’t allow us to walk away from either of them.
Job
running April 20 to May 11, 2025
Coal Mine Theatre (2076 Danforth Ave)
running time: 1 hour, 15 minutes (no intermission)
Charlotte Dennis and Diego Matamoros in Job | Photos by Elana Emer