Something that struck me about our place was playwright Kanika Ambrose’s prowess in crafting an authentic slice of life. She draws you into the ethos of a specific community, in a distinct place, at a certain time. And then there’s Philip Akin, a demonstrably versatile and dextrous director. In the same season that he devised the lyrical and towering The Lehman Trilogy, he helmed the intimate, naturalistic drama Heroes of the Fourth Turning.
They join forces here for this cozy, bittersweet holiday tale. The Christmas Market, presented by b current, Crow’s Theatre and Studio 180 Theatre, is a clear-eyed and empathetic portrait of three migrant workers from the Caribbean and their supervisor during the Christmas season.
In their cramped quarters, Joe (Matthew G. Brown), Roy (Savion Roach) and Lionel (Danté Prince) struggle nobly through the unfamiliar cold and snow, bonding over their common plight. At first, the grumblings seem petty and their overall vibe is rambunctious and harmonious. Tensions form, though, and their individual, contrasting attitudes become gradually more divisive.
The eldest amongst them, a middle-aged cuddly sort, Joe is trying so hard to fit himself into the local Canadian mold. His enthusiasm for decorating their space with festival knick-knacks and watching The Sound of Music is very cute. Brown is endearing too and his playfulness is infectious. He’s even got a little romance going with their supervisor—a quirky, salt of the earth white woman, Ryan. Brenda Robins is a frisky and befuddled delight here, though when attacked she can be impressively vicious. Especially tense and revealing is how her very presence in the men’s shared space becomes a point of contention.
Roach is an endearing goofball as Roy, though we can see the cost of his struggles with a former girlfriend who has denied him access to their kid. At first the most reserved of the lot, Lionel reveals his resentful, rebellious streak when the job—specifically the leadership—starts to undermine his intelligence and dignity. In both his quiet confidence and fierce self-assertions, Prince is a commanding presence. His complaints escalate from improper tools for the job to significant human rights activism when their jobs and status in the country are suddenly dependent on their very DNA.
Ambrose carefully and empathetically mines the psychological baggage and social pressures that inform each of their distinct attitudes. The situation is so fraught because we care about each of them and their perspectives are given weight and consideration. You can’t dismiss any of them, you just have to watch as the situation unites or drives them apart.
If your dedication to a cause results in self-sabotage and alienation, is your sense of integrity worth it? Is conforming to a unfair system for your own comfort irresponsible or wise? There are no easy answers here and nobody learns any grand lessons. They just get to speak their minds and make their choices.
Though the production never becomes too stylistically fanciful for the story it’s telling, Akin does allow for some subtle magic. The gently falling snow at key moments is a lovely, understated little spectacle.
There is such honest humanity here—in all its ugly, silly and compassionate glory. The final scene is a masterful balance of hope and heartbreak. I felt deeply for everyone in this well-observed story.


