As Suzan, Kristen Thomson sports this disarmingly eager laugh. It’s nervous, forced, somehow both pathetic and endearing—an instinctive barricade against disappointment, but it’s also her ice breaker. Suzan is a “woman of a certain age.” And she’s trying, holy hell, is she trying! But the unsustainable, toxic machine of late stage capitalism has no interest in her eccentric humanity, it snags on her bad back and failing knee. A pity hire, she’s pretty bad at her job, a weak cog in a fast-paced and exploitative e-commerce warehouse—an obvious stand-in for Amazon—and we root for her so hard.
Presented by Coal Mine Theatre, Fulfillment Centre, playwright Abe Koogler’s observant meditation on four humans struggling to survive and connect in a barren New Mexico desert, is an ensemble piece for sure, though Suzan’s journey here does bookend the play. Her younger manager, Alex (Emilio Vieira) is both annoyed and charmed by her. Though she lacks speed and stamina, we recognize her true value early on. As he tests her skill, power-walking mock laps through the warehouse, his own stress and frustration gets the better of him. In a hilarious and touching gesture, she all but insists on a very awkward, workplace massage—establishing their tentative bond. Alex will eventually have to weigh his empathy against the terms of his employment.
The play unfolds in a series of interrelated vignettes. As Suzan desperately tries to hold onto her job, she befriends the reluctant John (Evan Buliung), a middle-aged, dissatisfied alcoholic who, like her, has drifted into a neighbourhood campground. Alex grapples with professional confidence and tries to maintain his relationship to girlfriend, Madeleine (Gita Miller), which is strained by their recent, cross-country move. She cares deeply for him, but the isolation and a dubious future have her seeking fulfilment elsewhere.
Viera and Miller fully embody the fluctuating forces of affection and resentment that characterize a fraught, uncertain period of domestic partnership. Their urgent yet haphazard sex role-play scenario is an especially discomfiting bit of business that draws us even more fully into their dynamic. As a taciturn loner, Buliung is a satisfying foil for Thomson’s relentlessly friendly advances. His gruff, abject exterior exudes wariness and a history of painful episodes. He is a man of few words, though the ones he does let slip are often hilariously unfiltered. His first interaction with Miller, an awkward, bizarre date, is both cringe-inducing and sort of sweet. When he finally opens up, barely articulate and wrathful, he is simultaneously scary and heartbreaking.
In his direction, Ted Dykstra allows these very nuanced people to flail about in an environment that feels deliberately flimsy and false. Nick Blais’ set is a hokey assemblage of cardboard and grating. Fragile boxes offer a dodgy representation of cupboards, furniture and even a car! This world is precarious and unsustainable, the facade providing little support, protection or security. Everyone keeps ploughing ahead, though, despite how wildly their prospects vary. With Koogler’s natural and earnest writing as an anchor, this production attends to some ugly circumstances of our modern world and highlights the beauty of people doing their best to persist and endure.
Blais’ final lighting queue is eerie and desolate, a stylized impression of car headlights that throw Suzan into blinding relief as her lonely roaming leads her to yet another potential safe harbour. Will this attempt at reconnection be successful? We are left to our own imaginations and whatever hope or cynicism we find there.


