Prodigal: an irresistible destructive whirlwind
08 Mar 2023

by Drew Rowsome - Photos by Dahlia Katz

The upper classes are always ripe for satire and a theatrical takedown. They are an easy target with their privilege and pretensions. Of course a large percentage of Toronto theatre audiences are made up of the upper classes, with the rest being mostly theatre practitioners and the gays (a Venn diagram would reveal just how much crossover there is, I suspect a lot, between the three groups). The family at the center of Prodigal are at the high end of upper class and while no-one mentions theatre as an ambition or interest, they are all highly theatrical and quick with a cutting remark or sharp retort. And self-absorbed with all relationships being transactional and/or focussed on financial gain. They are very unpleasant people which makes it imperative that playwright and director Paolo Santalucia (Orphans for the Czar, Four Chords and a Gun, Bed and Breakfast, La Bete, Animal Farm, The Goat or, Who is Sylvia?, Mustard, The Taming of the Shrew) make sure that the text snaps and the action never slacken so that the audience has time to reflect. Or perhaps we should reflect, the opening scene of each act features a preacher, Shauna Thompson who also plays a pivotal role as a non-family member involved via a business and a sexual relationship, who counsels us that we may see ourselves in the following examination of the differences between forgiveness, redemption and reparation.

That is a lot of weight to put on the shoulders of the melodramatic comedy that is to follow. The Clark family is celebrating a special event but the action takes place in the kitchen where a chef, Meghan Swaby, is hard at work. And having a hard time not losing her temper as the family makes demands at whim. Her frazzled husband and business partner Jeff Yung tries to keep the peace but as family members wander in and out of the kitchen, there is a powder keg about to explode. Except that the chef, being staff, is as disposable to the plot as she is to the family. The Clark family have a lot of issues with each other and a fair share of secrets. Unravelling them in a synopsis would be unfair as a great deal of the fun of the first act is the dropped clues and revealed conflicts that are teased into fruition. Suffice it to say that everyone resents and dislikes everyone else and is convinced that they have good reasons for it. There is also much comedy found in the beautiful pristine kitchen, the place where parties usually get most intimate and comfortable, being sterile and a place that no-one seems familiar with. There is no center in this home.

Then the arch, masked as polite but claws out, dialogue gets an infusion of explosive energy with the arrival of the prodigal son, the third circle in the Venn diagram. Dan Mousseau, dishevelled, sexy, and with a mop of unruly hair, is the estranged gay son who arrives unexpectedly. Intoxicated and with an acid tongue that belies his drug-addled state, he is the gay disrupter of the indelicate balance the family is struggling to maintain. Usually the estranged gay character is the hero of the piece, and Mousseau's charisma makes it appear that he will be the truth-teller, the one to burn it all down so it can be rebuilt. However, now that Jennifer Coolidge has made evil gays part of the zeitgeist, Mousseau is revealed to be as despicable as the rest. He is a destructive, and self-destructive, whirlwind that is also irresistible. It is disorienting and refreshing in equal measures. And probably more realistic than we would care to be shown. (Though it should be noted that at this point the hyper-realism of the production is also disrupted with a welcome lip-sync rebel rock interlude, and the lighting mutating from tasteful home decor to Douglas Sirk moody.) The event that was the breaking point leading to gay exile is alluded to in a brief father and son exchange, but it is overwhelmed by the evidence that Mousseau is just another bad seed in a family that is rotting.

There is no forgiveness to be had. No redemption. But everyone is out for reparation. All of the cast is exemplary with only occasional lapses in the rapid-fire overlapping dialogue as the audience's laughter is unpredictable and frequently a step behind. Nancy Palk (King Lear, Queen Goneril, Wormwood) is a regal presence as the mother who cares more about her landscaping than her brood, allowing just enough sad faded maternal instinctiveness to appear through the ice. Rick Roberts (Animal Farm. Prince Hamlet, An Enemy of the People) panics just enough beneath a suave and faux-business casual surface. Michael Ayres's character deserves a play of his own instead of just a sub-plot, but his interplay with Thompson and Mousseau is a heart-rending and tragic counterpoint. The comic highlight is Veronica Horiguela who is the main satirical target and the victim of a multitude of delicious zingers. It is a delightful portrait of calculated rapaciousness disguised as obliviousness and a social conscience. And even though Mousseau comands the spotlight and most of the oxygen, his siblings in the shadows, Carmeron Laurie and Hallie Seline, get their moments to scrap back. 

The first act, which speeds by and keeps one on the edge of one's seat, ends with a literal "gotcha" moment. I was startled to discover that it had been 90 minutes and paced during intermission, eager to get back to the soapy goings-on and to see how it would all wrap up. Alas there was no redemption here either. The second act, while maintaining the qualities of the first act, veers too far into melodrama and the nasty quips just become nasty. There are emotional payoffs and the drawing room banter has to turn serious, but the realism, the finality of the final moments, is not cathartic. Realistic but disappointing to have so much sturm und drang borderline farce end with a whimper instead of a bang. But all is forgiven. The first act is such fierce fun that the energy carries through. And all of the Venn diagram denizens were satisfied.