Following the success of the DCPA Theatre Company's 2019 production of Nottage's Sweat, director Jamil Jude skillfully brings the audience into the gritty yet hopeful world of Clyde's. The lives of formerly incarcerated folks collide at the titular roadside sandwich shop, where the sound of frying pans and clattering utensils mingles with their journey for self-discovery, redemption and the quest to make the perfect sandwich.
The play is almost a spiritual sequel to Sweat; both take place in the vicinity of Reading, Pennsylvania, and it continues the story of Jason, played in Denver by Quinn M. Johnson, after he is released from prison, where he wound up at the end of Sweat after committing a racist attack on a Colombian-American busboy.
The play runs through Sunday, November 26, inviting theater enthusiasts to savor this culinary and emotional feast before the final curtain descends. Here's what to expect from the Denver Theatre Company's production of Clyde's:
Don't Come Hungry
What sets this production apart is its innovative scenic design: a working kitchen where actors cook up real meals right before your eyes. So eat a meal before the show, because the aromas from the food will have your tummy growling otherwise.
While the exposition of each character's past over their work sessions can be repetitive, the immersive cooking experience, heightened by the exceptional design, ensures there's always an interesting action happening on stage, elevating the production to a level of theatrical artistry that cannot be denied. The masterminds behind the design are twin sisters Isabel and Moriah Curley-Clay, who transformed the Kilstrom Theatre into a thrust space, limiting the audience to three sides. This brilliant alteration allows spectators to witness the entire action in the fully realized, working kitchen.
The sheer authenticity of the set, complete with real cooking scenes and a back counter from which Clyde could pop up at any moment, kept everyone on the edge of their seats. The naturalistic costume design by Samantha C. Jones and the meticulously crafted lighting design by Charles R. Macleod added depth to the characters, enhancing their credibility and grounding them in a roadside sandwich shop.
An Intimate Exploration of People Who Cook
The production's heart lies in its remarkable five-person cast. Although none are local Denver actors — which is notable, given the city's pool of talent — Laidlow, Buckley, George, Arroyo and Johnson deliver performances that resonate deeply.
While George and Arroyo's characters have undeniable chemistry, the narrative of their relationship drama occasionally feels somewhat sophomoric when juxtaposed with the play's weightier themes. Johnson delivers a powerhouse performance as Jason, a repentant racist grappling with past sins. His portrayal is a raw and unflinching exploration of remorse, with the haunting reminder of hateful tattoos etched on his body. Although the script leaves some of his character's narrative underdeveloped, Johnson's remarkable talent breathes life into the role, capturing the audience's empathy and understanding.
Buckley delivers a scene-stealing performance as Clyde, playing the "licensed dominatrix" — as she's referred to by one of her workers — with relentless energy, fervor and determination. Clyde may have been a prisoner, but she's no victim. Her verbal take-downs of her subordinates are frequently amusing, but they are clearly a coping mechanism for the stress she deals with as a restaurant owner, and the insecurity she feels about being a former convict. Her outbursts are both hilarious and heartbreaking; while audiences realize her gruff exterior is how she survives, it comes at the expense of those around her.
And as Montrellous, Laidlow provides a perfect foil to Clyde's cynical worldview. His portrayal brings a sense of grace and wisdom, counterbalancing the sharp edges of Clyde's demeanor. Together the cast forms a remarkable quintet, breathing life into the diversity of Clyde's inhabitants.
Clyde's crafts an immersive experience that not only celebrates the art of cooking, but also delves into the resilience of the human spirit.
Courtesy of Jamie Kraus Photography
While Clyde's is a well-paced, gripping tale, the lack of intermission demands strategic planning. Clocking in at an hour and forty minutes, the relentless pacing and gripping narrative might leave theater-goers contemplating a bathroom break, as witnessed on opening night, when I observed a surprising number of attendees suddenly leaving the play to dart to the restroom.
This phenomenon reflects a larger shift in American theater, in which playwrights have increasingly embraced the potency of one-act plays, eliminating breaks to maintain an unbroken emotional thread. Clyde's mirrors this trend, demanding audience members' undivided attention and compelling them to engage fully with the characters' journeys.
The intentional omission of an intermission emphasizes the immersive nature of contemporary theater, encouraging viewers to be fully present to feel the characters' joys and struggles without interruption. However, the length seemed to catch the audience off guard on opening night, so be prepared, plan ahead and make sure you visit the restroom before the show begins.
Characters clash and come together in their journey for redemption in Clyde's.
Courtesy of Jamie Kraus Photography
Clyde's delves into the profound theme of redemption, serving up a powerful narrative about individuals striving to reclaim their lives after serving time. The play confronts their past sins head-on, challenging them to face their demons. Within the confines of Clyde's bustling kitchen, the act of cooking becomes a ritual, a symbol of redemption that transcends the mundane task of preparing meals.
Central to these transformational moments is Montrellous, the culinary mentor, whose powerful mantra — "This sandwich is my freedom" — encapsulates the play's essence. With each slice of bread and layer of ingredients, the characters embark on a journey of self-discovery and healing. The kitchen, which starts as a battleground for their personal demons, transforms into a sanctuary of hope and second chances.
Montrellous's unwavering belief in the redemptive power of culinary creations serves as a guiding light, inspiring the cooks to infuse their work with profound dedication and purpose. Although Clyde is quick to remind them of their previous mistakes, each perfectly crafted sandwich becomes a tangible symbol of the possibility to change.
If You're a Fan of The Bear or Cooking Shows, Clyde's Is Your Perfect Dish
For those who found solace in the darkly comic yet surprisingly heartfelt narrative of Hulu's streaming hit The Bear or have an affinity for the culinary arts, Clyde's emerges as the perfect dish to satiate your theatrical cravings. Much like The Bear, Clyde's dives deep into the complexities of human emotions while exploring the brutal realities of the restaurant business.
Similarly, the found-family elements present in Clyde's add a layer of authenticity, portraying the characters not merely as co-workers but as a tight-knit family, bound together by their shared struggles and triumphs. The intense arguments while cooking, reminiscent of the fierce battles on Iron Chef, elevate the drama, capturing the high-stakes, high-pressure environment of professional kitchens. Through these culinary clashes, the play offers a glimpse into the raw, unfiltered world of culinary creativity and competition, resonating with food enthusiasts who appreciate the unvarnished truth behind the glamour of cooking shows.
The immersive performance not only celebrates the art of cooking, but delves into the resilience of the human spirit. The camaraderie among the characters, their shared aspirations and eventual triumphs, all serve as a testament to the power of human connection, reminding audiences of the strength that can be found in community, even in the most unexpected of places.
Clyde's runs through Sunday, November 26, in the Kilstrom Theatre at the Denver Performing Arts Complex, 1101 13th Street, Denver. Get tickets at denvercenter.org.
