We’ve all heard about saying something with flowers, but “say it with soup” is a rather unique form of expression. Yet this is what Ray (Tim Kang), reluctantly, figures out will be the best way to communicate decades of unsaid things to his dying father (Stephen Park). After losing his mother at an early age, Ray was left with his father who raised him under a roof of disapproval and deep sorrow. Opposing his father’s wishes Ray became an expert chef, but his father refused to try any of his dishes, or encourage his talent throughout his whole life. Now as the man lies dying in hospice, Ray decides something must be done to reach closure.
Julia Cho’s touching play has all the elements of comfort food, it’s a work that knows when to touch what button without being obvious or heavy handed. The playwright expertly weaves in cultural elements - Ray’s family is Korean - without ever exoticizing the characters, or stressing just how “different” they are from the usual milquetoast characters we see in contemporary American plays. In fact, what Cho aims for is to reach universality through her specifics. In her play a simple turtle soup, that would have been used as an endless comedic sketch by a different playwright, becomes a testament to how hard it is for human beings to cope with mortality.
Anchored by Kang’s sober, stoic performance, Aubergine, only lags during its second act, since the break arrives without feeling like too much of a climax. In fact there are no real climaxes in the show. Cho, and director Kate Whoriskey, stir their stew calmly (the food metaphors are actually earned this time around…) allowing the flavors to be released only as they chose to reveal themselves (it’s no coincidence that Derek McLane’s set design often recalls a crockpot). Characters that at first appear to be merely for stock (not a food metaphor) only adding unexpected kicks, for instance Michael Potts is sensational as Lucien, the father’s hospice nurse who imparts wisdom that comes only from being in touch with the essence of life and death on a daily basis. Similarly, there is Jessica Love as Diane, who provides the play with its gorgeous, unexpectedly moving bookends.
Aubergine also suffers because of the limitations of theatre, or perhaps what was allowed for this production, since it’s a show that demands the use of aroma to entice us and invite us into its world even further, but it has such loveliness that to complain too much about it, would be like adding hot sauce to a dish without bothering to try it first.
