Theatre in Review: My Mañana Comes (The Playwrights Realm/Peter Jay Sharp Theater)

	José Joaquín Pérez., Jason Bowen, Brian Quijada, Reza Salazar. Photo: Matthew Murphy

Talk about timing: At a moment when immigration has become a political hot potato and fast food workers are striking for subsistence wages, along comes Elizabeth Irwin's new play, which casts an unblinking light on back-end restaurant staff who live on a permanent treadmill with minimal returns. See My Mañana Comes and you will never undertip again.

Irwin's characters are not burger-slingers. Far from it; they toil as busboys in a chic French restaurant on Madison Ave. But however luxurious the atmosphere is out front, the kitchen staff must constantly scramble for a few extra dollars. Their salaries are tiny, with tips expected to make up the rest. Thus, none of them knows if he will end the day with $100 in his pocket, or $50, or $25. They have to contend with difficult patrons, a boozing line chef, and a constantly uncertain business environment. One or two slow nights can have a devastating effect on one's takings for the week. Business is seasonal -- in the summer, the clientele decamps to the Hamptons -- and the work schedule is forever subject to change. And don't even ask about health insurance.

Irwin, who demonstrates a remarkable knack for sketching in characters and situations with economy, focuses on four busboys: Peter, the only non-Latino on the staff (he is black), is the senior member, keeping everything moving smoothly in order to provide for his young daughter. Jorge, an illegal immigrant, has given himself four years to raise enough money to build a home for the wife and children he left behind in Mexico; he rents half a bed in Corona and eats leftover restaurant food. The strutting, wisecracking Whalid is an American-born Latino youth who dreams of becoming an EMT. Pepe, another illegal, tries to emulate Jorge but is dazzled by the distractions of nightclubs and designer sneakers, all of which drain his meager funds.

Irwin amusingly shows all four at work, as they go about the business of keeping the patrons fed and watered. Whalid gets Pepe to be a "dummy" on whom he can practice CPR. Peter and Whalid gossip about the rumor that Jorge has saved $30,000. Pepe describes his trip to Niketown as if has beheld the gates of heaven. Everyone has a good laugh about the choosy patron who sends back her soup three times, only to comment that it needs cooling.

But as we see them race through each dinner rush, Irwin makes devastatingly clear that each of them is living on some kind of knife edge; one bad day can send their lives tumbling into chaos. The optimistic Peter can be driven to desperation by a citation from a subway cop (costing $100 that he doesn't have) or the temporary loss of his mother-in-law's babysitting services. Jorge is painfully aware that his children are growing up without him, and his wife, feeling abandoned, is turning away. Whalid constantly spins fantasies of romances and new careers, none of which stick. Pepe represents America as the land of plenty in letters to his brother, but any delay in his paycheck sends him into a panic.

All four lives are knocked for a loop when word comes down from management that their shift pay is being eliminated, leaving them totally dependent on tips. This proves to be a bridge too far for Peter, who decides it's time for a staff walkout. Whalid agrees, but suddenly they are pitted against Jorge and Pepe, who aren't citizens and have everything to lose. All four must make wrenching decisions that will forever tear apart this little working family.

Revealing her characters almost entirely through action -- except for the brief monologue assigned to each -- Irwin shows us the inequality that blights their lives. Any five minutes of My Mañana Comes is enough to expose the anti-labor complaints of any bloviating Congressman or Fox News commentator as utter nonsense. Irwin is especially good on one of the central hypocrisies of our society, that for all the complaints one hears about illegal immigrants, they are a key component of our workforce, most, if not all, waiting on the same wealthy people who want to deport them.

Irwin's taut, crackling script is matched by Chay Yew's lean, fast-moving direction, which introduces an accomplished quartet of new faces. Jason Bowen's Peter pretends to be happy-go-lucky, but multiple frustrations visibly lurk just below the surface; the play's final tableau focuses entirely on him, looking deeply troubled by the decisions he has made. José Joaquín Pérez's Jorge is both cagey and implacable, trying to live under the radar while denying himself the slightest bit of pleasure; he is especially powerful in the monologue in which he furiously defends himself to his wife. Brian Quijada's Whalid is an aggressively smiling, almost abrasive, presence, but is quietly heartbreaking as he dreams of finding a career that impresses his parents and affords him a place of his own. Reza Salazar's Pepe is the most genuinely pathetic of the four, a young guy who has bought into the American Dream, yet who isn't really capable of managing day-to-day life here.

The action unfolds on Wilson Chin's set, which depicts the restaurant's kitchen; with a slight adjustment, it becomes the men's locker room. It's a remarkable piece of photorealistic naturalism and is just what the script calls for; Nicole Pearce's lighting completes the effect. Moria Sine Clinton's costumes combine accurate-looking busboy uniforms with casual wear that is highly suitable for each character, for example, contrasting Whalid's too-cool look, complete with expensive sneakers, with Jorge's bargain-basement outfits. Mikhail Fiksel's sound design includes some well-chosen effects -- radio, music on a smartphone, traffic sounds -- with his original compositions.

My Mañana Comes is notable on several counts. It introduces a fine new playwright. It showcases four exceptionally capable actors we haven't seen before. And it adds something valuable to the national conversation on immigration and labor. The Playwright's Realm is dedicated to showcasing early career playwrights. This time out, it gives us a stageful of futures.--David Barbour