Theatre in Review: Tuesdays at Tesco's (59E59)

	Simon Callow. Photo: Carol Rosegg

A grocery aisle becomes a block on the Via Dolorosa for the narrator and main character of Tuesdays at Tesco's. The title refers to the weekly ritual by which the middle-aged Pauline visits her widowed father, cleans his house, and takes him shopping. (Tesco is the ubiquitous UK chain, rather like Kroger in the US.) The loss of his spouse has made Andy, Pauline's father, aggrieved, which he expresses with an aggressive form of helplessness. As Pauline puts it: "Unwilling to do anything. Unable to do anything. Saying, 'She did this. Took care of that.'" Pauline adds that he greets her appearances with the same acid statement: "'Here comes the Domestic Goddess again'....again he says that, but it's no joke. It's got teeth.'" Indeed it does, for it is the first of many nasty swipes made by Andy, alluding to the fact that Pauline was born Paul.

It's a perfect hostage situation: An old man, cranky and alone, disoriented by the loss of his wife -- and the only person available to care for him is the adult child whose transformed gender identity sends him spitting with rage. "Each time he watches me as if it were the first time," says Pauline. "He watches me the same, his saying, 'Good God, what's that?' Doesn't say good morning or how are you today, no. Says with his eyes, how is this possible?"

Still, Pauline is determined to be a dutiful daughter -- even if Andy makes it painfully clear that he would prefer a dutiful son -- and she shepherds him through the day, making his house habitable, forcing him to buy nourishing food, making a week's worth of meals for him, and doing his laundry. She hangs his wet wash, and, when she returns the following Tuesday, it is where she left it, Andy having refused to take any action on his own behalf. And each week, just before they leave for the store, Andy says, as if for the first time. "Pity's sake....You're going out like that?"

Written like a short story, Tuesdays at Tesco's gives us just enough background information to make the situation clear; otherwise, the narrative is a minute-by-minute account of Pauline's day as she faces down Andy's abuse and endures their tension-filled trip to the store. (The location isn't specified, but we seem to be somewhere in the north of England.) Emmanuel Darley's script has a powerful present-tense quality that keeps us on edge as Pauline navigates one pitfall after another, performing her thankless tasks with uncommon grace. As translated and adapted from the French by Matthew Hurt and Sarah Vermande -- the original title is Le Mardi à Monoprix, an allusion to the popular French grocery chain -- the words are both evocative and packed with a scorpion's sting.

Simon Callow, to my mind the possessor of one of the most supple and expressive voices in the English-speaking theatre, makes the most of those words. With his broad frame and a speaking voice that seems most at home in the bass range, his Pauline is not the most convincing woman you have ever seen, a fact that only inflames Andy's fury. ("I can see your stubble," he hisses at her in the store.) Recalling the first time she visited her old neighborhood "as I am now" (a phrase that repeats through the text), she describes "everything looking at you: people, walls, bricks. Reading your features....studied from every angle, turned over, kicked around, desperate to find the little something that's wrong." As they walk to the store, Andy falls behind, lest anyone think he is with Pauline. This strategy fails: They meet a neighbor on the street who "has a go at a smile" and pretends to be unsure of Pauline's identity and "makes a face like a cat's bottom" when apprised of the truth. Once at Tesco, the day becomes even more difficult, as Andy fights Pauline over every little expense, with open hostilities breaking out at one point in front a young clerk stocking cereal boxes. Even the choice of a cashier is fraught with meaning: Pauline prefers the courteous young man who offers no comment. "That other one, just after till number three, let's just say I know her game," she notes bitterly. "She looks me in the eyes and then she says in a really loud voice, 'Good morning, gentlemen.'"

Callow is never less than riveting as he guides us through Pauline's daylong gauntlet, making each detail come scaldingly alive. Taking on Andy's persona, he can make a simple statement like "For pity's sake, Paul," seem like the cruelest of judgments. When Pauline, taking stock of her appearance, says, "I am.....presentable," the pause between the second and third words is pregnant with a cornucopia of unspoken feelings. The actor also makes clear that Andy, for all his venom, is a figure of pity; in the most pathetic passage, he recalls a time, when Pauline was a young boy, when they were alone together for a few days -- his wife having gone off by herself -- and man and boy had a brief time of male bonding, to which Pauline can only respond, "It's far away...I don't really know anymore." And Callow makes a beautiful thing of the mysterious scene in which Pauline and Andy are greeted by a heretofore unknown female friend of Andy's, who appears to know everything about their situation, a moment that raises the possibility that there is more in Andy's world than Pauline realizes.

Simon Stokes' direction surely had much to do with Callow's carefully modulated performance, its overall pace, and the seamless way it slips into tragedy. There is another performer on stage, Conor Mitchell, who sits at a piano seemingly working on a musical score and occasionally playing bits of music; at these moments, Pauline engages in brief dance breaks -- tap, tango, and others -- which, as choreographed by Quinny Sacks, seem to express her inner feelings even more eloquently than even her carefully chosen words.

Another distinctive feature is Robin Don's eccentric, yet attention-getting, set design, with a chair and table at stage right, Mitchell's piano at stage left and, upstage, a tree branch from which hangs a lovely pink party dress; everything is circled by a narrow white band that hangs, tilted over the stage, looking rather like an asteroid belt. Don also provided the ensemble -- tan skirt and blazer, rust-colored top, and disconcertingly aqua shoes -- which suggests that Pauline is still working on her design sense. The lighting, by Chahine Yavroyan, makes effective use of uplighting from floor units.

Tuesdays at Tesco's ends with a brief, tragic coda that reveals much more about Pauline than has been previously disclosed and makes clear that Andy has a profound shock coming his way. Recently, transgender issues have been tackled in a number of plays -- ranging from crowd-pleasers like Kinky Boots to melodramas like On a Stool at the End of the Bar, seen at 59E59 a few months ago -- but in my experience, only Tuesdays at Tesco's evokes so clearly the experience of a transgender person facing down a hostile environment. It's an experience that isn't easily forgotten. -- David Barbour