If you are jonesing for fresh episodes of “The Bear,” the Denver Center Theatre Company’s ace production of “Clyde’s” might feed that craving.
If you haven’t ever watched Hulu’s series about a high-end chef and the family restaurant he returns to, all the better. Having premiered on Broadway in 2021, “Clyde’s” is very much its own wonder.
After her Pulitzer Prize-winning play “Sweat” — about a group of Pennsylvania factory workers — Lynn Nottage pulls the curtain back on another complicated workplace (aren’t they all?). This time the workforce consists of sandwich maestro Montrellous (Sekou Laidlow), Letitia (Katherine George), Rafael (Sebastián Arroyo) and the tattoo-festooned newbie, Jason (Quinn M. Johnson). Each had been incarcerated prior to Clyde (Brianna Buckley) giving them a break.
Before you get all misty-eyed, you should know that Clyde is not a tender soul — not even close — which makes the play simmer, crackle and occasionally threaten a consuming grease fire. Her interest in her workers seems purely transactional: She needs a cover for the money laundering she is doing for an outfit down south.
Montrellous stands as a competing force. If Clyde is fine serving up “ham-and-cheese-on-white” fare, he is in search of the “perfect sandwich,” the sort of creation that could change the truck-stop restaurant into something more.
There’s mindfulness to Montrellous’ approach to the work; there’s humility and devotion.
The notion that a sandwich can be so much more than slices of bread and filling, that it can be elevated, made sacred and transformational is essential to him, his co-workers and to the play.
In truth, there is no curtain to pull back at the Kilstrom Theatre’s in-the-round space. Instead, in the middle of the stage stands the kitchen of the titular sandwich joint. With its shiny if worn stainless steel griddle, its prep stations, its unglazed clay tile floor, scenic designers Isabel and Moriah Curley-Clay have served up a spot-on set.
Ready to dive into another commanding play, director Jamil Jude has returned to the Denver Center for this show. (His work on “Choir Boy” in 2022 remains indelible.) He and his ensemble keep this kitchen hopping. Costumes (Samantha C. Jones), lighting (Charles R. MacLeod) and a sound design (Chris Lane) that picks up the hiss of food searing add to the illusion of a working kitchen.
But before the house lights dim, a man — Montrellous, we’ll learn — comes into the kitchen, turns the gas on the griddle, turns the dial of the radio.
He is the guru, a master maker of sandwiches. Twentysomethings Letitia and Rafael are his acolytes, always trying to concoct sandwiches worthy of his praise but even more of his hopes in them. The trio’s banter is fluid, and their friendly game of do-you-one-better on the ingredients of the “perfect sandwich” should keep the theater’s nearby restaurants busy post-show. There’s a deep camaraderie and maybe some sincere affection hanging in the pungent air (that griddle is for real).
Into this groove arrives Jason, baring the face tats of a prison yard white supremacist. (Depending on where you sit, you may catch the swastika etched on the nape of his neck before he puts on his apron.)
Jason is wiry, tautly wound and prickly about the attention those markings draw outside. Rightly needled by Letitia about his gang affiliations, he barks defensively, “I want a paycheck and peace.”
These people have lives. They also have crimes for which they did time, and not one of them is innocent. We’ll learn each of their stories over time — and thyme. Yeah, that’s just the kind of herb that might be put into the sandwiches prepared for the restaurant’s trucking clientele.
We’ll even learn about the boss lady. With her high heels, vivid pant ensembles and an open beer that she points and takes swigs from as she teases, harasses and bullies her staff, Clyde is a force. Buckley’s performance resides in her character’s swagger, her condescension. At one point, Letitia comes to her defense as a fellow Black woman. But has Clyde donned cultural armor or, as Jason gathers the gumption to say, is she just plain mean?
This past Saturday evening, it was right before Clyde replies to that accusation that the Helen Bonfils Theatre Complex and Boettcher Hall experienced a brief power outage. The moment was so well timed that the lights going out (except for those on a generator) seemed like part of a heightened moment. The cast handled it beautifully before leaving the stage for a spell. They picked up the way a record might after a skip: oh-so smoothly.
Indeed, this ensemble flows. George and Sebastián as Letitia and Rafael are the heart of the show, finishing each other’s thoughts, laughing and sparking. Sparring ethically and philosophically, Clyde and Montrellous and their portrayers are playing for higher stakes: the possibilities for the sandwich, sure, but even more for the former inmates working at Clyde’s.
Years ago, actor Michael Fassbender shared that he was drawn to acting after watching the flow of his family’s restaurant in Killarney, Ireland. The work in the front of the house and the kitchen is performative. Director Jude gets that flow and more. Nottage stirred into “Clyde’s” with the blues of the formerly incarcerated and Jude infused the play with rhythms of food service work.
Clyde may leverage her staff’s meager paychecks to keep them in line, but Montrellous feeds their hearts and minds. The final scene captures what that kind of sustenance can cook up — and it’s perfect.
IF YOU GO
“Clyde’s”: Written by Lynn Nottage. Directed by Jamil Jude. Featuring Sebastián Arroyo, Brianna Buckley, Katharine George, Quinn M. Johnson and Sekou Laidlow. At the Kilstrom Theatre in the Helen Bonfils Theatre Complex, 14th and Curtis St. Through Nov. 26. Denvercenter.org or 303-893-4100.
