Arts & Culture

What: Kim’s Convenience
Where: Soulpepper Theatre, 50 Tank House Lane
When: Now until Sat., March 9
Highlight: Playwright Ins Choi’s portrayal of the man who used to be his father
Rating: NNNNN (out of 5)
Why you should go: It’s a welcome reminder of why we all fell in love with the Kim family

Kim’s Convenience is better than good; it’s legitimately important. That’s an adjective that critics often throw around when a play isn’t actually all that good but deals with urgent themes or issues, making the act of seeing it feel more like a civic duty than entertainment. But Kim’s has, since day one, always been both good and important. It’s a piece of thoroughly enjoyable entertainment, and something that every Canadian should see in order to feel like they’re properly participating in their own culture — as Shakespeare is to the English, Pushkin to the Russians, and Goethe to the Germans. That’s right, Ins Choi might just be the closest that Canada has ever had to a national dramatist (sorry David French), and that’s an achievement made even more impressive by it resting almost entirely on this single play’s laurels.

It can be too easy to accidentally let a review of Kim’s morph into an encyclopedia entry, recounting a humble journey from the 2011 Toronto Fringe Festival, to Soulpepper, to a widely adored (and unceremoniously cancelled) CBC sitcom, to NYC, to both Londons and now back to Soulpepper. This unobtrusive play about a day in the life of a Korean-owned Mom & Pop (or, rather, Umma & Appa) convenience store in Toronto’s rapidly gentrifying Regent Park neighbourhood has remained an ever-present cultural touchstone at every turn. Yet, it’s now been away from Toronto for just long enough for director Weyni Mengesha’s excellent new production to remind us why we all fell in love with the Kim family in the first place.

Kim’s has always been a story about inheritance. It’s about immigrants who uprooted their entire lives to try giving their children new opportunities for happiness. It’s about those children trying to make the most of that opportunity while struggling to fully appreciate the sacrifices their parents made for them. It’s also about an aging man reflecting upon his life’s modest accomplishments, hoping to imbue them with greater significance by passing it onto the next generation.

There is no better embodiment of this thematic baton passing than having Choi—who, in addition to being the playwright, originated the role of the son, Jung—now playing Appa, the father. That casting would have been worthwhile and meaningful even if he weren’t fantastic in the role. It may have once seemed unthinkable for anyone other than Paul Sun-Hyung Lee to take on the iconic role; fortunately, he’s since since found plenty of success elsewhere, solving turn-of-the-century mysteries, joining the Rebel Alliance, and still finding time to star in short films by essayist YouTubers. Choi fills Sun-Hyung Lee’s big shoes by entering the scene with hair that’s full of more salt than pepper, a scruffy beard, thin-rimmed spectacles, and just enough of a belly protruding beneath a puffy polyester vest (costumes designed by Ming Wong). In short: he looks like a dad, believably carrying the man’s entire life history in every smirk and grimace. He milks Appa’s thick accent and frequent malapropisms for all their comic potential, while never losing the tenderness that makes us forgive his faults.

As much as Appa is the play’s centre of gravity, the whole only works because he’s bouncing off of equally skilled co-stars. Kelly Seo keeps most of the action flowing as his thoughtful and feisty daughter, Janet. Her enchanting scenes opposite Brandon McKnight as childhood crush turned dashing policeman could have been worth the ticket price alone; extra kudos to McKnight for dexterously differentiating four separate side characters. Esther Chung approaches Umma with remarkable subtlety, and Ryan Jinn’s interpretation of Jung swoops in at the end to inherit Choi’s status as the show’s beating heart.

There’s something to be said about how intertwined the city and the play have become, even when it’s met with success elsewhere and reaches international audiences via Netflix’s digitized airwaves. But we don’t see the whole city on stage. What we see is the titular shop, like the kind we’ve all been in many times. It’s meticulously recreated with naturalistic attention to every detail (set designed by Joanna Yu), its shelves stocked with Old Dutch potato chips, Dr. Oetker frozen pizzas, Lotto649 and even a copy of NOW Magazine. It may be familiar, even downright ordinary, but that’s what makes it special.

As I settled into my seat, I overheard a woman behind me gasping, “Oh, look at the store! I just love that store!” Don’t we all? This play has become a part of who we are, and you don’t need to be Korean or even an (any-generation) immigrant to resonate with that sentiment. As both a store and a triumph of dramatic art, Kim’s Convenience is part of Toronto’s culture. This city feels like a better place with Kim’s Convenience in it.