Two TV stars join forces for Coal Mine Theatre’s ‘A Case for the Existence of God,’ an expansively tragic play about fatherhood

The elusive American Dream has long fascinated the greatest American dramatists. From Arthur Miller and Tennessee Williams to Lorraine Hansberry and August Wilson, that ideal of the white picket fence is a recurring theme binding their works together. 
In his expansive if somewhat jagged two-hander “A Case for the Existence of God,” which opened Thursday at Coal Mine Theatre, American writer Samuel D. Hunter gently nods at those plays that have come before. But instead of confining his story to the domestic quarters of his characters — as is often done in other dramas about the American Dream — Hunter offers a twist.
“A Case” opens in a mortgage brokerage in Idaho. Wooden beams, charred black at their bases, mark the proscenium of Nick Blais’ set. The modern office space that sits underneath that A-frame is spare: a sleek desk rests at the centre of the stage, and on both sides of it are a pair of chairs. 
At the top of the play, Ryan (Noah Reid of “Schitt’s Creek”) is looking to secure a mortgage to buy back a 12-acre plot of land that once belonged to his family. Recently divorced and with a young daughter at the centre of a custody battle, the single father is broke and beaten, slogging away at food-processing plant. 
“I feel like having money is the only real permission I have to be alive?” he says, curling that statement into a question, as shame creeps across his face. “Like without it, I don’t have permission to exist.” 
Opposite him sits Keith (Mazin Elsadig of “Degrassi”), a tight-laced broker, wearing a stuffy dress shirt and a tie (designed by Des’ree Gray). The two men could not appear to be more different — like charged polar opposites that find themselves in the same magnetic field.
Ryan is white, straight and undereducated, with such a narrow window into the world that his dreams are comparably small. A tattoo of Idaho is emblazoned on his upper arm — a symbol of Ryan’s home and also a reminder of his frustrating inability to escape. Keith, meanwhile, is Black, gay and with degrees in English and early music. Unlike Ryan, he’s had a glimpse of what lies beyond his current existence yet still seems stuck in a sputtering loop. 
Below the surface, however, the two men are more similar than they initially seem. Keith, too, is a single father, a foster parent to a young girl that he’s hoping to soon adopt. His life, like Ryan’s, is marked with failure, dejection and rejection. 
For an 85-minute play, “A Case” is ambitiously expansive. It’s as much about striving for the American Dream as it is about fatherhood and friendship, and holding onto hope in the face of tragedy. 
Hunter’s writing is breathtaking at its most quiet. With nothing more than a few suggestive words, the playwright paints a picture of the unspeakable grief that grips both men; what’s said is almost of lesser importance than what’s unspoken or what’s left unfinished. 
It’s a style reminiscent of another two-hander this season, “On the Other Side of the Sea,” also about two listless, disparate souls who find each other amid their own suffering. 
But while “On the Other Side” embraced this wispy esthetic, “A Case” frustratingly vacillates with indecision. Hunter seems to overplay his hand, as if underlining the play’s message with a blazing red marker mere moments after rendering it with a tender, unassuming touch. 
“I think we share a specific kind of — sadness. You and me,” Ryan blurts out about the third of the way through, in one of these moments that feels so out of place for both the play and the character. 
This tonal uncertainty culminates with an ending that feels both cloying and forced, a frustrating conclusion that arrives after a penultimate scene of gorgeous restraint. (It’s where this play should really end.)
Reid and Elsadig, however, possess strong chemistry that only grows throughout the play as their characters’ friendship blossoms. 
The latter wondrously captures Keith’s neuroticism. Reid, as well, renders Ryan with deep compassion. In his expression, we see not only Ryan’s despair but also the hunger that haunts him — for a dream that is just out of reach and that then slowly withers away. 
But director Ted Dykstra doesn’t always play to the strengths of the two actors. Like the material itself, the production occasionally loses its footing, swinging between moments of subtle restraint and over-staged scenes that then puncture that atmosphere. 
That’s not to say that “A Case” doesn’t work. There’s a heartfelt story at the centre of Hunter’s work. But to reach that emotional core, both this production and play need a sharper focus.