Jenna Fischer, Francis Guinan, and Chiké Johnson Photo by Todd Rosenberg

The action takes place over a handful of days as Pete, once the owner of more than a dozen TV and video stores around the city and the legendary star of local commercials for said stores, works on the speech he's been asked to give after accepting a small business award from the mayor. His daughter, Sam, and son-in-law, Mike, are in and out of the store, helping him both with preparations and the everyday running of Pete's sole remaining store. Also in the mix is Jess, the much younger woman who, along with her two small children, has been living with Pete for the past three years.

Everyone in the story has their secrets. Pete hides the tension in his complicated relationship with Jess out of a desire to sidestep Sam's judgement, as well as her legitimate concerns. Sam has inherited her fair share of the familial tendency toward avoidance, as she continually puts off telling Pete that she and Mike have made some haphazard but definite moves toward pulling up stakes to head for Los Angeles. Jess, for her part, masks her plans to reunite with the father of her children, Charlie, who is fresh out of rehab and living in the suburbs.

In another kind of play, these secrets would have dark and terrible undercurrents. They would erupt in the play's bleak and edgy final moments. Ashland Avenue is not that kind of play. It is something altogether more refreshing.

That's not to say there isn't darkness here. Pete, the consummate salesman, has managed to bind both Jess and Sam to him in ways that clearly have negative consequences for the growth and self-sufficiency of both women. And in some sense, the affable, malleable, and occasionally clueless Mike is the kind of partner that Sam, having trained at the feet of the master, would obviously draw in. But no one is evil here, and no one (not even Charlie, who appears at the play's end) is unchanging or irredeemable. But neither is the play some kind of glib affirmation that when a door closes, a window opens.

It's a hard play and a subtle one. It requires patience, then pays it back, and it does so beautifully.

The production design is top notch, providing a worthy setting for the work. Kevin Depinet's set absolutely nails the interior of the video store with its vintage sets mounted around the space, its souvenir "store closing" signs from Pete's bygone locations, and most of the contemporary flatscreens consigned to the upper-left part of the stage. Downstage left is an eclectic "front room" area that features comfortable, stylish yet mismatched chairs, a wide, low coffee table, and a break room-style coffee station and microwave behind the seating area. The entry to the store, as well as the sales desk and shuttered entrance to the back office occupy stage right. Depinet not only skillfully captures Pete's cannily designed store, the set conveys how fully the store is the real home that Pete and Sam have always occupied.

Jason Lynch's lighting is also perfect. It conveys the wee hours outside the shop's showcase window, even when characters are inside the space burning any of the millions of different lights that have accumulated in the store over the decades. Similarly, the sound design and composition by Lindsay Jones maintain the vibe and impressively tight and subtle tonality of the show.

Finally, Jessica Pabst's costumes powerfully evoke Chicago in February and tell us about each of the characters without ever devolving into stereotype. Sam's jeans, boots, and multicolored sweaters are an informative contrast to Jess's sweats and short puffer jacket, without being intrusively overt about how the two women are different. Pete's suspenders, his hoodie, and his shapeless pants, as well as the good blue suit he wears for the speech, tell us the story of his rise from nothing to the guy who used to feature in the St. Patrick's Day Parade to his decline along with that of his line of work.

But the real magic is in the performances. Francis Guinan is every inch the charming, overbearing, irascible, and manipulative patriarch. He is a good man who is doing the people in his life very little good in a rapidly changing world. In any moment that the play felt slightly overlong or overwritten, Guinan reliably rescued and justified it. Kirk has written an astounding, realistic role here and Guinan inhabits it at every turn.

The character of Sam is not entirely as steady and successful as that of Pete, at least at the beginning of the play, but Jenna Fischer breathes life and interest into some of the shakier material, in addition to fully realizing the stronger moments later in the play. She has wonderful chemistry with both Guinan and Chiké Johnson (Mike), and although the play brings Jess and Sam together only briefly, the two women also do great work shedding light on one another's characters.

Johnson is delightfully upbeat and charming as Mike, without ever letting the character devolve into caricature. His willingness to go with the flow is a part of the character's charm, but the subtlety with which Johnson plays the role makes it clear that this passivity is, if not directly part of the problem, one reason why the troublesome dynamic between Pete and Sam has drifted along.

Cordelia Dewdney's work as Jess is also strong. The relationship between Jess and Pete is, to say the least, unexpected, unusual, and genuinely complex. Although Kirk writes this with skill, it's the dynamic between Dewdney and Guinean that makes this unique story jump from the page.

Will Allan's role as "Young Man" is limited, but critical to the show's strong and satisfying ending. Allan has little time to build up an important character, but he does so with commendable skill.

Ashland Avenue has been extended through October 19, 2025, at the Goodman Theatre, Albert Theatre, 170 N Dearborn Street, Chicago IL. For tickets, please visit GoodmanTheatre.org or call 312-443-3800.