This Waitress delivers

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This article was published 10/01/2025 (579 days ago), so information in it may no longer be current.

In the first moment of Waitress, light empties through marshmallow clouds to illuminate Jenna Hunterson (a marvellous Stephanie Sy) as she mixes the standard base for one of her all-American pies.

But even if she is the only one with sugar on her apron and flour in her hair, Jenna’s creations aren’t hers alone. Anonymous helping hands reach out with core ingredients, and once the finished peach, apple and blackberry pies are placed on the countertop they belong to everyone who walks through the door of Joe’s Diner.

The possessive apostrophe is the most vital punctuation in this powerhouse musical of ownership, self-sufficiency and belonging, directed with risqué zest by Ann Hodges at the Royal Manitoba Theatre Centre.

A Tony-winner written by Jessie Nelson with music and lyrics by Sara Bareilles, Waitress took a little bit longer than expected in the oven on opening night, with a keyboard malfunction leading to a nearly 20-minute delay ahead of the first notes. But once music director Floydd Ricketts got that sorted, the talented cast made itself at home inside Brian Perchaluk’s dreamy version of Joe’s — a restaurant stuck in its own past even as its next-gen customers progress beyond the rigid stereotypes of mid-century American ideals in the background.

Other than the daily special — and Joe’s (Steve Ross) lunch order — most things don’t change at the diner, where the customers are dressed by costume designer Daina Leitold in repeating fabrics and the waitresses (Sy, the brilliant Laura Olafson and Rhea Rodych-Rasidescu in a career-best turn) feel hemmed in by their teal uniforms, tied down by their apron strings and indebted to the men who begrudge or impede their desire for independence.

Everything is the same in Jenna’s life too until she gets knocked up by her abusive husband, Earl (an irredeemably douchey Justin Stadnyk, in a headshaking but necessary role), a development which forces her to contemplate an exit route.

When she daydreams, Jenna’s forecast veers toward pie-in-the-sky optimism, a shift visualized through purplish tones in lighting designer Bonnie Beecher’s dynamic skyscape, teeming with whipped-cream clouds and endless possibility. When she bakes, Jenna can go wherever she wants without any interference and without being put on anyone else’s pedestal, whether pie-stand or examining table.

That isn’t the case at Joe’s, though, or during her visits to an anxious, unhappy gynecologist (Jeff Lillico) who throws away professionalism in favour of a less chaste form of bedside manner.

In the first act’s closing number, Bad Idea, Jenna’s check-up becomes a hook-up. At first, the audience bristles at Dr. Pomatter’s indiscretion, but notably, their lust song represents the first time Jenna sings while in motion — a turn signal of agency to come after intermission.

Waitress is the rare musical where the second act effectively capitalizes on the build-up of the first, which serves as a flirtatious amuse-bouche to an explosively pleasurable opening sequence wherein the power dynamic shifts in both a narrative and technical sense.

During I Didn’t Plan It, a song about the convenience of mutual attraction sung by Olafson’s Becky, the restaurant’s highway sign and tabletop lighting flickers and dies out. In She Used to Be Mine, Sy’s third-trimester Jenna mourns, reflecting on the way the pathetic Earl weaponized his own emotional weakness as a means of marital manipulation, diminishing Jenna’s sense of the woman she once was and believed herself capable of becoming.

For all its heaviness, Nelson and Bareilles understood the importance of counterbalancing the bitter with sweetness and spice — keep an eye out for innuendo and saucy whipped-cream applications.

Many of those warm flavour notes come courtesy of Rodych-Rasidescu’s Dawn as she navigates the world of online dating before finding her elfin match, Okie (an energetic Jeremy Carver-James). Their courtship — a modern approach to the old-fashioned set-up — is powered by a shared love of cringy poetry and Civil War re-enactments, again showing Nelson’s desire to needle the Betsy Ross-brand of American nostalgia.

A fair question would be whether the musical would be strengthened by the actors abandoning their somewhat indeterminable southern accents; however, to that suggestion, Steve Ross would like a word. As the curmudgeonly, lead-footed Joe, Ross revels in every pronunciation, from skee-daddle to tomato, making the most of his swinging drawl in a touching performance of Take It From an Old Man.

A slice of life with a dollop of sugar and a heavy wallop of emotional truth, Waitress fills a tall order thanks to the cast’s heartfelt performances, the band’s steady support and the invisible hands of the well-organized choreographers and designers. Though the sign outside says Joe’s, this winning concoction belongs to each of them.

ben.waldman@winnipegfreepress.com