Juyeon Song and Jenna Agbayani Photo by Dan Norman

That is one of the feelings I had after seeing The Heart Sellers by Lloyd Suh (The Chinese Lady), playing on the Guthrie Theater's McGuire Proscenium Stage in a production that originated at Boston's Huntington Theatre Company. Another feeling was admiration for the playwright's ability to weave together multiple themes: immigration and assimilation; the status of women's roles in 1973; and the tendrils of need, attraction, and curiosity that twine together in the formation of a friendship. I also felt the pleasure in my midsection that was the result of ninety minutes of hearty laughter. And there is the feeling of elation at watching two actors, Jenna Agbayani and Juyeon Song, giving performances so utterly convincing, it feels more like having been eavesdropping on an actual encounter between two women who have only just met, than watching a scripted play.

Even before any of that, The Heart Sellers had my jaw dropping as soon as I took my seat in the McGuire and looked up at Wilson Chin's incredible set. The rear of the stage is fully concealed by the wall of an apartment building, circa late 1960s, a honeycomb of windows and glass doors leading to skimpy terraces, all close enough together to know the homes behind this wall are small and humble, and their residents most likely working class. The limp look of drapes hanging in the windows and knocked-up grills on the window-unit air conditioners attest to this. A few of the units show something about the residents within: one sports an American flag, and one has a Santa figure on the terrace. It's Thanksgiving, so no doubt more terraces will be populated by Santas, snowmen, reindeer, shepherds, wisemen, and the like in the coming days.

Occupying the stage floor in front of this edifice wall is the particular apartment (living room, kitchen and bedroom) of a Filipino couple, Luna (Agbayani) and her husband, a medical resident at a hospital in this small, unnamed city. The furnishings look comfortable but inexpensive, cluttered, and bear the style of the era, down to avocado green kitchen cabinets. The interior of this apartment confirms the expectations created by the exterior view of the many apartments on that rear wall.

As the play begins, Luna is entering her apartment from the street, accompanied by Jane (Song), the Korean wife of a Korean medical resident. Luna and Jane have just met, at least formally, at the supermarket. They had spotted each other before but never spoken. Up to this point, it is not clear that Jane has yet spoken at all, as Luna does all the talking, a rant of laughter and chatter, including her supposition that Jane must think she is goofy for inviting a stranger to her home, but then, since Jane acquiesced, they must both be goofy. Luna is beside herself to have company, the first visitor to her home, other than the landlord and the plumber, as she hastens to add, "Yes, we needed a plumber, but it's fixed." Luna's English is pretty good, but not good enough make up for her standing out from American women, and feeling desperately isolated while her husband works long days at the hospital.

Jane stands at the door for a while, nervous about proceeding with this encounter, but eventually, Luna steers her guest inside. We have already noticed that they are wearing identical coats–parkas with bold color blocks. Luna bought hers at Kmart and is thrilled to learn that Jane also bought her coat at the same store. A second common thread, the first being that both are Asian women, without friends in a strange land, alone while their husbands work on Thanksgiving because, after all, it is not their holiday so they won't mind working. Luna exclaims that maybe their husbands will meet and become best friends, to which Jane says, "Maybe. (beat) But probably not."

Luna has purchased a turkey to celebrate Thanksgiving like the Americans, but she doesn't know how to cook a turkey. Jane does, the result of watching Julia Child (Jane watches television to fill her lonely hours) and thus is put in charge of the turkey, which she is alarmed to discover, is frozen. Noting her alarm, Luna asks Jane if it will be okay and, after a meaningful pause, Jane replies, "It's okay, we just cook more longer." Jane's English is not as good as Luna's, but her insights are just as sharp. In time, and with the aid of wine, they discover more commonalties, some they already knew, such as both their homelands having had recent military coups, and some not, such as having to put aside their own aspirations because of their subservience to their husbands; essentially, of feeling trapped.

One common love they discover is "Soul Train," which prompts hilarious dancing–hilarious not only to us, but to Luna and Jane who crack up, giddy over liberating their bodies in front of another human being, one who isn't even their husband. Having a serious conversation about how men make bad choices yet have all the power, they wonder if it is because men are making up for having small penises–which ricochets to blushing descriptions of their husbands' members. In this way they pass the time, from weighty to intensely personal to goofy, all the while developing profound intimacy.

The play's title comes from the American law, the Hart-Celler Act, named for its authors, Senator Philip A. Hart and Representative Emanuel Celler, and passed eight years before the play takes place. It ended national quotas on immigration, enacted in the 1920s, that had resulted the great majority of immigrants to the United States being European. The Hart-Celler Act changed that, so that large numbers of immigrants from Asia, South America, and Africa were able to enter the United States. Luna learned about the act as a teenager and mistook its name to mean that immigration to America somehow involved the sale of one's heart–an image that, once uttered, haunts the rest of the play.

Director May Adrales has amassed a physical production along with two indelible performances that strike the perfect note from start to finish. Adrales and the cast are repeating their work from the Huntington's production, and I cannot imagine it being a dash better. Both actors have mastered not only the words, but the facial expression, gestures, the hunching or releasing of tension in their bodies, even their timing, in ways that create the two fully authentic women on stage.

Junghyun Georgia Lee's costumes are spot on, from those awful Kmart parkas to Luna's attire that aims to look "American"–bell bottom jeans and denim vest–to Jane's prim ensemble, the epitome of a well-behaved Korean wife. Kat C. Zhou's lighting masterfully shows the sky gradually darkening as the newfound friends pass the hours from day into night, and Fabian Obispo's sound design is impeccable, picking up details down to the off-stage flush of the toilet when one of the women uses the bathroom.

If you haven't already noticed, there is really no plot, per se, to The Heart Sellers, other than the formation of a friendship. The play's majesty lies in presenting the context in which that friendship blossoms and in creating two characters defined by their culture, gender, and social class who are able to shed those skins and reveal their shared humanity. It is as much a celebration as a play.

The Heart Sellers runs through the holidays and well into January, so if your holiday date book is full, I recommend you make The Heart Sellers the first play you see in the new year.

The Heart Sellers runs through January 25, 2024, at the Guthrie Theater, McGuire Proscenium Stage, 618 South 2nd Street, Minneapolis MN. For tickets and information, please call 612-377-2224 or visit GuthrieTheater.org.

Playwright: Lloyd Suh; Director: May Adrales; Scenic Designer: Wilson Chin; Costume Designer: Junghyun Georgia Lee; Lighting Designer: Kat C. Zhou; Sound Designer/Composer: Fabian Obispo; Dramaturg: Christina Mok; Vocal Coach: Keely Wolter; Dialect Coach Joy Lanceta Coronel; Resident Casting Director: Jennifer Liestman; NYC Casting Consultant: McCorkle Casting, Ltd.; Assistant Director: Jake Sung-Guk Sullivan; Stage Manager: Lori Lundquist; Assistant Stage Manager: Olivia Louise Tree Plath.

Cast: Jenna Agbayani (Luna), Jim Cunningham (Radio DJ, recorded voice), Juyeon Song (Jane).