In ‘Girls & Boys’ at Crow’s Theatre, Fiona Mongillo delivers an enthralling performance that will leave you viscerally shaken

Girls & Boys

Written by Dennis Kelly and directed by Lucy Jane Atkinson. Until Feb. 12 at Streetcar Crowsnest’s Studio Theatre, 345 Carlaw Ave. crowstheatre.com or 647-341-7390, ext. 1010

About three-quarters of the way through “Girls & Boys,” the gut-wrenching solo play by Dennis Kelly, my eyes welled up and my chest started to tighten. To my right, an older man removed his spectacles and wiped away tears. Three seats to my left, a middle-aged woman held her face with both hands, visibly distraught. Elsewhere in the intimate Studio Theatre at Streetcar Crowsnest, someone let out an audible gasp.

What onstage, you might ask, provoked such a visceral reaction from the audience?

To answer that question is to spoil the plot of Kelly’s grisly drama. However, the more important question is not what, rather who onstage elicited such a response.

For that, you’ll find your answer in Fiona Mongillo, the supremely talented actor whose harrowing performance in “Girls & Boys” might be the most unforgettable of the season. Under the assured direction of Lucy Jane Atkinson, Mongillo is reprising her performance at Crow’s Theatre after a highly acclaimed run last summer with Stratford’s Here for Now Theatre Company, for which she serves as artistic director.

It was already an astonishing performance then. Yet somehow, some five months later, Mongillo manages to deliver something even more profound than before.

In the one-act, one-hander, she plays an unnamed woman (simply referred to as “Woman” in the program) whose life is turned upside down after an unspeakable tragedy. The drama begins with Mongillo’s character describing her charming first encounter with her husband while waiting to board a plane at an Italian airport.

In the first half of the play, the narrative proceeds rather benignly as the Woman recounts everything from her career in documentary filmmaking and the blossoming relationship with her husband to raising their two children: her precocious daughter Leanne and energetic young son Danny.

Mongillo, wearing a dark green romper with a belt (the costume is designed by Bonnie Deakin), appears to relay her story with an air of nonchalance, her hands often tucked into the deep pockets of her suit. But Mongillo so deeply inhabits the role that you can see, behind the cool façade, that she is haunted by a repressed pain.

The sequences of direct address are punctuated with scenes of the Woman interacting with her kids. We don’t see them, but the Woman acts as if they’re there. More curiously, these short scenes often involve moments of conflict or violence: Danny throwing a tantrum, Leanne disappearing during a crowded outdoor event, Danny destroying his sister’s clay art and Leanne then urging her mother to punch him as punishment.

Later, the Woman tells the audience, rather matter-of-factly: “I think a lot about violence. I just think it’s such a fundamental part of our species that how can you understand us without understanding it?”

Kelly’s thoughtfully constructed monologue takes a grim turn when, immediately following a scene between the Woman and her children, she turns to the audience and utters, again rather coldly as if the joy of life has escaped her: “I know they’re not here.”

From there, the work opens up as a dark memory play, charting a course of brutal tragedy. Deakin’s monochromatic set — sparsely populated with two grey risers, a white chair and a side table with a glass of water — appears more like a psychological prison, with the Woman as its captive.

The play’s climactic scene, which I’m loath to spoil, is altogether gruesome and graphic, and will be difficult for many audiences. When I first saw “Girls & Boys” last summer, I was so overwhelmed that I struggled to catch my breath; last Saturday, I again found myself clenching my jaw and fighting the urge to look away as the Woman described what happened to her husband and two children in vivid detail.

This time, however, I was more cognizant of how Kelly built the narrative up to this climax. Often, plays with late second-half twists like this one can feel emotionally manipulative; those flaws usually reveal themselves upon second viewing. Not so in “Girls & Boys.”

In fact, Kelly has crafted a work with such attention to detail that it rewards repeat visits. As darkly and violently as it descends, the monologue is packed with surprising humour and startling beauty.

Mongillo highlights all these facets. Her riveting performance is neither barn-burning nor roof-raising, rather a master class in theatrical restraint. No matter how challenging the subject, how repulsive the story, Mongillo draws us in like a magnet, compelling us to follow her down this path for which she is the guide, even when all signs warn us to turn away. A true tour-de-force, unmissable performance.