Primary Trust a Reminder of the Importance of Having Someone to Connect to at the Guthrie

Here’s how my Tuesday played itself out. I went to work, as I had every day for the last seven weeks, at Maple Grove Senior High, working as an education support professional in the special education department. Unlike the previous days, this one was my last. I had to say goodbye to a couple dozen kids I’d grown extremely fond of.

In a Facebook post about my last day, I wrote that I knew these kids would move on and forget me, but I would never forget them. It was a great day because I spent it with those extraordinary, unique students. It was also a sad day because I had to say goodbye to them. Then that evening, I went to see Primary Trust at the Guthrie Theater, and in small and large ways, I saw the emotions I’d felt throughout the day brought to life on stage.

We’re never told exactly what the main character Kenneth’s diagnosis might be. It may simply be the result of childhood trauma, or he may be on the autism spectrum, he is clearly neurodivergent. What he shares with the kids I worked with is that he isn’t always able to communicate his truth to those around him. Yet he can communicate, in his own way, in his own mind. And that’s one of the key elements that struck me about this play.

Kenneth’s best friend, Bert, is imaginary. That’s revealed early enough that I’m not spoiling anything. We learn that Bert was once Kenneth’s social worker, the man who helped place him in an orphanage after his mother died when Kenneth was ten. They had lunch together every day, and when Bert’s work with him ended, Kenneth created an imaginary version of him to fill that void. When I wrote that the students I worked with will move on and forget me, I think that’s true. But they’ll forget because others will step in to take my place, and the people already supporting them will still be there. Kenneth has no one to step in and fill the void, and so he created or more accurately extended Bert’s presence with his mind. Don’t get me wrong, he isn’t crazy, he knows Bert isn’t real, and he knows he should only talk to him inside his head.

I used voice dictation to draft this review as I drove home, because, honestly, there are no spare minutes in my day. Each time I said “the kids will forget me,” the dictation wrote “forgive me.” Did I subconsciously say that, or was it coincidence? It reminded me how much that job meant to me. If I won the lottery tomorrow, I might go back to it. But I haven’t, and I need to make a living. Everyone at MGSH, my family and friends understands and supports that, but I still feel like I let them down. I don’t like leaving things unfinished. Even knowing I made the responsible, real-world choice, I’ll always carry a bit of that guilt. I’ll always be hoping they have forgiven me.

Will Sturdivant plays Bert with warmth, humor, and humanity. I related to him deeply. At one point, Bert, though he’s a figment of Kenneth’s imagination, realizes he must do what any mentor does: encourage Kenneth to expand his world, to connect with real people. It’s a powerful, moving moment.

Kenneth does find connection with Corrina, a waitress at Wally’s Tiki Bar, where he spends most evenings drinking Mai Tais with Bert. Nubia Monks plays Corrina, as well as about ten other characters, each distinct and fully realized. There’s a moment when Kenneth offers his arm for Corrina to take, and it is exactly the way one of my students would take my arm when she needed a break, to take a walk. That small gesture nearly undid me.

Pearce Bunting plays Kenneth’s two bosses, both gruff, intimidating men which he manages to show the tenderness behind their rough exteriors. A reminder that what is on the outside doesn’t always reflect what is on the inside. That aspect is echoed throughout the performance of Bryce Michael Wood as Kenneth who is astonishingly good. By the end of the 90-minute, no-intermission play, it’s clear he’s both physically and emotionally spent. Wood gives two distinct performances: the Kenneth who moves awkwardly through the real world, and the articulate and comfortable Kenneth who exists in conversation with Bert. That difference is illuminating, and deeply human. Don’t we all have a version of ourselves that exists in our minds, more articulate and self-assured than the one we present to the world?

I wondered if my love for this play was amplified by the day I’d had, but my plus one, who didn’t share my emotional baggage felt exactly the same. Primary Trust is a play that connects on many levels. For me, it was personal, emotional, joyful, and full of hope, much like the last seven weeks of my life. It’s about communication, understanding, and the quiet ways people reach each other.

Primary Trust is a beautiful, uplifting play that reminds us, if you need reminding, that people are resilient. I absolutely loved it, and I hope you’ll see it before it closes on November 16 at the Guthrie Theater in Minneapolis. For more information, tickets, and details on rush ticket options, visit guthrietheater.org.

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