Why “Kim’s Convenience” Hit Differently at 50
Walking through the Distillery District in August has a specific vibe—the heat radiating off the cobblestones, the tourists, the patio chatter. But heading into the Soulpepper Theatre with Alyne felt different this time. We weren’t just going to see a play; we were going to see a homecoming.
Like so many others, our introduction to Kim’s Convenience was the CBC sitcom. We loved it. For Alyne, the themes of immigrant family dynamics hit close to home, resonating with her own experiences and family history. For me, it was a window into a specific Toronto experience that felt universally Canadian.
So, when we sat down to watch the stage production—this time starring the playwright himself, Ins Choi, as Appa—I expected to be entertained. I expected to laugh.
I didn’t expect to cry.
The Playwright as the Patriarch
There is always a risk when you see the “original” version of something you’ve come to love in a different format. You worry it will feel small compared to the TV show, or that you’ll spend the whole time comparing the lead actor to Paul Sun-Hyung Lee’s iconic television performance.
But seeing Ins Choi step into the shoes of Appa—a character he wrote as a love letter to his own parents—was electric. There was a raw, frenetic energy to his performance. He wasn’t just playing a character; he was exorcising something. It felt personal. The comedy was there, sharp as ever, but the edges were rougher, more vulnerable than the sitcom version.
Fresh Eyes on a Familiar Story
My biggest surprise was how fresh it all felt. I thought I knew the beats: the store, the estrangement with the son, the stubbornness, the “hapkido” jokes. But the stage has a way of stripping things back to their emotional core. Without the quick cuts and commercial breaks of TV, you have to sit with the silence and the tension in that store.
The family dynamics that Alyne connected with so deeply were on full display—the weight of expectation, the jagged edges of love expressed through sacrifice rather than words. It didn’t feel like a re-run; it felt like we were eavesdropping on a real family’s breaking point.
Legacy and the View from 50
Perhaps the reason it hit me so hard this time wasn’t just the performance, but where I am in my own life. I saw this play just shortly before my 50th birthday.
When you’re young, you watch a character like Appa and you sympathize with the children—chafing against the old man’s stubborn ways, wanting to break free. But sitting there in the dark at Soulpepper, approaching a half-century myself, I found myself aligning with Appa.
I felt his desperation to know that his sacrifice meant something. I understood the terror of looking at your life’s work—your “store”—and wondering what your legacy will actually be. The question “What is my story?” isn’t just a plot point for him; it’s the question that starts keeping you up at night as you get older.
I looked over at Alyne during the curtain call, and we were both wiping away tears. It’s a rare thing for a story to grow up with you. Kim’s Convenience started as a fringe play, became a sitcom, and returned to the stage as a classic. And in the process, it reminded me that whether you are the immigrant parent fighting for a foothold, or the child trying to find your own way, we are all just trying to make sure our story matters.
If you ever get the chance to see this production, go. Even if you’ve binged every episode of the show. It turns out, you can still be surprised by a story you thought you knew by heart.
