You know, usually when you take your car into
a repair shop, there's this comforting expectation
of pure binary precision. Oh, absolutely. It's
a very black and white environment. Right. You
hear a weird rattle, the mechanic pops the hood,
shines a flashlight on a frayed serpentine belt,
and just points to it. Broken or not broken?
Exactly. Broken or not broken. It's clean. It's
a problem you can solve by simply swapping out
a part with a wrench. It's deeply satisfying
because, well, it's visible. Mechanical failures
play by the rules of physics. Yeah, they follow
the rules. We like our problems to be easily
categorized, you know? Diagnosed and repaired.
But what happens when the thing that's fundamentally
broken isn't the alternator, but the guy holding
the wrench? Oh, that's a whole different ball
game. Right, because when you step into the world
of unresolved trauma, fractured friendships,
and like... Toxic pride? That need little toolkit
is completely useless. Completely. There is no
diagnostic manual for a collapsing human being.
No, there really isn't. When the machinery breaking
down is the emotional state of the people in
the room, you are operating in total, uh, total...
diagnostic muddy waters. You can't just unbolt
a decade of resentment and install a new one.
I love that unbolting resentment and that is
exactly where we are heading today. I want to
welcome you, yes you listening right now, to
this custom tailored deep dive. We've got a really
great one today. We do. We have a fascinating
stack of sources in front of us digging into
the history, the script, and the really unlikely
journey of a 2011 play called Small Engine Repair.
Written by John Polano. Right, John Polano. And
our mission today is to figure out how this incredibly
claustrophobic, just aggressively gritty play
about blue collar guys in a New Hampshire repair
shop exploded. Out of nowhere, really. Completely
out of nowhere. How it went from an intimate
Los Angeles theater to an off -Broadway hit,
and eventually fought its way into becoming a
feature film. Which is an incredibly rare trajectory.
It is. and we are going to look at how it survived
the totally unpredictable turbulent waters of
Hollywood scheduling along the way. Okay. Let's
unpack this. I am very ready for this. And to
get us fully immersed, you'll notice the visual
backdrop for today's deep dive has shifted. Oh
yeah, it's grim in here. It's a dimly lit, violently
unglamorous mechanics garage. We've got, you
know, oil stains seeping into the concrete. Tools
just haphazardly scattered everywhere. Exactly.
And heavy shadows stretching across the floor.
It perfectly reflects the tense, almost suffocating
atmosphere of the story we're exploring. I mean,
I can practically smell the stale beer and the
exhaust fumes right now. That's the vibe. So
let's establish the geography and the stakes
here. We are in Manchester, New Hampshire. It
is cold. It's remote. And we are locked inside
this small engine repair shop long after closing
time. Very isolated. Yeah, very isolated. The
narrative centers around three guys. I've got
Frank, who owns the shop and is the one orchestrating
this mysterious late night gathering. Right,
he's the host, basically. Then there's Swaino
and Packy, and these are three ex -high school
buddies. But the text makes a very specific point
of identifying them as, quote, past their prime.
Which is such a devastatingly loaded phrase,
isn't it? It really is. It hurts to even hear
it. Acer Prime isn't just about age. I mean,
it's a psychological trap. How so? Well, it immediately
tells you that these characters are living their
lives entirely in the rear -view mirror. For
guys like this, high school was the apex of their
existence. Right, the glory days. The brotherhood,
the lack of responsibility, the perceived dominance,
that was their peak. Everything since then has
been a slow, grinding decline. Oh, yeah. They
are hoarding their past in a room that is literally
designed for fixing the present. That is the
perfect way to look at it. They're surrounded
by broken machines, but they don't have the emotional
vocabulary to fix their own lives. Exactly. So
they're drinking, they're hanging out, and Frank
clearly has a secret agenda for the night that
he isn't sharing. He's got a plan. He's got a
plan. And then the catalyst walks through the
door. A young guy named Chad. The interloper.
Right. Chad is a preppy, well -connected college
jock. and his arrival instantly ignites what
the source material describes as a long simmering
animosity. Which is a great phrase. It really
is. The whole setup feels to me like a locked
room mystery mixed with a pressure cooker. You
take a confined space, you trap these older working
class guys who feel completely left behind by
society, and you throw in a privileged college
kid who has his entire life ahead of him. It's
a brutal class collision. So I have to ask, why
do you think a setting like an off -hours engine
repair shop is the perfect crucible for exploring
abstract concepts like masculinity and regret.
Well, what's fascinating here is how the playwright
uses the physical environment to amplify that
collision. Our repair shop is distinctly utilitarian.
It's just function over form. Right. It's coated
in grease and dirt. It represents the grit of
unresolved history. And then you drop Chad into
it. In his nice clothes. Exactly. Chad represents
the pristine, upwardly mobile outside world,
a world these three older men have no access
to. But the text is very careful with that phrase,
long simmering animosity. It hints that Chad
is really just the match. Oh, interesting. So
he's not the bomb itself. No. The actual dynamite
is the history between Frank, Sueno, and Packie.
The tension isn't just about the outsider. It's
about themselves. It's about the rot inside their
own friendship, the toxicity of their shared
masculinity. Right. Because when men like this
don't know how to process their own failures,
they just turn on each other. or they turn on
the easiest target in the room. Always. It's
deflection. Deflection, totally. So we have this
bleak, freezing New Hampshire setting. But the
wild irony of this play's production history
is that it didn't start anywhere near New England.
Not even close. Not even close. To trace its
origins, we have to transition to the glitzy,
completely unexpected place where it first found
an audience, sunny Los Angeles, California. Which
is a massive geographic and cultural whiplash.
It really is. You are taking a story about forgotten
blue collar New Englanders and premiering it
in the capital of the entertainment industry.
Exactly. It premieres in March 2011 at a venue
literally called Theater Theater. Great name.
I know, right? It's produced by Rogue Machine
Theater. Now, this is an intimate 99 -seat Los
Angeles theater. Very small. The kind of place
where you are sitting so close to the stage,
you can practically feel the actors breathing
on you. There's nowhere to hide. Right. And it's
directed by Andrew Block, and the playwright,
John Polano, not only wrote the script, but he's
starring in it as Frank. The shop owner. Which
adds a whole other layer of intensity. And we
should note that Polano and Block had a crucial
history together. Oh, did they? Yeah, they had
previously collaborated on a 2010 play called
Lost and Found. OK, so they knew each other's
rhythms. Exactly. In the theater, especially
in a piece this raw and volatile, trust is everything.
A director and a playwright with a shared shorthand
can push the actors into much darker, more uncomfortable
emotional spaces. Because they know they're safe.
Right, because they know the safety net is there.
The production team also did something remarkable
here. Instead of just, you know, suggesting the
setting, they essentially built a functioning,
suffocating New Hampshire garage right in the
middle of Southern California. Oh, wow. The lighting,
the sound design, it all conspired to trap the
audience in that room with those men. That sounds
incredible. And then you look at the original
cast. You've got Polanoas Frank, Michael Redfield
playing Paki. Josh Hellman playing Chad, the
college kid. Yep. And playing Swayno, the alpha
male of the older group, is Jon Bernthal. A huge
casting win. Massive. The play opens, and it
doesn't just do well. I mean, it explodes. It
gets massive critical acclaim, the run gets extended
for months, and it eventually transfers to the
Beverly Hills Playhouse. Where Donnie Smith actually
stepped in to replace Bernfall eventually. Right,
right. And it just sweeps the local theater awards.
We're talking Ovation Awards for Best Play, Intimate
Theater, Acting, Ensemble, Director. The Los
Angeles Drama Critics Circle Awards. Yes. For
Production, Direction, Writing, and the Backstage
Garland Awards. Which is a monumental feat, you
know? The LA... theater scene is incredibly saturated.
Oh, I bet. And getting critics to universally
agree on a gritty independent production is rare.
It is, but here's where I have to push back a
little bit on the narrative of pure organic theatrical
success. Okay, lay it on me. The sources openly
acknowledge that the play's popularity in 2011
was heavily boosted by the fact that John Bernthal
was starring as Shane on AMC's The Walking Dead
at the exact same time. Which was huge. Huge.
The Walking Dead was a global phenomenon. So
here's where it gets really interesting. A play
about New Hampshire townies becomes a smash hit
in Hollywood, partly because one of the actors
is famous for fighting zombies on TV. It's quite
the paradox. It is. So my question is, with Bernthal
bringing in the ANC TV crowd, does that kind
of star power risk overshadowing the actual narrative
of a small ensemble play? Doesn't it just become
the John Bernthal show? It's a completely valid
skepticism. And you're right, star power absolutely
changes the gravity of a room. It has to. Celebrity
brings foot traffic. People who would never set
foot in a 99 -seat theater will line up around
the block to see the guy from their favorite
AMC show. But if we connect this to the bigger
picture and look at how the awards were distributed,
it paints a very different picture. Foot Traffic
buys tickets, but it does not win you the Acting
Ensemble Award from the notoriously discerning
Los Angeles theater critics. That's true. An
ensemble award means everyone pulled their weight.
Exactly. The fact that the entire group won ensemble
awards proves that the collective chemistry and
the writing held up under the spotlight. That
makes sense. Polono also won for his writing.
When a TV star brings an audience into the room,
the audience usually leaves talking about the
star. Right. Right. But when the text is brilliant,
the audience leaves talking about the story.
The script had to deliver the goods and the awards
confirm that it did. So Bernthal got them in
the door. But Polano's dialogue kept them in
their seats. That's exactly it. OK, I see that.
It's like using a megaphone to get people's attention.
But once they're listening, you actually have
to have something profound to say. Which they
did. And clearly, small engine repair did. So
they have this massive, undeniable success on
the West Coast. The momentum is huge. And the
logical next step for any hit American play is
New York. The holy grail. Right. Off -Broadway
is the ultimate proving ground. But the very
Hollywood success that injected so much life
into the L .A. run suddenly becomes its biggest
existential threat. Ah, yes. The double -edged
sword of casting actors whose screen careers
are actively exploding. Yes. So, MCC Theatre
in New York steps up. They plan a major off -Broadway
run for their 2012 to 2013 season. Very prestigious.
Very. The dream scenario is in place. Polono
and Bernthal are going to reprise their roles.
They're going to take this fraternal magic they
built in LA and drop it right into New York.
But then television comes calling again. Both
Polono and Bernthal get cast in a major TNT miniseries
called Mob City. Oh, wow. And in the hierarchy
of entertainment scheduling, television production
schedules are the apex predator. They really
are. Theatre companies simply do not have the
financial leverage to force an actor to turn
down a major network television role. You just
can't compete. So MCC Theatre has to delay the
play. They push it to the 2013 to 2014 season.
Which is tough. You can almost feel the momentum
stalling, but then it gets worse. Pushing the
schedule back creates a secondary conflict. By
July 2013, it's officially announced that John
Bernthal has to drop out of the New York run
entirely. He has to cede the role of Swaino due
to scheduling conflicts. That is a seismic blow
to a production. It's devastating. Think about
this from John Polono's perspective. You've written
this deeply personal, incredibly aggressive play.
You spent months in a tiny LA theater bleeding
and sweating with this specific group of guys.
Building that trust. Building this hyper -specific
raw chemistry. It's like a rock band losing their
lead guitarist right before a massive international
tour. That is a great analogy. You know exactly
how the other guy plays. You know his rhythms.
And suddenly he's just gone. So what does this
all mean for Polono? He wrote this thing, acted
in it. build the chemistry in LA, and now he
has to rebuild that fraternal magic with a mostly
brand new cast on the East Coast. How does a
play survive that? Well, it survives because
the foundation wasn't the actors. The foundation
was the architecture of the script itself. Interesting.
This is the ultimate stress test for any playwright.
If a play only works because of the chaotic lightning
in a bottle charisma of its original cast, then
it isn't a great play. It's at a great performance.
It's a great performance event, exactly. The
true test of dramatic literature is whether it
can survive recasting and reinterpretation. So
the script is essentially the blueprint. Precisely.
If the blueprint is structurally sound, a new
director and a new crew of actors can build the
house. Right. Because when the play finally opens
at the Lucille Lortel Theater in November 2013,
it is a radically altered landscape. Very different
team. Polono is still there, playing Frank. But
the rest of the cast is brand new. James Ransone
takes over as Paki. Keegan Allen steps in as
Chad. And stepping into the massive void left
by Bernthal is James Badgedale playing Sueno.
All incredibly talented actors, though. Oh, for
sure. Plus, they have an entirely new director,
Joe Bonney. And Joe Bonney is a heavyweight in
the New York theater scene. But bringing her
in means changing the entire geometry of how
the play is staged and felt. And yet, it worked.
Yeah. The fact that Joe Bonney and this new cast,
Badgedale, Ransun, Allen, could step into this
grimy repair shop, find their own distinct rhythms,
and make the play explode all over again proves
that Polono's themes are universally resonant.
They aren't tied to one person. Exactly. The
concepts of toxic masculinity, the haunting nature
of regret, and the desperation of feeling left
behind by society aren't reliant on John Bernthal
being in the room. They're human conditions.
They are human conditions. And the New York Theatre
Establishment recognized that. It certainly did.
The Off -Broadway production secured prestigious
nominations, including a Drama Desk Award for
Set Design by Richard Hoover. Oh, that's huge.
And a Joe A. Callaway Award for Joe Bonney's
directing. The play proved it wasn't just a vehicle
for one specific group of friends. The engine
itself was built to last. I see what you did
there. The engine. Couldn't resist. So, having
conquered both coasts, proving it could thrive
in the intimate, celebrity -adjacent spaces of
Los Angeles, and then surviving the brutal, discerning
crucible of off -Broadway in New York, the story
of Small Engine Repair evolves again. It's the
gift that keeps on giving. It moves from the
temporary, ephemeral world of live theater into
a permanent medium. Yes, the transition to immortality.
In 2014, the play was officially published by
Dramatists Play Service. Which is a very big
deal. It's a huge milestone because it means
theater companies, colleges, and community theaters
anywhere in the world can buy the script and
perform it. But the truly staggering part of
this timeline happens a full decade after its
original premiere. This is my favorite part of
the story. It's wild. A feature film adaptation
is produced in 2019 and eventually released on
September 10th, 2021. Ten years later. Ten years
later. Yeah. And the person who wrote the screenplay?
John Polono. The person who directed the feature
film. John Polono. That level of ongoing... uncompromising
creative control in the film industry is vanishingly
rare. I mean, it's almost unheard of, right?
Almost unheard of. Usually when Hollywood buys
a successful independent play, the very first
thing they do is politely thank the playwright,
hand them a check, and hire a seasoned screenwriter
to adapt it. Right, they take the keys away.
Exactly. Then they hire an established film director
and they cast A -list movie stars who look great
on a poster, completely abandoning the actors
who originated the roles. Capilano didn't let
that happen. He roped the play, he starred in
it on stage, he weathered the storm of the New
York recasting, he published it, and ten years
later he demanded the right to write and direct
the feature film himself. The sheer patience
and tenacity required to hold onto a project
for a decade until you have the leverage to make
it on your own terms is incredible. It really
is. And to top it all off, he didn't cast shiny
new A -listers for the film. He brought the original
Los Angeles cast back. That's the best part.
Polono, Bernthal, Hellman, he got the band back
together. And this raises an important question
about artistic ownership, because this is where
the artistic journey of the play becomes deeply,
profoundly meta. Oh, I like where you're going
with this. Think about the underlying premise
of the script. Small Engine Repair is fundamentally
a story about ex -high school friends past their
prime getting together in a room to confront
their shared messy history. Right. By reuniting
the original 2011 Los Angeles cast to shoot a
film 10 years later, Polano executed the ultimate
commentary on his own theme of fraternity. Because
the actors themselves had literally aged a decade.
Exactly. They aren't just playing old friends.
They are old friends. The guys who bled and sweat
together in that that tiny 99C LA theater back
in 2011 were now standing on a movie set together.
They had lived 10 more years of life. That's
so true. They had experienced massive career
successes, inevitable personal failures, and
they likely harbored their own real -life new
regrets. You cannot manufacture that kind of
history in a rehearsal room. No, you really can't.
It's earned. When Bernthal and Polono look at
each other on screen in that 2021 film, they
are drawing on a decade of actual lived brotherhood.
It infuses the film with a layer of authenticity
that is incredibly rare. Yeah, I bet. They didn't
just tell a story about the weight of time. They
allowed time to literally weight them down before
capturing it on camera. That is such a brilliant
observation. Life imitating art, imitating life.
The text was aging right alongside the people
who created it. It takes the whole project from
being just a cool indie movie to an actual document
of their lives. It's the absolute purest execution
of the concept. Which brings us to the end of
our journey today. To pull all these threads
together. I mean, Small Engine Repair stands
as a massive testament to the raw power of a
TypeScript and deeply relatable human themes.
Truly. It's a reminder that you don't need sprawling,
multi -million dollar budgets, massive CGI set
pieces or exotic locations to captivate an audience.
You really don't. Sometimes, the most compelling
drama in the world is just a closed -off, greasy
repair shop, three guys who realize their best
days are behind them, and a simmering secret
waiting to detonate. That's all you need. The
tension of human connection and the catastrophic
failure of it is entirely enough to carry a story
from a tiny stage in Los Angeles all the way
to a future film. I think tracking the evolution
of this play leaves us with a lot to chew on,
particularly regarding that core premise of friends
who are past their prime. Yeah, definitely. I
want to leave you with a final thought to mull
over, a concept we might call unreliable nostalgia.
Unreliable nostalgia. OK. I want you to think
about your own life. When you reunite with old
friends from your youth, people you haven't seen
in years, who are you actually talking to? Oh,
that's a good question. Are you genuinely connecting
with the complex, changed? perhaps damaged person
sitting in front of you today? Or are you just
projecting onto them, interacting with the ghost
of who they used to be? Wow. How much of that
shared fraternity is a genuine present day connection?
And how much of it is just a desperate mutual
refusal to let the past go? It's hard. Are you
actually trying to fix the engine of your friendship
or are you both just staring at a broken machine
pretending it still runs? Wow. Are you talking
to the person or just the ghost of the past?
That is a heavy, perfectly fitting question to
end on. We were going to leave you to ponder
that one on your own. I want to enthusiastically
thank you for joining us on this exploration
today. It's been a pleasure. We love taking these
deep dives with you, sifting through the sources
to find the real, beating heart hiding beneath
the surface of the story. Remember, sometimes
the most complicated machinery to fix isn't under
the hood of a car, it's the people standing around
it. Take care, stay curious, and we'll talk to
you next time.