There are two kinds of suburbs: those born of tract homes constructed on former cornfields and christened with names reflecting lofty fantasies (e.g., Rolling Meadows, Hoffman Estates), and those like Evanston and Wheaton, boasting full-service communities before mid-20th-century sprawl stereotyped all exurban settlements as ghettos for automobile-enslaved breeders. In the 150-year-old town of Naperville, however, even a franchise facility lying 35 miles southwest of Chicago can become a fortress, serving its citizens as similar shelters did their pioneering forebearers, The fortress, in this case, is a Caribou coffee shop, launched during the designer-wakeups craze of the 1970s — where, over a single day, from its 5 a.m. opening time its 10 p.m. closing, we meet five pilgrims rendered temporarily adrift, seeking refuge before setting out again, much as they imagine the founder of their village must have done after abandoning his ships to build houses. Chief among them is an outspoken matron who has recently lost her sight following an accident but who still navigates the distance between her table and the restroom without the assistance of a cane, to the distress of her grown son, whose protectiveness may stem from his guilt at having made a successful life for himself in faraway Seattle. He is prepared to devote himself entirely to his parent's care, but Mummy is more interested in matching him with the single woman she has just met, who, it turns out, has retreated to the safety of her childhood home to lick her wounds. Joining them is a friendly evangelist and an eager-to-please male barista, both of whom likewise look for atonement and sanctuary within the caffeine depot's ersatz North Woods decor. It would be easy to portray this locale and its denizens as sitcom-slick buffoons, as if catastrophic disabilities, filial neglect or misdirected revenge were worthy of serious consideration only when afflicting the famous or powerful. Mat Smart's carefully crafted script, brimming with historical references that never for an instant impede the dramatic flow, refuses to traffic in snobbery, though, as do director Jeremy Wexler and his cast, who deliver sensitively nuanced performances reflecting warmth and compassion toward characters weighted down with remorse, but courageously determined to put aside their individual crises and forge ahead — thus ensuring our empathy for what can be viewed as a universally human experience, whether occurring in a Russian dacha, Manhattan penthouse or your neighborhood java joint.
