Eunji Lim Stars in Dimes Square

Amidst a plethora of robust performances, Eunji Lim and Josh Mallin’s striking two-hander is the scene that leaves the strongest impression in “Dimes Square”.

From freely-floating cigarette smoke to actors physically weaving through seated audience members, it’s often easy to forget that a play is taking place within the homy walls of 432 Hudson Street. Such is the nature of Matthew Gasda’s “Dimes Square” – a brilliant, Sorkin-esque glimpse into the lives of several millennial friends – set inside a single living room, over the course of several nights.

It’s filled with sharp dialogue and witty banter, excelling most when allowing its talented cast to play – bouncing off each other’s energy; feeding off anger, lust, frustration, and laughter. Yet, in an ensemble cast counting the likes of Christian Lorentzen, Cassidy Grady, Beau Scheier, Max MacDonald, and more, it’s the singular performance of Eunji Lim (who steals her scenes in and of themselves) that captivate the most vividly.

“Dimes Square” is inherently a story about friends – the dynamics between a group; the interruptions; the misunderstandings; the crowded, busy nature of a shared room – but Lim’s character, Bora, is introduced as an outsider, late to the party. Not necessarily “removed” from the friend group (as explored through a sexual relationship with Max McDonald’s Stefan), Bora instead gives Gasda’s play the dimension its first act always needed: the perspective of the individual.

This is where Lim shines – taking advantage of unique scenes that seemingly emulate a character study, more so than a friend group. Rich with subtext and emotional baggage, Lim cuts a figure who is both a successful cinematographer, but also a weary socialite. Caught in a rivalry between Stefan and her scene partner, Terry (Josh Mallin), Bora bears the weight of being the only woman of color in the group – while also seemingly the most emotionally mature. Lim tackles this duplicity with both nuance and care, moving from tirade to exhaustion with gentle ease. It’s a role that seems to play to her strengths, exhibiting a fierce confidence that palpably captivates the room.

Midway through the play, Lim’s Bora and Mallin’s Terry find themselves alone, inside the living room. Their friends have disappeared to the roof – leaving the two to not only discuss doubts, but unpack fear. Bora doesn’t shy away from asking the hard questions – prying into the insecurities that Terry, perhaps, isn’t even aware of, himself. It’s in this scene that the audience falls the most silent. The scene in which every ear is turned to Lim – faced away from her scene partner, overcome with emotion. Listeners hang on to every word, sniffle, and broken confession that Lim emotes – treated to a feisty explosion, later on in the scene. It’s a display of control and range: one that Lim effortlessly channels into a character that seems criminally underused in Gasda’s script. Lim seems to recognize that hidden potential, finding confidence not only in her lines, but the character Bora represents. Her performance becomes a statement of intent: of her acting skill, but equally – and if not more importantly – how the friends on the fringes of our lives can both hold us together and shake us to our core.