By Jason Osiason

Hard Truths begins as a familial masterclass in bitter, cranky insults. At its center is Pansy Deacon, played with phenomenal precision by Marianne Jean-Baptiste. She delivers barbs to everyone around her; her husband Curtley, her son Moses, her sister Chantelle, and it almost feels like sport. Her harsh humor acts as armor against the world. She dominates every small gathering, the dinner table, the living room, with her relentless, sarcastic tirades.

But Leigh lets the story deepen beyond the barbs. As Pansy’s family pushes in, sometimes weary of her jabs, sometimes trying to reach her—we begin to see the weight behind it. Old disappointments resurface, long-held hurts bubble up, and her brittle jokes begin to crack. Those throwaway quips turn out to be echoes of unmet dreams, broken connections, and a loneliness she cannot entirely hide.

Jean-Baptiste is extraordinary in navigating that shift. She never allows Pansy to feel one note. Every insult holds a shard of vulnerability. When her defenses finally falter, you realize the humor was less about cruelty and more about survival.

Leigh orchestrates it all with masterful precision, starting in chaos and sharp comedy and then tightening everything until the emotional center refuses to stay locked away. What begins as a wickedly funny portrait of a difficult family turns into a piercing look at how humor masks grief, regret, and longing.

Hard Truths is both funny and heartbreakingly human. It lingers because it captures how laughter can shield us, even as it betrays wounds we would rather not admit. At its core, Jean-Baptiste gives a career defining performance. Welcome back, Mike. [A-]