‘To Kill a Mockingbird’ Is A Welcome Addition to Umbrella Theatre’s Season

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The Cast of ‘To Kill a Mockingbird’ at The Umbrella Arts Center
Photos by Jim Sabitus

By Shelley A. Sackett

To Kill a Mockingbird, the 1960 Pulitzer Prize-winning novel written by Harper Lee and dramatized in 1970 by Christopher Sergel, tells the story of events that take place in the small town of Maycomb, Alabama, during the Depression (1932 to 1935). The plot and characters are based on Lee’s observations of her family, neighbors and an actual event that took place in 1936 near her hometown, Monroeville, Alabama.

Lee was 10 years old at the time, the same age as Scout (Jean Louise), her novel’s narrator and thinly veiled stand-in for the author. In the theatrical version, 10-year-old narrator Scout is replaced by her adult self, Jean Louise, adding a layer of nuance.

The play (145 minutes, one intermission) follows the lives and rich imaginations of the Finch children (Scout and her older brother, Jem) and their friend, Dill, who visits his aunt in Maycomb for the summer. Maycomb is a quiet town with deep-seated social hierarchies based on race, class, socioeconomic status, and how long each family has lived there.

Its residents are closely knit and tightly wound. There are strict lines about gender, class, social standing, finances, and most important of all, race, and those who cross those lines do so at their peril.

Barlow Adamson, Shelly Knight

Atticus Finch, Scout and Jem’s widowed father, is a middle-aged lawyer with a strong sense of right and wrong and a dignified, gentlemanly bearing. He encourages the children to think of Calpurnia, their Black cook and caregiver, as family. He approaches their every question as a teachable moment, and breaks down huge issues into bite-sized morsels they can digest more easily.

Most important of all, he tries to instill in them the ability to feel empathy before criticizing or condemning. “You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view […] until you climb into his skin and walk around in it,” he tells Scout and Jem. Everyone is equal in Atticus’s eyes, and the weakest must always be defended against the most powerful.

For the most part, the children busy themselves each summer with convoluted plans to lure their reclusive neighbor, Arthur “Boo” Radley, out of his house. Miss Stephanie, one of the town’s Queen Bee gossips, has filled their heads with tales of Boo as a mysterious and dangerous person who even stabbed his own father with a pair of scissors.

They start to notice small gifts left in the knothole of a tree, and assume they are for them. They also assume they are from Boo, even though they’ve never laid eyes on him.

Shelly Knight, Joseph Hobbib, Ryan Spry

Soon after, the atmosphere in Maycomb becomes thick with unbridled prejudice and raw hate. Atticus is appointed to defend Tom Robinson, a Black man falsely accused of raping Mayella Ewell, a White woman. Atticus believes every person deserves a fair defense; he doesn’t just talk this talk, he relishes the opportunity to walk the walk, his back straight and his head held high.

The townspeople aren’t as civic-minded, and both Atticus and his children are soon the targets of mob terror tactics.

Bryce Mathieu, Adamson

One of the book’s most poignant scenes (well adapted by Sergel) is when Scout outs a masked man who has come with his posse to menace Atticus as he stands guard all night at the jail where Robinson is being held pending trial.

“Hey, Mr. Cunningham,” she says, recognizing his hat. She asks about his family (she knows they have no money as she earlier witnessed him paying Atticus’s fees with turnips and kindling) and asks him to say “hey” to his son, who is in her class at school.

Shamed and embarrassed, Cunningham calls off his pack dogs and heads home.

Things heat up even more after the trial (among the play’s — and book’s — best scenes) and boil over one night when Scout and Jem are attacked in the woods. Despite disappointment and tragedy, all is eventually resolved, and there is a sense of closure and hopefulness by the play’s end.

Director Scott Edmiston uses Janie Howland’s simple but elegant set to his best advantage, and the addition of Valerie Thompson’s emotive solo cello is a stroke of brilliance. In a cast of many, Amelia Broome (adult Jean Louise Finch), Carolyn Saxon (Calpurnia), Bryce Mathieu (Tom Robinson), and Barlow Adamson (Atticus) stand out.

Damon Singletary, Carolyn Saxon, Shelly Knight

As impressive as it was that the three youngsters playing Scout, Jem and Dill learned so many lines, it was sadly impossible to hear and understand their words. Frustrating for the audience; tragic for the actors.

To Kill a Mockingbird, with its themes highlighting racial prejudice, moral courage, and lost innocence, is as relevant today as it was when written. To wit, it is frequently challenged and has been banned or removed from various school districts across the U.S., including in Mississippi, California, and Virginia, often due to its use of the N-word, racial slurs, and uncomfortable themes regarding race. While it is not nationally banned, it consistently appears on the American Library Association’s (ALA) list of most challenged books, frequently ranking in the top ten.

What a shame that the lesson of love and respect at the heart of this work is so feared by those who need to hear (and heed) it most. As Atticus so eloquently explains to his young daughter, “Shoot all the bluejays you want, if you can hit ‘em, but remember it’s a sin to kill a mockingbird.” After all, mockingbirds are delicate, vulnerable creatures who never do anything harmful. All they want to do is to pleasure others with their clear, beautiful singing.

‘To Kill a Mockingbird’ — Dramatized by Christopher Sergel. Based on the Book by Harper Lee. Directed by Scott Edmiston. Scenic Design by Janie Howland; Lighting Design by SeifAllah Salotto-Cristobal; Costumes by Rachel Padula-Shufelt; Sound Design by Chris Brousseau; Original Music on Cello by Valerie Thompson. Presented by The Umbrella Stage Company, 40 Stow St., Concord, MA, through March 22.For more information, visit https://theumbrellaarts.org/

Apollinaire’s Impassioned ‘A View from the Bridge’ Reveals Troubled Waters Below

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Cast of Apollinaire’s ‘A View from the Bridge’
Photos by Darlene DeVita

‘A View from the Bridge’ — Written by Arthur Miller. Directed by David R. Gammons. Scenic and Sound by Joseph Lark-Riley; Costumes by Elizabeth Rocha; Lighting by Kevin Fulton. Presented by Apollinaire Theatre, 189 Winnisimmet St., Chelsea, through March 22.

By Shelley A. Sackett

Arthur Miller, a prominent 20th century American playwright best known for the classics Death of a Salesman (1949) and The Crucible (1953), penned the two-act A View from the Bridge in 1956 to tackle themes of working-class masculinity; conflicts between natural and bureaucratic law; family dynamics; feminism, and the struggles faced by immigrants (especially when illegal and confronted by anti-immigrant backlash).

He created the Carbones, a 1950s Italian-American household living in Red Hook, Brooklyn, as the vehicle through which to explore these timeless big ticket topics. He also uses their soap opera family dramas to investigate and expose the underbelly of human emotions and the havoc they can wreak.

The play opens on Joseph Lark-Riley’s stark but effective stage that will serve as a dock, a lawyer’s office, an apartment, and a street. The full cast assembles on the large center platform, everyone talking at once in a variety of languages, a Brooklyn version of the Tower of Babel. It doesn’t seem to matter that they can’t understand each other; they speak not to converse, but to express.

This style of flawed, blindered communication will inevitably result in tragic consequences and is at the heart of A View from the Bridge’s real message.

Miller uses the elderly lawyer Alfieri (Dev Luthra) as omniscient narrator and Greek Chorus stand-in to describe Red Hook and the unexciting types of cases he usually deals with. Once in a while, however, one stands out, like Eddie Carbone (Jorge Rubio), a 40-year-old longshoreman. Although this catastrophe was inevitable, its trajectory was unstoppable.

The action seamlessly shifts to the living room of Eddie’s apartment, where he lives with his wife, Beatrice (the marvelous Sehnaz Dirik), and their 17-year-old adopted niece Catherine (Naomi Kim). The second Eddie walks through the door, the conflict that is a recipe for full-blown tragedy is as obvious as it is menacing.

Sehnaz Dirik, Jorge Rubio, Naomi Kim

Eddie makes a beeline for Catherine, flirting with her in a way that is creepy and borderline incestuous. She responds with playful childishness, but it is clear that a part of her understands exactly what he is doing and likes it.

Beatrice just as clearly gets it and unambiguously does NOT like it. Yet, the furthest she will go is to throw quick verbal jabs at Eddie, trying to reason with him and point out the wrongness of his behavior. He predictably rebuffs her. She continues to suffer in silence, unwilling to confront the man she loves, even as he humiliates her to her face.

It’s hard to find much to like, let alone empathize with, in Eddie. Brash, tyrannical, petty and lacking self-awareness, he has channeled his passion into Catherine, pouring his money and soul into raising her to be better than he is. He has kept her locked in a gilded cage, “protecting” her by forbidding her to hang out with contemporaries.

This night, there is big news to share. Beatrice’s cousins are arriving from Sicily, and Catherine has landed a job, even though she still hasn’t graduated from high school. Eddie has granted permission for the cousins to stay in his home, but he is not as amenable to Catherine unfurling her wings and launching into the real world and a life independent of Eddie’s control.

Rubio, Dirik

Beatrice cajoles, begs and tries to reason, but ultimately defers to Eddie’s position as decision-maker. Only after the women refuse to talk to him or even acknowledge his presence does he cave and allow Catherine to take the job she so desperately wants (and deserves).

Things don’t fare as well when the cousins arrive. Although Eddie claims he is honored to be able to help his family, he harbors deep resentment that no one helped his own family when they arrived under similar circumstances. The “submarines” (illegal immigrants) are brothers Marco (Rohan Misra) and Rodolpho (Andres Molano Sotomayor). Marco, married with children he already misses, is anxious to get to work at the docks and send money home. He is serious and sullen.

Younger brother Rodolpho is the opposite. Blond (think Ryan Gosling in “Barbie”), unconventional, and with the soul of an artist (he sings jazz, dances, cooks and jokes), Rodolpho is popular on the docks. He opens Catherine’s eyes and heart to the possibility of a life of her own outside Eddie’s clutch.

Soon, the two are courting, in full view of the increasingly unhinged and rattled Eddie.

His domestic tyranny is threatened for the first time. He panics at the thought of losing his caged bird, increasingly desperate and pathetic. He claims Rodolpho has homosexual tendencies and is only interested in marrying Catherine to gain citizenship. “I want my respect,” he insists, a line that has always worked with the more compliant Beatrice.

Even Beatrice is alarmed by Eddie’s behavior, and she finally tries to intervene directly. She counsels Catherine to do as she says, be independent, and set boundaries (something she is unable to accomplish). To Eddie, she is blunter. “When are you going to leave her alone?” she demands. “You’ve got to stop it.”

In desperate jealousy, Eddie turns to Alfieri, hoping for help from the law. “Too much love sometimes goes where it shouldn’t,” he tells Eddie. “Let it go. Let her live her life.”

When Eddie protests that he can’t do that, Alfieri tells him that the only recourse he has is to report Rodolpho and Marco as undocumented. As in much of the play’s sometimes unsurprising plot, Miller doesn’t hide the ball, foreshadowing the bad seed that will grow into the tragic beanstalk that will poison many lives.

Kim, Rubio

In Act II, Eddie snaps, releasing a boulder that careens with a destructive force that will affect every character and climax in a crisis that brings little catharsis or closure.

David R. Gammon’s directing and Kevin Fulton’slighting create believable illusions of different times and places. The scene with Eddie and his two buddies on the dock is particularly effective, using uplit faces, coordinated head turns, and spine-chilling laughter to craft a sense of camaraderie, hysteria, and threat.

As Beatrice, the always superb Dirik breathes life into Eddie’s drab, brow-beaten, and long-suffering wife. Her facial expression, cadence, and spot-on gestures are impossible to ignore, whether she is center-stage and delivering a crucial speech or silently reacting. Her magnetism on stage is a pleasure to witness.

Although a few characters seem miscast and the last scene is one of overly prolonged top volume agony, Apollinaire Theatre’s two-hour (one intermission) production is particularly timely and a reminder of why this play has won Tony and Drama Critic awards, the Pulitzer Prize, and been adapted for opera, television, film and radio.

For more information and tickets, visit: https://www.apollinairetheatre.com

It’s a Topsy-Turvy Planet in The Huntington’s ‘We Had A World’

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Amy Resnick, Will Conard in Huntington’s ‘We Had A World’. Photos by Annielly Camargo

‘We Had A World’ — Written by Joshua Harmon. Directed by Keira Fromm. Scenic Design by Courtney O’Neill; Costume Design by Izumi Inaba; Lighting Design by Tyler Micoleau; Sound Design and Original Music by Melanie Chen Cole, Presented by The Huntington at Wimberly Theatre, Calderwood Pavilion, 527 Tremont St., Boston through March 15.

By Shelley A. Sackett

Joshua Harmon covers a lot of ground in the arresting We Had A World. On its surface, the 100-minute one-act play is a deeply personal disinterment and examination of the complicated dyad relationships among his grandmother (Nana/Renee), his mother (Ellen), and Josh, Harmon’s autobiographical self. Equal parts loving requiem and vicious vendetta, the playwright fleshes out these complicated characters, channeling the emotional messiness and magnificence of a family where acrimony, blame, selfishness, and self-destruction share the stage with humor, love, gratitude, generosity, self-sacrifice and honesty. Spanning 1988-2018, the story is told in a nonlinear fashion, a patchwork quilt of episodes where each square is one person’s version of the same event. As the colors and patterns shift, so do our impressions of the three characters.

Scratch even slightly below that surface, however, and a more universal message bubbles up: we all have secrets, every family harbors its own shame, every family member has their own version of what REALLY happened. “Family is just a collection of people who can see things extremely differently,” Josh explains.

Resnick

The play begins with 94-year-old Renee (a commanding Amy Resnick) telling Josh (Will Conard, perfectly cast) she has incurable cancer. She asks him to write a play about their family, giving him the green light to do what he has always wanted to but was afraid to ask for her permission. There is one catch, however: the play must be as bitter and vitriolic as possible. “It ought to be a real humdinger,” Nana says gleefully. “You can even make your grandmother a real Medea.” (Reminder – Medea is the one who kills her own children and suffers neither consequence nor conscience).

Josh literally jumps at the chance to plumb his backstory, both to pay homage and loosen its tightly wrapped shroud. When Nana and mom Ellen (a forceful Eva Kaminsky) snatch the mic out of his hand, he gives them free rein to chime in, but this is his story, and their accounts reach us as his memories of them.

We start our journey riding shotgun beside a 5-year-old Josh. He lives in the suburbs of New York City, which he realizes, even at that young age, is not where he belongs. Nana lives in an elegant apartment in Manhattan’s Upper East Side. She feigns a British accent, despite being raised in Brooklyn by immigrant parents. Even her furniture has an exotic backstory (she brought it home from Paris).

She is as devoted to her grandson as he is smitten with her. She is unfiltered, outrageous and honest. She treats him as an equal, speaking as if he were a contemporary rather than six decades her junior. At five, she signs him up for a two-week art class at the Met. At nine, she takes him to a Robert Mapplethorpe exhibit. She senses the smoldering ember of Josh’s artistic proclivity and, rather than dousing it, turns the fan on full blast.

Resnick, Conard

At ten, she takes him to see Medea. Afterwards, he asks her if she would ever kill her own children. “That would depend on the situation,” she says without hesitation.

Josh’s mother, Ellen, is as buttoned up and earthbound as Nana is mercurial. A lawyer and self-proclaimed bitch, Ellen is the personification of the sandwich generation, responsible parent to both her mother, Renee, and son, Josh. She is a problem solver and provider. She feels burdened and resentful, seething with anger at her own mother, yet unable to let go of her need to be her caregiver.

If ever there were a contest for poster children to represent destructive co-dependence, these two would win hands down.

Josh is caught in the middle of a situation he doesn’t understand. Why can’t the two most important people in his life get along? Why does he have to feel like he has to choose sides?

Eventually, after Nana fails to show up at Josh’s first acting gig, Ellen unlocks the family closet and the skeletons come tumbling out. Josh learns that Nana is an alcoholic. Ellen’s father was, and remains, her enabler and protector. Ellen grew up neglected and psychologically abused, cleaning up after her mother and, in return, earning attacks of her unbridled rage.

His mother’s vigilance and overprotection are not, Josh realizes, based on jealousy of his relationship with Nana. She is only trying to be the kind of parent she wishes she had had. “If you botch raising your children, nothing else matters,” Ellen tells Josh. “Raising your children is the most important thing we do.”

Conard, Eva Kaminsky

Suddenly, Josh’s world is flipped on its head. His mom’s animosity toward her mother makes sense. And Nana, whose crown he has happily polished and revered, is suddenly off her pedestal. How he reconciles his feelings about both with this new intel puts his loyalty squarely in his mother’s court. When Renee, ever the triangulator, tries to pit Josh against his mother, he responds differently for the first time.

“I cannot think of a more giving, generous, loving, thoughtful member than my mother, and attempts to hurt her hurt me very, very deeply. Trying to balance my relationship with my family and you has not been easy the past few years. But if you force me to choose sides, as it were, you must know I will always side with my family,” he writes in response to an invitation from Renee to a family vacation that excludes Ellen.

In a play with only three characters, the quality of the acting is critical, and director Keira Fromm has plenty to work with. The chemistry among the actors is palpable, and each brings a believable naturalness to their role. Resnick, as Renee, shines, relying on gestures, gait and cadence to skip from 65- to 94-years-old. Although presenting physically as frail and diminutive, Resnick’s Renee casts an oversized shadow over Courtney O’Neill’s fetching set.

Kaminsky is solid as Ellen, bringing an element of compassion and empathy to an otherwise one-dimensional, strident role. It is Conrad’s Josh, however, who is the centrifugal force that keeps these two repellant magnetic forces from sailing off into the stratosphere. His unpretentious ease and facial expressions rope us in and give nuance and gravitas to what could have been a plastic character in less skilled hands.

Harmon’s script is by no means perfect, and the nods to climate change feel forced and awkward, as do some vignettes which overstay their welcome by a beat or two. Overall, though, the pace is brisk, the humor (for the most part) lands well, and the dialogue and narration hit their marks.

Harmon, whose credits include Prayer for the French Republic, Bad Jews, Admissions, and Significant Other, is no stranger to tackling big-ticket, macro topics. In We Had A World, he still examines Judaism and Jewish identity, family dynamics, and the effects of the passage of time, but this time, he brings it to a micro level where it is possible to submerge and totally relate.

Grandparents are meant to play a different role in their grandchildren’s lives, and Harmon’s valentine to his own Nana, warts and all, is as universal as it is heartwarming.

“Women who should not have been mothers can make very compelling grandmothers,” Josh concludes. “Nana, if you’re really watching, I just want to say thanks.”

For more information, visit https://www.huntingtontheatre.org/

CST’s Stunning ‘The Moderate’ Unleashes the Internet’s Good, Bad and Ugliest

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Nael Nacer in CST’s ‘The Moderate’. Photos: Nile Scott Studios.

‘The Moderate’ — written by Ken Urban. Direction and Multimedia Design by Jared Mezzocchi. Scenic Design by Sibyl Wickersheimer; Lighting Design by Kevin Fulton; Sound Design by Christian Frederickson; Assistant Projections Design by Emery Frost. A Catalyst Collaborative@MIT Production presented by Central Square Theater, 450 Mass. Ave, Cambridge through March 1.

By Shelley A. Sackett

The Moderate is not for everyone.

Kudos to Central Square Theater for its excellent job of warning that the play contains mature themes, including images, video, and audio depictions of violence, nudity, and racism. Its Content Transparency Statement goes even further, stating, “Central Square Theater cares about the well-being of our audience. We are committed to sharing information about stage effects, sensory experiences, and topics people may find distressing in advance of attending our productions.” The theater recommends that audience members be older than 17. (See full program here).

On a recent Sunday matinée, one woman left early, clearly distressed. The rest of the capacity crowd stayed put, transfixed by one of the most compelling productions to hit Boston this season.

Two-time Obie Award winner, director and multimedia designer Jared Mazzocchi and scenic designer Sibyl Wickersheimer set the stage and mood before the play even begins. Stark metal scaffolding and 10 wrap-around screens hover above a screened gazebo. It is March 2020, at the beginning of the pandemic and lockdown. Inside the gazebo/cage, a man sits hunched over his computer, busy at work. His face is projected in double negatives above, framing shooting purple lights. Suddenly, the other screens come to life with images that range from loving couples holding hands to actual beheadings.

Celeste Oliva, Nacer

The man behind the screen is middle-aged Frank Bonner (the always excellent Nael Nacer), newly estranged from his wife, Edyth (Celeste Oliva), and his teenage son. He’s also just lost his job at Kohl’s and is facing mounting debt, including loans he took out to pursue a degree in English literature at a community college. Isolated and desperate, Frank has applied to be a content moderator for a company subcontracted to a company contracted by the social media global giant meant to be Facebook.

During his interview with Martin (Greg Maraio), Frank (and the audience) learn exactly what the job entails.

When viewers encounter content on the web they deem to be “questionable” and alert the provider, Martin explains, that content goes into a queue for human evaluation. The evaluator views the content and presses either “Accept” or “Reject.” Personal beliefs are irrelevant to the job, Martin advises (warns?) Frank. “Just follow the company guidelines.”

Martin also warns (advises?) Frank to “try to look but not see” some of the more traumatic images that will parade across his screen, especially anything having to do with ISIS.

Frantic for a job and any diversion during his marital and societal isolation, Frank jumps at the chance to earn $17 an hour.

As he screens a never-ending stream of debatable content, the work takes a predictable emotional and psychological toll, and the audience, riding shotgun as we are, channels that upheaval. A young but seasoned colleague, Rayne (the enormously appealing spitfire Jules Talbot), counsels Frank when he hears that he wants to help a kid named Gus (Sean Wendelken), who has repeatedly filmed and posted evidence of beatings by his father. His pleas for help have struck a long-buried chord in Frank.

This may also be an opportunity to use his job (and the Internet) to do some good. Redemption? Perhaps. Relief? Definitely.

Not so fast, Rayne cautions. Never, ever get personally involved. “This job changes you; you decide how. It can make you better, or it can break you,” says Rayne. “Compartmentalizing is the only way to survive.”

Frank struggles with more than whether to protect a stranger (and, perhaps, heal himself). Society’s obsession with technology and the power of those in charge of that technology literally shapes the world we live in. Are moderators defenders of decency and morality or simply “Internet garbage men” doing the bidding of corporate profit seekers and right-wing fanatics, as Rayne suggests? The answers are as slippery as the slope that forces Frank to “accept” a photo of a white family embracing a young black girl titled, “Every family needs a pet,” which, according to corporate guidelines, is only ambiguously racist.

Playwright Ken Urban interviewed scholars and people who worked as moderators to create his one-act drama. He envisioned an innovative staging that would incorporate live video in “surprising ways” while exposing audiences to the kind of disturbing visuals that cling to the underbelly of the dark web.

Mezzocchi and his team are more than up for the job. For this world premiere, they create a technological landscape that seamlessly invades body and mind, creating a secret world we all live in, where erasing a video does nothing to stop the underlying evil. When a technological glitch early in the 90-minute production brought the lights back up, it was as if the fourth wall melted.

Suddenly, we were all in it together, all hostage to the technology we can’t live with and can’t live without. As Nacer busied himself at his desk, the audience was in his shoes, wondering whether this was a staged or real hiccup, trying to figure out if it’s ok to busy ourselves too, and maybe even turn our phones on and cop a quick fix.

Lest the misimpression be left that The Moderate is a 90-minute, relentless parade of vile images, rest assured that Urban has created a multi-layered story with complex, multifaceted characters who lead complicated, messy, and real lives, peppered with real challenges. A universally talented cast, bang-up production, and sharp direction bring this very human story to life and force us to confront some uncomfortable but valid questions about whether we can control technology or whether our addiction has forced us to relinquish the driver’s seat. One thing is for sure — The Moderate is certain to spark lively post-theater discussions.

For more information, go to: https://www.centralsquaretheater.org/

‘Library Lion’ Is As Much a Delight for Grownups as It Is For Kids

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Ken Crossman as Kevin and Jayden Declet as Michelle play with the lion (puppeteer Amy Liou). Photo by Nile Scott Studios

By Shelley A. Sackett

Last Sunday, I was probably the only adult at the noon performance of Library Lion unaccompanied by kids and/or grandkids. For 70 uninterrupted minutes, I was treated to an uplifting, high quality production of one of the most delightful musical shows I’ve seen in a while. Plus, I had the dual luxuries of watching a room full of youngsters and eavesdropping on their comments without having to be “in charge” of any of them.

Before the curtain even comes up, there is enchantment in the air. Three “agents of magic” wearing khaki jumpsuits and matching hats mount the stairs to the stage and stand in front of the curtain. (They later double as puppeteers). One flicks her wrist and the music comes up (clarinet, cello, piano); another’s gesture turns down houselights and the third cups her hand and lifts it, raising the curtain on the most glorious library this side of Hogwarts.

The audience responds with squeals and applause — and those were the adults!

Mr. McBee (played with charm and a dose of OCD by Robert Saoud), the librarian, sings his introduction to the library and the all-important rules that must be obeyed while visiting — no shouting , no eating/drinking and no running. When he breaks the fourth wall and points to a child in the second row (“This means you — no candy”), he has the crowd eating out of his hand.

“Oh, library,” he rhapsodizes, “you are my shrine.”

The plot is fairly straightforward. Kevin (Aaron Mancaniello is a riot) and Michelle (Jayden Declet) have come to the library to work on an assignment. They are to find fables and report on them in their classrooms. Mr. McBee is all rules and stuffiness, reminding the youngsters that the library is a serious place. Kevin, exasperated, finally asks “But where’s the fun?”

On cue, head librarian Miss Merriweather (lithe and lovely Janis Hudson) arrives. She is as ethereal and playful as Mr. McBee is grumpy and earthbound. The most surprising thing about the stuffy Mr. McBee, in fact, is the passion igniting the flaming torch he carries for her.

With Miss Merriweather at the helm, the library takes on a different pallor. Books let you travel the world without leaving your chair, she tells them. Storybooks come to life, thanks to stagecraft special touches. Blue silk doubles as an ocean and books mounted on sticks open and shut like umbrellas. “Extraordinary things really happen when you read,” she explains.

Janis Hudson as Mrs. Merriweather confronts the Lion in Adam Theater’s 2025 production of LIBRARY LION.

Soon it’s story time with Storyteller (Clara Hevia), and the three puppeteers reappear with the star of the show — the lion. And what a lion it is.

Jim Henson Creature Shop has created a magnificent creature, all mane, tail and emotion. The slightest angle of head, the tilting of eyelids or the placement of paw or tail reveals a range of emotion that is deeper and more varied than Mr. McBee’s. Everyone is delighted — everyone except Mr. McBee, of course.

Miss Merriweather prevails when he complains, asking if the lion has broken any rules. Caught in his own web, he has to admit the lion is blameless. “Then let him be,” she chides.

Eventually, Mr. McBee finds a reason to banish the lion, but when he realizes he was wrong, he makes amends and counsels the children that “even adults can make mistakes.” Other life lessons follow. First impressions are not be trusted because fear of the unfamiliar might color them an incorrect hue. You can’t tell a book by its cover. Forgiveness and apologies are important for children and adults and sometimes, it’s O.K. to bend or even break rules depending on the situation.

Although the Adam Theater is a contemporary theater for young audiences, dedicated to making high quality theater accessible to all youngsters, Library Lion is a top-notch production as suitable for adults as their progeny. Skilled musicians, a perky score, a libretto full of rhyming couplets and double entendres, charming song and dance numbers, and a talented cast make for a thoroughly enjoyable and refreshing theatrical experience. Treat yourself to a vacation from the news and the weather and hi-tail it to see Library Lion while you still have time. You won’t regret it.

Library Lion’ —Adapted from the book “Library Lion” by Michelle Knudsen and illustrated by Kevin Hawkes. Directed by Ran Bechor. Book and Lyrics by Eli Bejaoui; Music by Yoni Rechter and Roy Friedman; Songs composed by Yoni Rechter; Puppet Design & Build by Jim Henson Creature Shop. Scenic Design by Cameron Anderson; Costume Design by Ula Shebchuv; Lighting Design by Daniel H. Jentzen; Sound Design by Irene Wang. Presented by Adam Theater at The Calderwood Pavilion, 527 Tremont St., Boston through Jan. 25.

For more information, visit adamtheater.org/library-lion

A Therapy Session Becomes a Cat-and-Mouse Thriller in SpeakEasy’s ‘Job’

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Josephine Moshiri Elwood and Dennis Trainor Jr. in Speakeasy Stage’s ‘JOB’
Photos by Benjamin Rose Photography

By Shelley A. Sackett

Playwright Max Wolf Friedlich wastes no time establishing the life-or-death stakes in his two-person thriller, Job. The lights come up in media res. A woman holds a gun pointed directly at a man’s head. Jane (Josephine Moshiri Elwood) is shaking, enraged and desperate. Lloyd (Dennis Trainor, Jr.), clearly shaken, holds a clipboard and a pen. “Let’s just talk this through,” Lloyd entreats, right before the first of many, many abrupt blackouts, flashes and eerie sounds.

Seconds later, in the next tableau, Jane still holds the gun to Lloyd’s head, but he wears a cocky smirk. “You did it,” he spits at her. “You were right about everything.” Another blackout.

These staccato scenes repeat until the set and scene settle and hints at who/what/where and why are revealed. “… and whatever is happening in your life, I promise, we can talk about it, I will listen,” Lloyd coos. Jane, at last, relaxes and lowers her gun, seeming to come to her senses. In a flash, chameleon-like, she is terrified. “This is not who I am, I would never like -FUCK! Are you going to call the police?!” she shouts, followed soon by a compliant, “Can we keep going?”

All of this occurs within the first five minutes.

Lloyd, it turns out, is a therapist who specializes in work crises. He has been assigned to evaluate Jane’s mental fitness to return to work at a Bay Area tech company where she is a content moderator (which she calls “user care”). She spends all day watching and searching for violent, sexually perverse videos so she can report and block them. When she describes in graphic detail the ugliness she encounters, she drives home the toxic fungus of humanity that can thrive undetected in the dark underbelly of the Internet.

Like Jeanne d’Arc, she is a crusader, keeping the world safe for the billions who spend as much time in the virtual world as they do in the physical. “The internet isn’t some fringe ‘young people’ thing anymore – it’s where we live. It’s our home and I am the front line of defense − there’s nobody else,” she tells Lloyd.

What brought her to this mandated session was an in-office mental breakdown that included a screaming fit atop furniture, which a heartless co-worker recorded and posted to, ironically, the Internet. Unsurprisingly, the video went viral, reaching meme status. She is a one-woman Millennial vigilante, intelligent, combative, edgy, obsessed with the responsibility and power of her job, willing to “extract the darkness” of the online hellish landscape by sponging it. “It’s a privilege to suffer as much as I do,” she states. Her mission is ordained — to expose and root out Evil, “the kind God warns about.”

She’s also more than a little scary, even more so when holding a gun pointed at Lloyd’s head.

Lloyd, by contrast, is a sixty-something Boomer, an ex-hippie who hates big corporations and the type of technology Jane’s generation has foisted onto his previously crunchier environment. His office is a realistic hodge-podge of plants, posters and shabby chic. He is as calm as she is manic, as resentful of the Gen Z generation and how they have changed the global landscape as Jane is of his generation’s hypocrisy and the NIMBYism that created a housing shortage blamed on tech workers.

He is also earnest and patronizing (“My only job is to help you”), manipulative and judgmental. And, like Jane, he believes no one can do his job as well as he can. “I was destined to be your doctor,” he says matter-of-factly.

They are well-matched intellectually, their conversations sometimes morphing into a strange recasting of My Dinner with André. You can almost imagine them, under other circumstances, calmly and deftly debating the merits and demerits attributable to Boomer and Millennial/Gen Z generations.

To describe Elwood’s portrayal of Jane as flawless is an understatement. She doesn’t just play the part; she embodies it. Likewise, Trainor, Jr. is splendid as the slippery Lloyd, shifting gears with finesse and competence. Bassham’s direction is crisp and well-paced. The scripted abrupt blackouts and flashes, while effective at revealing Jane’s overstimulated mind, unfortunately become increasingly ineffective as their use increases.

Friedlich has peppered his taut, edge-of-your-seat adventure with punchy dialogue and hard-hitting questions. When does a job take on the attributes of a divine summons? How much evil can one person absorb before succumbing to its toxicity? At what point does self-sacrifice become self-preservation, and is it worth it?

Describing the details of the plot any further would risk tripping the spoiler alert buzzer, but suffice it say that Job is hardly an 80-minute therapy session. Rather, the play has more in common with a hostage situation and generational duel (and the ending is indeed a quintessential — and literal — showstopper). Highly recommended for those looking for a timely production with stellar performances and a smart, edgy script.

‘Job’ — Written by Max Wolf Friedlich. Directed by Marianna Bassham. Scenic Design by Peyton Tavares; Lighting Design by Amanda E. Fallon; Sound Design by Lee Schuna; Costume Design by E. Rosser. Presented by SpeakEasy Stage Co., Calderwood Pavilion, Boston, through Feb. 7.

For more information, visit https://speakeasystage.com/

Theater Mirror Reviewers ‘Best Of’ Lists for 2025

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Theater Mirror

Shelley A. Sackett

Caleb Levin, Odin Vega, Lyla Randall in ‘Fun Home’ at the Huntington. Photos by Marc J Franklin

While 2025 had its theatrical hits and misses, there was much to celebrate, especially among some smaller theaters presenting edgier and more provocative works. It was a varied year, with big, splashy musicals; sharp, intimate family dramas; and risk-taking, inventive productions that pushed the envelope on what we label “theater.” Once again, the vibrant greater Boston theater scene, with its stellar stable of directors, actors and creative production teams, blessed its patrons (and reviewers!) with an abundance of riches, for which we all should give thanks.

In descending order, my list is:

  1. Hamilton (Broadway in Boston)

A flawless production of the play that just keeps giving. Broadway in Boston’s production at Citizens Opera House was as good as it gets, from set design to actors to choreography and musical direction.

Adapted from Alison Bechdel’s graphic novel memoir, the storyline follows a family’s journey through sexual orientation, gender roles, suicide, emotional abuse, grief, loss, and lesbian Bechdel’s complicated relationship with her tightly closeted father. A brilliant script and score and superb production elevated this potentially gloomy tale to one of the year’s top performances.

Gloucester Stage effectively took the road less traveled in its presentation of the 80-year-old classic with an interesting and thought-provoking production that allowed the audience to experience Williams’ script anew through an exciting, hyper-focused and refractive lens.

There is so much to praise about SpeakEasy Stage Company’s ‘A Man of No Importance,’ director Paul Daigneault’s swansong production after leading the company he founded for 33 years, it’s hard to know where to begin. The ensemble of first-rate actors, musicians, choreography, set design, 20 songs, and brilliant directing were the shining constellation at the epicenter of this production that ends on an uplifting note, one that is as relevant and helpful today as it might have been in Oscar Wilde’s day..

No one can take his audience on an emotional and artistic roller coaster like Igor Golyak, founder and artistic director of Arlekin Players Theatre & Zero Gravity (Zero-G) Theater Lab. With Our Class, he introduced us to characters we initially relate to and bond with, spun an artistically ingenious cocoon, and then told a tale that ripped our heart to shreds and left us too overwhelmed to even speak. The acting was indescribably sublime, each actor both a searing individual and a perfect ensemble member.

In substance, Life and Times of Michael K tells the extraordinary story of an ordinary man. Adapted from the 1983 Booker Prize winner, written by South African novelist J. M. Coetzee, it details the life of the eponymous Michael K and his ailing mother during a fictional civil war in South Africa.

As adapted and directed by Lara Foot in collaboration with the Tony award-winning Handspring Puppet Company, this simple tale becomes the captivating and transportive production. Michael K. (and a cast of many) also happens to be a three-foot-tall puppet made of wood, cane, and carbon. “Must see” hardly does it justice; this is a groundbreaking pilgrimage into the multisensorial world of out-of-the-box theater.

This sunny, upbeat two-hander musical romantic comedy was as beguiling as it was impeccably acted, directed and produced. Unlike too many musicals these days, Two Strangers has a complicated plot and fetching music with lyrics that are Sondheim-esque in their conversational fluency and relevance. Add to that a smart, slick set, superb band, impeccable direction, and perfectly matched and equally talented actors for a full-blown fabulous evening of musical theater at its finest.

  • Rent (North Shore Music Theatre)

NSMT is tailor-made for musicals with its theatre-in-the-round, signature creative set designs and talented casts. With Rent, the Pulitzer Prize and Tony Award-winning musical set in New York City’s East Village from 1989 to 1990, it managed to pay homage to a classic that defined an era while also spotlighting its relevance to today.

Pulitzer Prize-winning playwright Hall spun his magic, culminating in a monologue set against a rapid montage of people, movements and events from 1968 to 2024. The effect was as spellbinding as the magical 90 minutes we just spent in the presence of greatness, from the acting, writing, and direction to witnessing the final hours in the life of a man whose legacy is deservedly legendary.

300 Paintings (A.R.T.)

In 2021, Aussie comedian Sam Kissajukian quit stand-up, rented an abandoned cake factory, and became a painter. Over the course of what turned out to be a six-month manic episode, he created three hundred large-scale paintings, documenting his mental state through the process. His Drama Desk Award-nominated solo performance brought the audience on an original and poignant ride exposing his most intimate moments. The opportunity to graze among the real art was after show icing on a delicious cake.

    Runners Up:

    1.  Is This A Room (Apollinaire Theater Company)

    A stunning production based on the F.B.I. interrogation of whistleblower Reality Winner.

    2. The 4th Witch (Manual Cinema)

    Hands down, the most wildly exciting and inventive production of the year. Manual Cinema pulled out all the stops, with shadow puppetry, live music, and actors in silhouette who redefined and reimagined theater. Inspired by Shakespeare’s Macbeth, a girl escapes the ravages of war and flees into the dark forest where she is rescued by a witch who adopts her as an apprentice. As she becomes more skilled in witchcraft, her grief and rage draw her into a nightmarish quest for vengeance against the warlord who killed her parents: Macbeth. Timely, relevant, and edge-of-your-seat engaging.

    3. Sweeney Claus (Gold Dust Orphans)

    Ryan Landry’s brilliant, irreverent, laugh-out-loud mash-up of Sweeney Todd and reindeer-randy Santa Claus brought camp to a new level. Terrific talent, costumes and choreography.

    4. My Dinner with André (Harbor Stage Company)

    A corner booth, fancy fare and tasty conversation — who doesn’t remember the cult frenzy caused by Louis Malle’s 1981 110-minute film that enchanted audiences, defied pigeon-holing and raised the bar on the “art” referred to as conversation? For those who found the film charmingly quirky, the splendid production at BCA Plaza Black Box Theatre was right up your alley.

    5. The Piano Lesson (Actors’ Shakespeare Project)

    Only stiff competition and the shadow of the high bar set by Seven Guitars in 2023 prevented ASP’s excellent production of Wilson’s Pulitzer Prize-winning drama from being among this year’s top ten.

    Apollinaire’s Thriller ‘Is This a Room’ Asks, ‘Who Is The Real Patriot in Today’s Murky World?’

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    Cristhian Mancinas-García, Bradley Belanger, Brooks Reeves, and Parker Jennings in Apollinaire Theatre Company’s “Is This a Room.”

    ‘Is This a Room” — Written by Tina Satter. Directed by Danielle Fauteux Jacques. Concept and Original Direction by Tina Satter. Presented by Apollinaire Theatre Company, 189 Winnisimmet St., Chelsea, through Jan. 18.

    By Shelley A. Sackett

    Whatever you do, do not under any circumstances listen to any of the excellent podcasts and interviews with Reality Winner, the subject of Apollinaire’s gripping Is This a Room, until after you’ve seen the play — and see it you must.

    For 70 minutes, the verbatim transcript of an F.B.I. interview of a 25-year-old woman suspected of violating the Espionage Act is the most unlikely script in this thrilling mystery that packs a wallop and imbues a by-the-books encounter with emotional and psychological depth and humanity.

    The play thrusts us into the moment of June 3, 2017, when Reality Winner (a riveting Parker Jennings), returning from doing Saturday chores, is met by F.B.I. agents waiting at her front door. In her cutoff jeans, white button-down shirt, and spunky hi-top sneakers, she looks more like a teenager than a woman who spent six years in the Air Force, speaks Farsi, Dari, and Pashto, and has top-secret clearance with a local military contractor.

    The men, Special Agent Justin Garrick (a sublime Brooks Reeves) and R. Wallace Taylor (Cristhian Mancinas-Garcia), introduce themselves and explain they are there to talk “about, uh, possible mishandling of classified information.”

    Winner, wide-eyed with innocence and trust, replies, “Oh my goodness. Okay.” The skeletal, abstract set (Joseph Lark-Riley), superb lighting (Danielle Fauteux Jacques, who also directs), and Black Box configuration create an atmosphere of such intimacy that it is as if the audience is watching a real-life proceeding happening in real time.

    At first, Winner claims she has no idea what the men are talking about, and Jennings digs deep to find the emotion and vulnerability in her character. We can imagine what she is feeling with each passing minute, and we want to believe her, even after we learn she has three military grade weapons in her house.

    Good cop Garrick and less good cop Taylor explain they have warrants (which they never show her) and will be searching her house and car. She doesn’t insist on a lawyer; they don’t read her her Miranda rights. It’s all low stakes and cordial in the beginning, with Winner apologizing and wanting to make it “as easy as possible for you guys,” and the agents making small talk and deflecting her questions with, “We’ll go over all of that…”

    The transcript tiptoes towards substance, punctuating the agents’ aw-shucks stammers and guffaws with open-ended but steely questions. Has she ever gone outside her need-to-know/clearance level? Has she ever taken anything outside the building? Has she discussed anything having to do with her job with anyone, ever? Has she ever copied anything?

    Suddenly, the atmosphere shifts, and Winner tries to make light of the line of questioning by defending her use of printer and paper. She’s “old-fashioned,” she claims, and uses a lot of paper. She finds it easier to navigate long documents in hard copies rather than online. “Is that what this is about? Fraud, waste and abuse?” she jokes.

    Mancinas-García and Jennings

    The agents, still acting as friends, offer her “the opportunity to tell the truth,” and an ominous beat, like the beeping in an ICU or the slow menace of low war drums, thrums. Every time the actual transcript was redacted (brilliantly referenced on the playbill and poster), a blue light glares and the beat intensifies, as if, by proxy, the audience is subjected to psychological torture.

    Fifty minutes in, everything changes. The agents say they have the goods on her. Winner’s story wiggles a little. Then it wiggles a lot. The agents straddle a delicate line between doing their job as law enforcers and trying not to overwhelm her. “IS there anything else we should be worried about?” Garrick asks. Not to worry, he implies, as he adds, ”We’ll figure it out.”

    Jennings brings credibility and stunning physical nuance to a role that held few clues about the character’s interiority. Her body literally crumbles, muscle by muscle, when she realizes the jig is up. As F.B.I. agents sent to do the bidding of one they may or may not agree with, they are a little nervous and a little lost, sharing details of their personal lives and asking about her CrossFit experiences. They may be doing the devil’s work, but they are neither demons nor demonized.

    It’s no secret that Reality Winner pled guilty to leaking documents that contained proof of Russian interference in the 2016 election to an online news source, The Intercept. She was sentenced to more than five years in prison, the longest sentence ever imposed in federal court for an unauthorized release of government information to the media, according to a Times report. She was granted early release, but is prohibited from publicly speaking about certain topics.

    In 2025, she released an audiobook, “I Am Not Your Enemy: A Memoir,” and has her own dedicated podcast series, “This Is Reality.” Even with a stiff gag order, the facts that emerge make it impossible not to question why Trump cracked down on the leak of this particular document, which contained proof of Russian interference in the 2016 election (which Trump has denied) and which the NSA, under someone’s orders, buried.

    Apollinaire Artistic Director Fauteux could not have chosen a riper moment in which to stage this play, as we round the bend towards a year of predicted mid-term election chaos and mayhem. We may not face the same situation Winner did, with her access to and knowledge of documents proving a possible unlawful official cover-up, but we are left with the same existential dilemma — Is it possible to live a law-abiding life in a world turned lawless, or will only the lawless survive?

    Recommended.

    For more information, visit: https://www.apollinairetheatre.com

    A.R.T.’s Uplifting ‘Wonder’ Wonders What Makes A Life Wonderful

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    Nathan Salstone, Garrett McNally, and members of the cast of ‘Wonder’ at the A.R.T.
    Photos by Hawver and Hall

    ‘Wonder’ — Book by Sarah Ruhl. Music and lyrics by A Great Big World (Ian Axel and Chad King). Directed by Taibi Magar. Choreographed by Katie Spelman. Music supervision by Nadia DiGiallonardo. Presented by American Repertory Theater at Loeb Drama Center, 64 Brattle St., Cambridge, through Feb. 8.

    By Shelley A. Sackett

    Middle school is widely recognized as one of life’s toughest crucibles, a time of major physical, emotional and social change. A petri dish of hormonal upheaval, intense social pressures and increased academic demands, it has all the ingredients for an emotive perfect storm.

    Now imagine navigating these turbulent waters as a boy with facial differences facing transition from homeschooling to private school, where he will, for the first time, have to mix with other kids, and that perfect storm suddenly lurks as a tsunami of epic proportions.

    This is the premise of Wonder, the new coming-of-age musical drama débuting at American Repertory Theater. Based on R.J. Palacio’s best-selling 2012 young adult novel, Sarah Ruhl’s play tells the story of Auggie Pullman, a boy born with Treacher Collins syndrome, a rare genetic disorder that interferes with the development of facial features.

    Garrett McNally and Donovan Louis Bazemore

    Auggie (Garrett McNally last Friday night. He shares the role with Max Voehl) is a typical 12-year-old in many ways. He straddles childhood and adolescence. His bedroom is still that of a little boy with its bed shaped like a spaceship, and he has an imaginary friend, Moon Boy (Nathan Salstone, a talented standout), who provides protection and companionship.  

    Auggie also asks more grown-up, bigger picture questions, wondering, for example, why he was created as he was. He longs to be ordinary, yet by the play’s end, it is his extraordinariness that elevates both Auggie and everyone around him.

    Matt Saunders has created an elegant, simple set of moving panels with a patchwork quilt of lighted squares that reflect the mood as they change from celestial blues to red and yellow to shades of pastel mauves (Lighting by Bradley King). Songs by pop duo A Great Big World (Ian Axel and Chad King) are funny, catchy and upbeat with lyrics that reveal their characters’ inner lives and fill us in on important details. (Unfortunately, the band too often drowns them out).

    The splashy opening number, “3-2-1 Blast Off!” showcases the charismatic Salstone and introduces us to Auggie. “You Are Beautiful,” a song celebrating Auggie’s unique beauty and strength, recognizes his inspiring journey of 28 surgeries and the “scars tell a story of a boy who’s strong,” making him a “wonder.”

    Alison Luff and Garrett McNally

    Auggie’s parents, Nate (Javier Muñoz) and Isabel (Alison Luff) have decided it’s time to wean Auggie off homeschooling and shift to the private co-ed Beecher Prep. Isabel needs time to herself and Auggie’s intellectual capacity and needs exceed what she can provide. He needs to integrate with other kids (and, as importantly, they with him).

    Auggie is terrified. His experiences with other kids have been disastrous. They can’t get past how he looks, reacting with fear, disgust and ridicule. Eventually, he relents, but not until Moon Boy promises to accompany him and his parents agree to let him bring his space helmet.

    The Beecher Prep scenes are where the play shines, with a near-perfect blend of choreography (Katie Spelman), ensemble singing, and terrific performances by its peppy teachers (Pearl Sun and Raymond J. Lee). Director Taibi Magar elicits crisp performances and makes effective use of the concentric rotating circles on stage.

    All is not roses for Auggie, however, and bullying becomes a big part of the story. Middle school brings out meanness (aka insecurities) in some kids, and Auggie’s facial difference provides both a focal point and a bull’s eye.

    The play’s strength and interest lie in its exploration of other characters’ perspectives. Auggie’s sister Via (Kaylin Hedges) has played second fiddle to her brother since the day he was born. “Hospital waiting rooms were our playground,” she explains. Because her life is so much smaller than his, no one (especially not her parents) pays attention to her. Nonetheless, she is fiercely devoted to her little brother. There are two Auggies, in her opinion — “What I see. What others see.”

    As other characters take center stage, we see that everyone struggles, even the bullies. There are enough plot curves to provide interest without the need for heavy lifting, but the lifeblood of Wonder is its message of kindness, empathy and hope.

    Auggie’s mother gets the ball rolling, telling Auggie she sees only the wonder and beauty in him, even in his scars. Auggie takes that ball and runs with it, as do the school’s principal, Mr. Tushman and, eventually, all his classmates. They learn what it’s like to walk in another’s shoes, to choose being kind over being right, to value harmony and heart over war and might. Lyricists Axel and King are never preachy nor syrupy, and their lessons resonate all the more because of it. “Auggie can’t change how he looks,” the students are told, “but we can change how we look.”

    Magar, in the director’s notes, eloquently echoes the thoughts of many as we start the post-equinox ascent from our darkest to lightest days.

    “I hope Wonder meets you wherever you are—whether you’re searching for awe, for hope, for connection, or simply for a story that believes in the goodness we’re capable of. Theater may not change the world the way teachers and politicians do, but it can change us. It can open something. It can remind us of who we want to be. May this performance fill you with a little more wonder—and a little more hope.”

    Amen to that.

    For more information, visit https://americanrepertorytheater.org/

    The Huntington’s Superb Musical ‘Fun Home’ Plumbs Memories and Memoirs

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    Caleb Levin, Odin Vega, Lyla Randall in ‘Fun Home’ at the Huntington. Photos by Marc J Franklin

    ‘Fun Home’ — Music by Jeanine Tesori. Book and Lyrics by Lisa Kron. Based on the graphic novel by Alison Bechdel. Directed by Logan Ellis. At the Huntington Theatre, Huntington Ave., Boston through Dec. 14.

    By Shelley A. Sackett

    In less capable hands, the multiple Tony Award-winning Fun Home, at the Huntington through Dec. 14, could have been a disaster. Adapted from Alison Bechdel’s graphic novel memoir, the storyline follows a family’s journey through sexual orientation, gender roles, suicide, emotional abuse, grief, loss, and lesbian Bechdel’s complicated relationship with her tightly closeted father. To boot, the title refers to the family funeral parlor, where her father worked and she and her siblings played.

    Doesn’t sound like the raw material for one of the year’s outstanding Boston area productions? Think again.

    Jeanine Tesori, a two-time Tony Award recipient and two-time Pulitzer Prize finalist for drama, has created gorgeous, melodic music for Fun Home. Award-winning playwright and lyricist Lisa Kron hits all the right tones with a masterpiece of storytelling musical numbers overlayed with a balanced, nuanced script that manages to be funny, poignant, clever, wise, and heartbreaking. These two talented women breathe life into Bechdel’s memories, turning what might have been maudlin into a dense and complex story of one family’s journey as narrated by one of its travelers.

    Add to the mix a stellar cast, meticulous direction (Logan Ellis), a sumptuous set (Tanya Orellana), effective lighting (Philip Rosenberg), and a superb orchestra (music direction by Jessie Rosso), and you have all the ingredients for one very special evening of theater.

    Bockel, Nick Duckart

    The play opens with Alison (Sarah Bockel), a 42-year-old successful cartoonist, center stage, huddled over her drafting table. She crumples one sheet of paper after another, throwing them onto the floor. She recalls two other periods in her life: one when she was 10 (Small Alison, played by the showstopping Lyla Randall) and another when she was a freshman at Oberlin College (Medium Alison, played by Maya Jacobson).

    Suddenly, Small Alison’s head pops up out of the drafting table. Kron’s narrative lyrics both highlight Bockel and clue us in about her character. Alison is trying to make sense of her childhood and the larger-than-life role her father, Bruce (a knockout Nick Duckart), played in it. At the center is Alison’s joy at discovering she is a lesbian, her first year in college, and Bruce’s tortured and shamed existence as a closeted gay man living as an outwardly “normal,” heterosexual, family man. His suicide (he stepped in front of a truck) only elevated his importance in Alison’s pursuit of answers to the question, “What happened to us?” If she could only unlock the mysteries surrounding his life, perhaps she could understand those surrounding her own.

    The problem is, she doesn’t trust her memory. She needs “real things,” both to draw and to rely on. She needs eyewitnesses. She needs Small and Medium Alisons. Told in a series of nonlinear vignettes connected by narration from the adult Alison character, the Bechdel family saga unfolds.

    Her childhood in rural Pennsylvania was anchored by the ornate Victorian house her father obsessively and compulsively restores (two traits he also brings to his homosexuality and cruising). She and her siblings played games, including performing an imaginary advertisement for the family funeral home (Randall, as Small Alison, brings down the house in the hysterical and arresting Jackson Five-style “Come to the Fun Home”). Juxtaposed with Partridge Family scenes are their opposites. Bruce, for example, invites Roy, a young man whom he has hired to do yard work, into the house and begins to seduce him in the library while his wife, Helen (the gifted Jennifer Ellis), plays the piano upstairs, trying her best to ignore it (“Helen’s Etude”).

    Sushma Saha, Maya Jacobson

    Medium Alison (Jacobson is terrific) enacts Alison’s memories of her first lesbian affair with Joan (Sushma Saha) and gushes with delirious post-sexual froth that she is “changing my major to Joan.” She shares that news with her parents and is forever haunted by suspicions that her coming out led to her father’s death. “I leapt out of the closet — and four months later my father killed himself by stepping in front of a truck,” the overhead caption reads.

    Many of the musical numbers are more than plot devices; they are emotional powder kegs and stand-alone gems. “Telephone Wire” documents the moment where Alison and her dad try to get into a gay bar but end up defeated, even when she is carded. The tragedy of the missed opportunity for connection, and of the unspoken yearning and loss both feel but can’t acknowledge, is heartbreaking. In “Ring of Keys,” Small Alison (Randall) again brings down the house as a tiny girl transfixed by a butch delivery woman whose uniform and ring of keys open up doors she didn’t even know were locked.

    “Days and Days,” Helen’s cri de Coeur, stands out as a vehicle for Ellis’ prodigious vocal power and a showcase for Kron’s Tony-nominated lyrics. As Bruce’s long-suffering wife, humiliated and abused by the homosexual husband she just as fiercely protects and stands by, Helen admits to Alison that she has sacrificed her life to keep the family together. She wants better for her daughter and warns her not to follow in her mother’s footsteps. “I didn’t raise you to give away your days like me,” she says introspectively.

    Jennifer Ellis

    Fun Home is as complicated as it is simple. It is about a family, its underlying anguish, and the balance between fitting in and being true to oneself. Honest, moving and hilarious, the play never becomes mawkish or angry (though it has every reason to). Each character stands upright, for better and worse, owning their authentic selves.

    In the finale, Alison finally realizes the moment when she felt a perfect balance in her life: when her 10-year-old self and her father played “Airplane.” In “Flying Away,” Small Alison duets with her two older selves, a melding at last of past and present that paves a clearer way to the future. The caption above them reads, “Every so often, there was a rare moment of perfect balance when I soared above him.” There wasn’t a dry eye in the house.

    Highly recommended.

    For more information, visit https://www.huntingtontheatre.org.