The ticking our hero hears on the eve of his 30th birthday is the sound of what he thinks is his creative clock. His girlfriend wants to give up dancing on Broadway to pursue a secure job in the isolated badlands of—shudder!—Cape Cod. His best buddy has abandoned show business for the comforts of a corporate job in—gasp!—advertising. His magnum opus is making its workshop debut in a week, and maybe—oh, blessings from on high!—invoke a manifestation by Stephen you-know-who, God of New York City musicals, whose name is only uttered in whispers. Clearly, a crisis is at hand. Oh, and did I mention that our show’s hero shares the first name of its composer?
Playwright: book, music & lyrics by Jonathan Larson. At: The Journeymen at the Berger Park Coach House Theater, 6219 N. Sheridan. Phone: 773-857-5395; $15-$20. Runs through: Aug. 2
There’s nothing wrong with wanting to achieve one’s ambitions before becoming—inevitably—old, cynical and untrustworthy. Despite persona-Jonathan’s assertion that ‘ [i] t’s hard for people born after 1960 to be idealistic,’ however, the limitless potential of his cosmological vantage base gushes forth from the warbles comprising this tour through boho Manhattan in 1990. From a playful calypso dissing the Sunday-brunch crowd to a dreamy waltz in praise of sumptuous household furnishings, from a jubilant paean celebrating hyperglycemic euphoria to a romantic ballad of emotive connection, every sentiment glows with the optimism of innocence (rendered all the more poignant by our knowledge that, however happily Jonathan’s onstage story concludes, composer Larson’s career would come to an untimely end with his death at age of 36, on the very brink of his triumph).
This is intimate material, performed in a likewise intimate space—so intimate, in fact, that audiences hear the purr of traffic on Sheridan Road to their right and the gentle lapping of lake waters to their left, ambience enhancing the necessities of urban theatergoing (roof, plumbing, air-conditioning, a café next door offering both spinach salads and hot dogs). The acoustical mix still needed a bit of fine-tuning at its preview performance. Whatever Eric Michaels, in the marathon role of Jonathan (who never leaves the stage for the entire 90 minutes), may lack in Shubert Alley schmaltz, he more than redeems in lyrical interpretation, with the sturdy support of Lindsay Naas and Chicago newcomer Aaron Dore. But the emotional intensity conveyed by three powerhouse vocalists delivering eye contact and unmiked song at a range of barely four yards makes for an urgency and empathy unimaginable in loftier venues.