Foreword: The author is a member of the staff at Generic Theater. He is not involved with this production and understands the conflict of interest in reviewing. The author, as a director, has previously been reviewed by the director of this production in varying degrees of opinion. The words expressed are the independent opinion of the author and do not represent the opinion of Generic Theater.

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No Service. Crap, I thought. Then again, anyone who’s been underneath Chrysler Hall knows that it’s a mobile device black hole. The lights had come up and I was itching to get out; I hurriedly congratulated a few people and excused myself. Searching for Network. In my car and outside the mouth of the garage, a signal comes through. Finally, I thought. I dialed. ‘Hello?’, a female voice answered.

Me: “Oh, hi. How’s everything going?”

Female: “Everything’s going. How about you, are you at your apartment?

Me: “No, not yet; I just left the theater. How’s everything at home?”

Female: “It’s okay. Are you okay?”

Me: “Yes, I’m fine. I just wanted to call to say I love you, and thank you for everything you’ve done.”

She takes a long, concerned pause.

Mom: “What’s wrong?”

Me: “Nothing! I just wanted to call and I say I love you.”

It was a reflective drive home: I had switched off the radio; the approaching headlights seemed less glaring. I had just gotten out of the Generic Theater, where, fifteen minutes prior, the house lights had come up to the end of the most devastatingly profound stage performance I’ve seen in recent memory. “Tuesdays with Morrie” follows the narration of sports columnist Mitch Albom, who spends time with his former professor, Morrie Schwartz, whose health is declining. From the beginning, the audience knows that Morrie is going to die, and that somehow Mitch is going to learn life lessons. Written by Jeffrey Hatcher and Mitch Albom, based on Albom’s bestselling novel, the script does not shy away from the stark inevitability of dying, and the performances here are nothing short of masterful.

Kent Collins brings youthful earnestness to the otherwise emotionally vacuous Mitch, whose results-driven career exposes a spiritual vacancy. Collins skillfully balances the self-satisfying ambitiousness of youth with the hesitation of acknowledging his capacity for feelings.

D. D. Delaney delivers a heartbreaking characterization of the quickly-deteriorating Morrie. Delaney’s stillness and soft-spoken alertness effectively show a wizened man not only remarkably at peace with dying from Lou Gehrig’s disease, but who also encourages the living to embrace love, described by Morrie as the only rational thing. Delaney’s subtle choices and concentrated use of his body makes Morrie’s decline and intense scenes of paralyzing gasps for air as his organs consecutively fail a master acting class worth the ticket price many times over.

Together, Collins and Delaney convey the sometimes-frustrating hardship of learning now to deal with the living, and the often easier choice of pain-avoidance than having to stretch compassion over a period of time.

Directed by Jeremiah Albers, the production is well-paced at a brisk 90 minutes. Terry Jernigan provides an expansive, thoughtfully-designed set with a meticulously painted stage, complemented by purposeful set dressing and props. William McGhee’s lighting provides the appropriate vignette finish, although some cues needed polishing at the preview rehearsal I saw. Sounds designed by Phil Duffy, projections by Bob O’Donnell, video by Martin Walsh and costumes conceived by Kathleen Ruckel all deftly help with the narrative storytelling and scene changes. Collins provides piano instrumentation live onstage and recorded to effectively weave the meaningfulness of memories with the possibilities of what could have been.

Delaney and Collins. (Photo | Bob O'Donnell)

As the play careens towards the inevitable tragic end, the audience longingly watches two men, alone together, transcend an unconditional love that lives on after life. Times change, says Morrie, but we are the same. The audience expects Mitch to get his comeuppance; and he gets it, as finely acted by Collins. But that doesn’t make the ending any less devastating.

The house lights come up; I see a stunned audience. The energy was palpable and I’m sure the collective thought at that precise moment was “Wow.” Delaney and Collins acted so convincingly well, one would have believed Morrie actually died on stage and we were grieving at Morrie’s memorial service. A tall man seated in the front row was noticeably slumped and wiping away tears he fought to hold back until then. I myself wanted to go onstage in the middle of a scene and swipe a couple of sheets from the tissue box set dressing. “I’m not afraid to cry,” says the tall man as I began to exit, “but I’m not afraid to punch someone in the face if they make a joke about me crying, either.”

On my drive, I find myself thinking that the greatest devices that have made our lives more convenient are the very same that drive us emotionally apart. Mobile devices bless us with the opportunity to not have to care any more than we possibly and absolutely have to (the Ignore function is quite convenient for this); we can choose to permit ourselves to be emotionally unresponsive, to disconnect. Yet, the lessons in “Tuesdays with Morrie” are simple and timeless, and Generic Theater’s memorable production will make you feel a little more connected.

The show runs May 21 – June 13, 2010. Click here for more information.