On the remote outskirts of a small Idaho town, a razor-tongued aunt and her long-estranged nephew find themselves suddenly back in each other’s orbit—two lonely souls with a crumbling house to sell and a tangled history to unravel. Bitingly funny and quietly explosive, Little Bear Ridge Road is a sharply etched portrait of two people reaching across emotional galaxies—searching for meaning and fumbling toward connection, even as they fear it might swallow them whole. In this piercing and profound new play, the void is vast, the stars are indifferent, and love—messy, human, and hard-won—might be the only thing tethering us to Earth.
The show is at its best when allowing Ethan and Sarah’s relationship to unfold without forcing the revelations. (Lead producer Scott Rudin, returning to the industry after a four-year hiatus following reports of an alleged pattern of bullying subordinates, can at least be said to have long had an eye for the truly literary, which this show at its best achieves; perhaps, too, a story about trying to make possible past misdeeds right had its appeals.)
This isn’t conveyed sentimentally, but gently. And it is there right in front of us, in scenes—sprouting from James’ professional pursuit—that major on the composition and meanings of space and the universe. Observe the set itself: the black background, clunkily big couch, and the crucible of carpet containing the play’s frustrating, frustrated, yet winning characters. This imagined room, this stage, is its own modest planet, everyday and also otherworldly, spinning away from us but also right there: fixed, meaningful, and shining bright.
| 2025 | Broadway |
Broadway |
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