Review: EVERY BRILLIANT THING at Carrollwood Cultural Center

I didn’t expect Sherlock Bones to break me in the first two minutes. But there I was—tears, laughter, and a sock puppet named Maize. Paul Berg doesn’t just perform Every Brilliant Thing—he invites you to live it, breathe it, question it. Literally. WHY? Because every line, every moment, every audience member becomes part of the story.

It begins with Paul as a 7-year-old boy, wide-eyed and hopeful, trying to make sense of a world where his mother is severely depressed and suicidal. That tender vulnerability never leaves the stage—it grows with him. From childhood confusion to adult reckoning, we follow his journey through heartbreak, humor, and healing. November 1982 opens like a trap door. A child, a father, a hospital visit. You’re not watching—you’re in it.

And you’re not seated in a traditional theatre either. Paul stands in the center, surrounded on three sides by the audience—his castmates, his confidants, his chorus. The intimacy is electric. Every glance, every gesture echoes with shared humanity.

Then comes the list. A list that grows, falters, disappears, and returns. A list that saves lives. Maybe even yours.

There’s a book. There’s Sam. There’s a love so tender it hurts. And a fear so deep it silences. Paul sings—oh, does he sing—and the room shifts. People add to the list. People become the list. And when the quicksand pulls, you feel it in your chest.

But this isn’t a tragedy. It’s a triumph. A school counselor who never stopped listening. A support group. A final goodbye. And then—joy. Real, earned, brilliant joy.

One million and one... and one million and two: Paul Berg’s performance and singing voice.

He left the stage without giving his audience a chance for a well-deserved standing ovation. This review is our ovation. See the play. It will not leave you. The impact of this play will change you for the better.

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