The man with whom I share my Lyft ride on the way to Ford’s Theatre tells me and the driver about a former high school classmate he was very fond of, whom he lost contact with years before. One day he saw one of his Facebook friend’s pictures at the 9/11 Memorial, and upon inspecting the image closer he made a macabre discovery: engraved on the mournful parapets in place where the Twin Towers once stood was the name of this friend from his past. He got off, wished us a good evening and I continued my ride to the theatre. The driver, inspired by the tale confesses that even though he’s lived in DC for well over a decade, he’s actually a New Yorker who left disillusioned by how much the city changed after 9/11, how quickly people forgot the kindness they discovered that day. When I tell him how much I love his hometown he asks me to give it a hug for him when I’m back.
Neither of these men could have possibly imagined that I was en route to see a musical that encompassed what I had just experienced with them: this strange understanding that comes when we realize we share the world with people who might not seem to have anything in common with us, but who happen to be mirrors where we rediscover our humanity, where we find ourselves intimately connected to others. Irene Sankoff and David Hein’s Come From Away is a musical that takes place in crossroads: first there’s the geographical ones as we hear of the 38 planes who were diverted to Gander, Newfoundland on 09/11 when US airspace was closed in fear of further attacks, leaving hundreds of people stranded in a small town completely unprepared for such a visit. The second crossroads are on an almost metaphysical level, as we see how one of the most horrific tragedies in modern history, led to a rush of love and compassion the likes of which we rarely get to see. We find ourselves in front of the age-old question: is there any meaning to suffering, or are we merely set into random motion without destination?
Judging from the gorgeous musical numbers in the show, one could assume Sankoff and Hein have chosen to believe there is more to life than meets the eye. At least, they’re questioning it, studying connections that seem random, but sing of destinies fulfilled (in “Me and the Sky” we learn of pioneer female pilot Beverley Bass - played by an incredible Jenn Colella - who in Woolf-esque manner saw her whole fate revealed to herself on 9/11) if the connections they discover have an almost procedural manner to them, they are perfectly balanced by the rock/folk score, which at times seems to have been improvised on the spot. It has an organic quality that aims to comfort and inspire, as the lyrics can explore some really dark places.
With a tight ensemble in which every actor plays multiple parts, the show is able to show us that we are but one side of a complex whole, for instance we see Chad Kimball play characters who encompass two aspects of masculinity that couldn’t seem more opposite if they tried, and by merely allowing us to see the same person do both we become aware of their similarities. The show does all of this without being heavy-handed, didactic or preachy, we often get a sense that it’s discovering itself as it goes along.
To speak or write about Come From Away feels unfair, it will always do the show a disservice, for this is a piece that needs to be experienced. Sure, that can be said about almost any work of art, the difference is that there is something truly special going on here, there is an energy that comes alive in the theater that’s quite inexplicable, it’s as if you could feel the essence of the person sitting next to you. And what a theater too, perhaps it’s not a coincidence that Come From Away is playing in a place of such historical importance as Ford’s Theatre, it’s a place of profound misery and sorrow that is once more serving as a vessel for pure joy to occur. Like the events that inspired Come From Away, the legacy of Ford’s Theatre is part of a sad history, how lucky we are to have this musical to remind us that it’s up to us to write the next chapter.
