Playwright: David Cale
At: Goodman Theatre, 170 N. Dearborn St. Tickets: 312-443-3800; GoodmanTheatre.org; $25-$70. Runs through: Oct. 21
The bones of David Cale's "musical memoir" are simultaneously unique and familiar. Traumatized by a troubled youth, Cale escapes horrible circumstances and triumphs as an adult. It's a narrative that fuels everything from Oliver Twist to countless TED talks. What makes Cale's story utterly unlike any other is his mesmerizing depiction of both himself and the people who shaped his lifethat, and the shattering plot twist that comes midway through.
Often when performers veer into territory this personal, the drama becomes endangered by indulgence. If you're talking about your own personal trauma, it's tough to keep a clear eye on what does and doesn't play well to an audience. That problem doesn't exist here. Director Robert Falls ensures that Cale's remarkable artistry shines through and that even the most vulnerable moments are in the service of the story and not an indulgence of memory.
Cale begins by describing his youth in Luton, a crime-ridden English factory town that is more of a punchline than a location. His descriptions of it call to mind an industrial version of Cicero: Luton is a place run by thugs who control the only employment options in town. For creative types such as Cale's mother and Cale himself, Luton is a dead-end and a death sentence.
As a child, Cale eked out an outlet for his non-conformist penchants. First, he converted a backyard shed into an animal hospital. Eventually, he added aviaries and began breeding songbirds. In the midst of gray, bleak Luton, Cale built a sanctuary for hundreds of jewel-toned parrots, finches and parakeets.
In his bedroom at night, Cale sang along with Judy Garland records, capturing in sound all the color and beauty of the unlikely birds homing in his backyard: "As I sing, ( it's as if ) birds are flying out of me." Evoked by Cale's narration and pianist Matthew Dean Marsh's music direction, you will see these flocks with cinematic clarity in your mind's eye.
Cale's evolution from closeted, traumatized boy to acclaimed artist spills out in song as much as words. Gloriously, Cale is rather the antithesis of what we've all been groomed to expect from a leading man: He's slight rather than hulksome, more tenor than basso, more herky-jerky than strutting.
The music he and Marsh weave into the story is profoundly moving andat timesbeautifully odd to an ear trained on the likes of traditional musical theater. The song Luton is the sound of crawling grime and belching factories. Simon is a wrenching love letter to a lost brother. If I'd Gone Left shows the torrential differences that can result from the tiniest of turns. Feral Child is an anthem of hope and deliverance.
The synthesis between monologue and music is extraordinarily effective as Cale's words dart in and among the orchestrations and songs. With conductor Marsh on keyboards, David Beldon ( viola ) Michelle Campbell ( harp ), Desiree Miller ( cello ), Anna Najoom ( clarinet ) and Jered Montgomery ( trumpet ), We're Only Alive tells an extraordinary story instilled with remarkable music.
It's a near-perfect fusion of words, music, tragedy and hope.