Sometimes a reviewer arrives at a production not knowing what’s in store, hasn’t even read the preliminary info previously sent his way. That’s how I showed up at A Eulogy for Roman, where before I entered 59E59’s smallest playing area, I was stopped by a tall, affable guy in a dark suit. He said he was Milo and handed me a 5”x7” piece of heavy paper that said at the top in graceful italics, “In loving memory of our friend.”
Below that was the bold-faced name Roman, and below that a four-line kind of Hallmark card sentiment about someone now in “a different place” but nonetheless “inside your heart.” And below that an order of the impending service, including refreshments.
Then only a few minutes elapsed before this same Milo rushed into the small auditorium. And what a character he turned out to be! He had barely introduced himself, only slightly abashed but cheerfully sincere, when it became clear that he would have scored ultra-high on any kind of likability meter. I’d go so far as to say that of all the people currently occupying a New York City stage this Milo might snag the most-likable rating.
It’s a good thing, too, because somewhat awkward and uncertain, Milo began by explaining he’s only been in NYC for two weeks, having moved from Pennsylvania – Springfield Falls, he later specifies. He goes on the say that he’d hoped to make the transition with best friend Roman but that Roman died just before the event. Indeed, Roman’s ashes are in the urn on a nearby table – the only furniture in sight – and are there for the memorial Milo feels he must hold to celebrate his late buddy, this despite the attendees being no one who knew Roman and vice versa.
As Tennessee Williams might have said – and did in another context – Milo, to bring off his avowed obligation, is depending on “the kindness of strangers.” Regularly flustered and fussing with index cards he eventually throws aside, he asks the supposed memorial guests to help him out.
Confessing that he has no clue to handling loss, he asks whether anyone in the three-rowed bleachers might offer advice. A subsequent silence held for no more than a minute when a woman in the second row raised a hand. Grateful, Milo asked her name. She identified herself as Julia and reported that her father had died this past March and that she handles losing him by eating foods he favored, Mexican fare foremost.
Julia wasn’t the only respondent when Milo asked for support. Allegra, Don, Peter, Jocelyn, Adam, Robert, and Chris are some but not all who jumped to their feet in eagerness to aid the increasingly irresistible Milo after he announced that Roman and he had long since put together a 99-long bucket-list of life-affirming dos. He added that completion of each one earned “plus-plus-plus” life points.
He told the crowd that Roman and he had completed most of the demands, but he wanted those now honoring Roman’s ashes to close out the list with him. Among the items was what he termed a “friend-friend” massage. Ex-Londoner Peter quickly hopped up to give shoulder massages to Jocelyn and Milo while they held friend-friend hands.
After that Milo recalled that Roman and he had never reached the tandem 100 push-ups they’d pledged to achieve. That was the cue for a dozen or so Milo-enthralled ticket buyers to form a push-up circle and execute a round-robin push-up routine. They couldn’t commit to it fast enough and in no time flat reached the goal.
Okay, if you’re like me and don’t count audience participation entertainments among your favorite ways to pass time, you may be thinking this experience was fine for Allegra, Don, Peter, Jocelyn et al but not for you. I can merely say you haven’t yet fallen under Milo’s spell. I did.
Eventually, I did find myself wondering– after Milo talked about a life-long friendship starting when the boys were, respectively, eight and nine– if we were all going to learn significantly more about the All-American Roman and his attachment to the trepidatious Milo. The latter does indicate he’s gay but had no idea what that meant when Roman and he were typical fun-loving boys.
I’d barely begun ruminating when Milo – according to the final unfinished bucket-list item – filled us all in with the persuasive, meaningful truth and point of his cherished life points. His positive exegesis is worth the entire 75-minute, semi-immersive experience.
(Large spoiler ahead with advice to readers that reading further will, in this reviewer’s estimation, greatly diminish A Eulogy for Roman enjoyment. The play – and it is a play very much about play – is written and performed by the remarkable Brendan George as conceived and directed by the equally remarkable Peter Charney. Both have recently been toting up note-worthy credits, but his one, acclaimed at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival, is a true keeper. If I have anything against it, it’s that the promised refreshments never materialized.)
A Eulogy for Roman opened August 12, 2023, at 59E59 and runs through September 3. Tickets and information: 59e59.org
