How to Dance in Ohio, at the Belasco, has several good things going for it. Seven, as a matter of fact. The show begins with a personable septet, of assorted shapes and sizes, stepping downstage in a line. “There’s this saying,” a smiling fellow tells us. “If you’ve met one autistic person, you’ve met one autistic person. You are now meeting seven autistic people.”
Yes, How to Dance in Ohio—a musical about seven members of a “social skills therapy group for autistic young adults”—is cast authentically; which is to say, as a Playbill insert tells us, that if an actor is “playing an autistic character, they identify as autistic as well.” Right from the start, when they run onstage before the house lights are even out, we discover this is a likably disarming bunch.
But good intentions alone, alas, do not a compelling musical make. The intentions are good, the core performances are good (and in some cases better than that), and the audience is likely to sit there rooting for the success of the characters in their quest to attend a prom-like dance in Ohio. On the other side of the ledger, though, is a score that is little more than functional (with exceptions as hereinafter noted), and a book that devolves into flimsy musical comedy style. The central performers earn our admiration, and the benefit of any doubts we might have; but How to Dance in Ohio offers only moderate entertainment, and moderate entertainment is unlikely to prove strong enough to attract sufficient audiences to get through the long cold winter.
[Read Sandy MacDonald’s ★★★★☆ review here.]
This is yet another one of those musicals suffering from what you might call the “Chorus Line effect.” A group of assorted characters work to achieve a common goal in the course of which each reveals their inner problem, in song. Drew (Liam Pearce) has been accepted at the University of Michigan, but is apprehensive about leaving small-town Ohio. Marideth (Madison Kopec) explores the world through books and on the computer, but is afraid to leave her house. Tommy (Conor Tague) is nervous about getting his driver’s license. For comedy relief, I suppose, the authors have him successfully pass his driving test and immediately crash his brother’s truck—which I suggest is not all that funny.
Remy (Desmond Luis Edwards) is trying to work up the courage to launch a cosplay channel about vintage clothing (i.e. “’90s grunge”). Mel (Imani Russell) has been promoted to chief of the reptile department at Paws and Claws, but panics when asked to answer the phone. Caroline (Amelia Fei, in polka-dot stockings) has what appears to be an imaginary boyfriend, who dumps her; while Columbus State Community College freshman Jessica (Ashley Wool) has trouble taking the public bus to campus.
What we get from bookwriter Rebekah Greer Melocik, composer Jacob Yandura, and director Sammi Cannold, is seven characters standing in a line across the front of the stage as they sing solos about their individual struggles. Yes, this format worked in A Chorus Line; but here the material is uncompelling despite energetic and talented performers. What’s even more damaging are the other characters who surround them, led by Dr. Amigo (Caesar Samayoa), who is divorced and conflicted and sometimes seems like he should be the patient rather than the doctor; and his daughter Ashley (Cristina Sastre), a Juilliard student home from New York nursing a leg injury who drops out so she can stay with daddy and sing a big solo and seems to have a budding relationship with patient Mel and if this sentence runs on clumsily, so does the plot. At one point there’s a line stating it’s all “like some boring romantic cliché,” and I won’t argue with that. There are also assorted parents (one married couple, the others all seemingly divorced or widowed) who are concerned about their kids and play scenes when called for.
All of which overlooks the strengths of the production. Hidden like gems among an otherwise pedestrian score are three effective songs that successfully illustrate the characters involved rather than just tell us what we need to know. In “Unlikely Animals,” Marideth—who dreams about travel—has a song about Australia, where it is “normal” for young kangaroos to hide in their parents pouches, and where young koalas “much prefer to be alone.” Drew, the budding electrical engineer, sings about “Waves and Wires” so rousingly that his song serves as the first-act curtain. Later, in the so-called 11 o’clock number spot, Drew’s bravura “Building Momentum” finally, if briefly, brings the show alive.
These last two are sung by Pearce, the standout find of the evening. Tall and lanky, the fellow sings and dances and acts with commanding ease. He appears to be a natural Evan Hansen or Will Parker, and let’s hope he gets further opportunities. Kopec, in her Australia song, also makes an impressive showing. The rest are generally likable, although singing honors go to Darlesia Cearcy (who made a lasting impression in Shuffle Along and the Broadway revival of Ragtime) and Haven Burton, as mothers of the girls who find prom dresses at Macy’s. These two have little to do across the evening, but they ratchet up vocal excitement in their memory duet, “Getting Ready for the Dance.”
The production is very much in earnest; given the roster of 70 or so producers listed above the title in the program, raising the millions necessary was no simple task. Despite those millions, the show looks skimpy. (Robert Brill designed the sets, Sarafina Bush the costumes, and Bradley King the lights.) Best production work comes from the music department, with Lily Ling leading a band of nine in Broadway-caliber orchestrations by Bruce Coughlin.
Audience members are likely to leave the Belasco with an exhilarating lift in their step, and that’s all to the good. But such enthusiasm will come from the talent of the performers and the worthiness of the message, rather than from the actual songs, story, or production of How to Dance in Ohio.
How to Dance in Ohio opened Dec. 10, 2023, at the Belasco Theatre. Tickets and information: howtodanceinohiomusical.com
