Unspeakable tragedy—of a sort unimaginable only a few years ago, but now almost predictably commonplace—is at the center of Well, I’ll Let You Go. Playwright Bubba Weiler concentrates not on the horror of the event, but on the struggle to piece together the how and the why. Combine a keenly wrought puzzle of a play, masterfully understated direction by Jack Serio, and an astonishing performance by Quincy Tyler Bernstine, and you have a remarkable evening at Studio Seaview.
Keenly wrought, in that the story unfolds obliquely. Yes, the play opens with a narrator (Matthew Maher) revealing a comprehensive description of the all-but-invisible farmhouse setting, represented mostly by folding chairs in a wide rectangular area with audience seating on either end. He continues with relevant discourse on the depressed Midwest town where the action transpires. What is before us, though, mostly, is Maggie (Bernstine) alone, inhabiting her world as if in a fog. Dazed, yes, and frustrated; Maggie periodically rubs her head in frustration, which Bernstine does with such increasing ferocity that it builds to a point where it looks like she’s actually trying to pull out her hair. Which does, yes, express the character’s inner anguish.
But what is Maggie reacting to? We sit and watch, slowly grasping for the answer—trying to piece together the events through a series of discussions in more or less the same manner that Maggie herself does. It’s not until nearly the end of the play that the picture becomes clear, accompanied by a viscerally jaw-dropping gasp from the audience. Given the nature of what Weiler has wrought, we’ll avoid details in favor of preserving the experience for potential viewers. Go see it, if you can.
The play, which premiered last August in Brooklyn at The Space at Irondale, consists of seven two-person conversations, which Maggie plays singly with each of the other cast members. (These meaty scenes—each a meal in itself—demonstrate Weiler’s background as an actor, mostly in Chicago, with appearances here in Swing State and Harry Potter and The Cursed Child.) Each actor and each performance is so strong that their presence remains even after they finish their lines and go back to the green room. Prominent among them is Emily Davis, who comes on late as—well, Maggie doesn’t know who this character is, nor do we—and plunges head-on into that key interchange. (Davis has held an audience before, with her performance in Is This a Room). Maher, a familiar presence from Annie Baker’s The Flick and other plays, does a remarkably supportive job in what turns out to be a more complex role than expected. Danny McCarthy, Amelia Workman, Constance Shulman, Will Dagger, and Cricket Brown all offer compelling portraits despite limited stage time. Most of all, though, Bernstine’s portrait of Maggie towers over all; here’s one that will likely be added to your own personal collection of unforgettable performances. You sit there through the evening waiting, hoping for that moment when her face will brighten and she can say, figuratively: “well, I’ll let you go.”
The interactions are carefully gauged by director Serio, who uses empty space and wide distances to accentuate the physical and emotional gaps between the characters (as he did in last season’s premiere of Samuel D. Hunter’s Grangeville). The spare, almost rehearsal hall–like concept of the production is carried forth by the designers. Frank J. Oliva’s scenery seems all but nonexistent at first, with those folding chairs. Scenic elements gradually appear—surprising how white flowers can fill a large space!—until even the barest elements suddenly vanish, after which, Oliva and Serio have a surprise in store. The costumes by Avery Reed are achingly ordinary, as if the characters reached into their closets this morning and put on their least special (but most comfortable) clothes. Lighting designer Stacey Derosier (whose work is presently on view around the corner in Becky Shaw) matches the spare emptiness for most of the evening, until teasing us with a flood of light seeping out behind the upstage curtain. She then provides the evening’s coup de grâce, as dictated by the text but magically realized. There is also an effective original score, by Avi Amon.
This past season brought two remarkable new American plays, Bess Wohl’s Liberation and Samuel D. Hunter’s Little Bear Ridge Road. They are joined by a third drama of comparable merit from the thus-far-little-known Weiler. Little-known till now, that is. Between Well, I’ll Let You Go, which has moved into Studio Seaview for a seven-week run, and The Saviors, which opens in July at the Atlantic, Bubba Weiler is a playwright to discover. Now.
Well, I’ll Let You Go opened May 14, 2026, at Studio Seaview and runs through June 20. Tickets and information: studioseaview.com
