In recent seasons, actor and playwright Ryan J. Haddad has become a favorite with local audiences for his mostly solo autobiographical shows, like the Obie-winning Dark Disabled Stories. Haddad’s latest, Good Time Charlie, which he performs with a six-actor company, premiered Friday at the Public Theater. Like his previous works, Good Time Charlie regards Haddad’s Ohio family as well as his own experiences as a gay artist with cerebral palsy. This one, however, inclines more toward Haddad’s beloved “Uncle” Charlie, a first cousin and contemporary of the playwright’s dad.
A youthful 30s-something actor, Haddad portrays himself as Ryan, the ingenuous narrator of this two-act play, which skips around in time from the present back through the early 1980s. Set within the pretty serenity of an artificial garden, the fluent drama easily shifts locations as frequently as its chronology. The double-jointed Good Time Charlie, a mostly pleasant comedy-drama punctuated by showtunes, meta-theater breaks in the action, and much commentary by its characters, is slyly crafted and directed to appear spontaneous, like a grown-up version of the backyard entertainments Ryan once staged as a kid with the help of his relatives.
The narrative sporadically focuses on Charlie (Jonathan Raviv), a dentist and real nice guy who’s crazy about the theater; Charlie’s longtime partner, Lou (Tim Bagley), a university professor some 20 years his senior; and Lou’s closest chum, Sheldon (Michael Christofer), who operates a cinema arthouse. The trio eventually become cultural and social mentors to Ryan, whose nascent existence as a gay person is scarcely questioned, and certainly not opposed, by his fond parents Bob (Nael Nacer) and Judy (Artemis Pebdani).
In sharp contrast, during the 1980s flashbacks, Charlie’s own dad and mom — vividly depicted by Nacer and Pebdani — refuse to comprehend, let alone accept, his orientation. Charlie’s father even bursts out with the classic “Then you are not my son” declaration. The recollection pains Charlie so much that he balks at re-creating the ugly scene. Ryan forces everyone to continue with it, violence results, and an ever-protective Lou halts the action. “All three of them, they moved on,” Lou barks at Ryan, telling him how people can change with time. “They moved forward.”
The second act gets the play back on track, more or less, to illustrate everybody moving forward with their lives as Ryan pursues his career in New York. The rift with his parents long over, Charlie functions as their caregiver. “We don’t know what we would do without him,” says his once-estranged father. Even more poignant are scenes among the gay characters as they tend to an obviously failing but gallant Sheldon.
While certain moments of the patchy play are affecting, Haddad dwells more upon his own faux-naïve times at the expense of the compelling saga of Charlie, a guy who cares for everybody over himself. The later storyline regarding gay friends coping with decline and loss during their senior years is potent but remains sketchy; Ryan’s rendition of “September Song” doesn’t suffice. Worthy themes about families, friendships, and aging that might be crafted into several plays are more squandered than explored through the blithely anything goes-style format Haddad utilizes for Good Time Charlie.
Danny Sharon, the director, neatly stages the ebb, flow, and full stops of Haddad’s ultra-theatrical presentation at the 200-seat Martinson Hall. The Public Theater apparently has opened its storage units and checkbook to provide a smartly designed event. Led by Haddad’s sunshiny persona as Ryan, the confident ensemble of good actors is especially distinguished by Michael Cristofer’s touching performance as a cultivated gent facing the abyss, and also includes Beth Malone, underemployed in a role as a clear-eyed friend. Everybody capably rolls along with the meta-theatrics of the play and its production.
Good Time Charlie opened October 9, 2026, at the Public Theater and runs through October 25. Tickets and information: publictheater.org
