(Written by Allison Brown)
Oftentimes Broadway shows and musicals are effectively adapted to the screen, while inverse attempts rarely match the quality of their reference material. The Notebook, The Musical had big shoes to fill in living up to the impeccable 2004 classic and the novel that came before it, particularly in my own attachment to the content. The Notebook was an integral part of my emotional development; I immediately turn to mush once the title sequence begins from nostalgic PTSD. Not only do Allison (Allie) and I share a name, inevitably leaving me tethered to the character, but as I have aged, we both have experience with memory loss. In the past year, my mother was diagnosed with mild dementia, making this personal narrative even more tied to my being. Given this, I was equal parts terrified and thrilled to see the musical transfer from its original run in Chicago to the Great White Way. Would I spend two plus hours straight sobbing or would I be disappointed by the creative interpretation? Thankfully, I can wholeheartedly side with the former. The Notebook, The Musical is one of the most incredible dramatic works, both cohesive and moving, that I have ever seen brought to the stage.
We are introduced to the precious and free flowing concept of time by faint ticking prior to the show’s opening. Time passage moves out of sequence, utilizing nonlinear storytelling; perhaps to impart the way elder Allie (Maryann Plunkett) recalls her memories out of order. The duo takes a backseat to the action on stage as older Noah (Dorian Harewood) reads their story to this version of Allie, all while remaining in view. The audience can then watch the story unfold as if we were listening to Noah, and connecting it all ourselves.
We witness young Allie (Jordan Tyson) and Noah (John Cardoza) first interact with snarky remarks as they begin to give one another a chance. Noah professes his affection within hours, instilling the wild ride of emotions to come for our OTP, or one true pairing. Their love story develops rapidly, until Allie is forced to move away, and we jump ten years forward early on. The iconic letters, as well as the couple’s heartbreaking separation, do not receive as much focus as in the film, but it seems like this was necessary to maintain a reasonable runtime. One may worry we will not see Tyson and Cardoza again, but thankfully, this is not the case. As the tale of their love develops in each winding turn, elder Allie’s Alzheimer’s disease intensifies. These three timelines weave in and out at peak moments, but the script is so well integrated that it all feels natural.
Devastating moments are juxtaposed with comedic relief, breaking the tension and tears with something more lighthearted and calm. Broadway older Allie seems to have a lot more personality than on film, joking and criticizing the behavior of her youth. Bekah Brunstetter’s book is a perfect adaption of the beloved movie for this reason; she keeps in vital visuals and lines, while also diversifying and making these characters truly unique in their own right. I was grateful to see the utmost critical, closing scene, which is unforgivably erased from the original on streaming, included in this script.
With such a heavy dénouement, the transition from the final narrative scene to the closing song, “Coda,” comes off a bit abrupt. A fade to black with an instrumental score and metaphorical light work for a short duration would have allowed more time to process weighty feelings. Instead, this tragic juncture cuts immediately to a full company song that soon brings us to curtain call. This long journey culminates with the audience unprepared to end their weeping as they are pushed to exit to the street.
Lon’s character (Chase Del Rey) suffers most from the show’s large time jump. As I have not read Nicholas Sparks’ book, I cannot say if his character was initially written in this manner. Brunstetter notes that the musical is based primarily on the book rather than the movie, which is evident by the script’s mention of Allie’s last name as Nelson, not Hamilton. However, Nick Cassavetes’ on-screen retelling shows Allie and Lon finding one another in a flash of loneliness. We watch them fall in love and develop a deep connection with one another, making the challenging nature behind Allie’s ultimate decision more believable. Here, we only meet Lon after the pair are already engaged; Del Rey only appears in one or two scenes at most, and is immediately overlooked following. He reads more as the other man than another viable option like we are led to believe.
The Notebook superfans may be devastated to see the “if you’re a bird, I’m a bird” scene notably absent, as is the further establishment of birds as a metaphor for being caged versus free, as well as reincarnation. This gets replaced with a similar concept of sea turtles, but with less fleshed out allegorical significance. One further strange choice lies in staging the iconic boat by the lake while Allie and Noah are young but leaving it out of the peak rain scene, opting to show the twosome walking by the water instead of boating through it. Assumably, this was not feasible to integrate realistically with the simple pool built into the stage, so the callback, at a minimum is appreciated. In that regard, while the rain special effects are unquestionably astounding to behold, there are clearly still a few kinks to work out. While a few drops of intermittent water are inevitable, the tone in a particularly serious scene was tainted by a random gush of leftover precipitation that even the actors seemed surprised by.
Despite their mention, these small misgivings are not enough to supersede the profound success of The Notebook, The Musical’s execution. Subtle adjustments in staging and lighting allow for creative and smooth transitions in location and mood. Vertically placed fluorescent tube lights hang from the ceiling and convert from fully glowing to small golden concentrated portions on the edges that almost evoke a chandelier. Spotlights are used to highlight the prime character in each scene to differentiate from being in the moment versus a remembrance. The stage itself is broken up into two tiers, with a balcony and main area, which eventually transforms into the entryway in Noah’s fully formed home, with added doors and windows. Small set pieces adapt the rooms in the nursing home to a hospital, and backdrops seamlessly invent even further delineation. Water is so fluidly incorporated into the show that it almost becomes a character in its own right. Allie/Noah pairings jump in it, splash it around as they pass, and interact with what surrounds them, whether it be the impressive rain setup or the constructed on-stage pond. Collectively, this remarkable scenic design by David Zinn and Brett J. Banakis and singular lighting design by Ben Stanton feel essential to allowing full immersion in their world.
I will admit I was a bit worried to see the casting in action, given the choice to forgo any visual matching of actors in appearance. Younger and middle Allie are both black, while their Noah counterparts are white. Once they reach old age, the pair swap races. Fortunately, this does not become an impediment at all in following the narrative. This is most likely a result of Paloma Young’ smart costume design. While skin color varies, wardrobe hue does not; each Allie is wearing some form of blue, while each Noah (if dressed at all) wears a brown top with jeans.
It would be a shock if Maryann Plunkett was not nominated come award season. Plunkett’s Allie feels the most like a real human being that I have ever perceived from a theatre actor. She is playful and silly in her best days, and heartbreakingly broken in her worst. As she descends into confusion upon forgetting loved ones around her, one can feel the absolute devastation and wreckage in her performance. Every difficult interaction and reaction from senior Allie brought me to tears so powerful that I had to actively work to quiet myself.
This is not to say that the rest of the ensemble does not pull their own weight. John Cardoza and Joy Woods (middle Allie) are both standouts. Cardoza’s vocals are smooth like butter, while also displaying substantial strength at crescendos and swells. Woods is just magnificent all around as an actor and a vocalist; her emotionality is varied, and every slight inflection in her facial expression is immediately visible. The showstopping point when she sings, “My Days,” reveals the true power in her voice. She remains quietly refined and controlled early on, until she breaks into a powerhouse display at its climax.
Ingrid Michaelson’s score may not be apt for belting in singalongs, as much of Broadway tends to be, but its honest and raw softness lets us experience and feel what our characters do. Lyrics are occasionally repetitive, but so is life and conversation for those suffering from dementia. Just as the script, lyrical comedy allows one to escape from the heaviness of overriding themes. I enjoyed “I Paint” most, but it is far too short, though “Kiss Me” and “Forever” are also delightful. Many of the melodies reminded me of Waitress, which should not be a surprise given the close friendship between Michaelson and Sara Bareilles. One thing I felt missing was an allusion to the iconic music in the film. Allie’s haunting piano segment that she retains with age and Billie Holiday’s “I’ll Be Seeing You” were integral to the plot; surely elements of the sound or a sample could have been written into Michaelson’s songs.
Movie to stage adaptations are always bound to draw a large pool of loyal fans, but rarely is the execution worthy of these sales. Co-directors Michael Greif and Schele Williams really hit it out of the park with The Notebook, The Musical. Impeccable casting, unique staging, a layered book, and passionate music and lyrics combined place this rendition high among the ranks of comparable theater.
Leave the light on and let The Notebook, The Musical carry you home, now playing at the Schoenfeld Theatre with an open-ended run.
