"Tuesdays with Morrie" at Chanhassen Dinner Theatres

In the main theater at Chanhassen Dinner Theatres, the super talented "little girls" of Annie, and their grownups, are bringing joy and hope and boisterous energy to audiences. But the name of this theater is plural for a reason - there's a lot going on in that labyrinth of a building. The Fireside Theatre hosts multiple concerts every week, and downstairs in The Playhouse Theatre (home of Stevie Ray's Comedy Cabaret, which performs every Friday and Saturday night), they're presenting the quietly lovely two-hander Tuesdays with Morrie. The popular 1997 book by Mitch Albom about the year he spent visiting his college professor in his final days was adapted into a stage play in the early 2000s by the author, with the help of prolific local playwright Jeffrey Hatcher. This funny, touching, and inspirational two-hander is a great choice for this space and this time. The Playhouse Theatre is smaller than the main theater, but it has table (and booth) seating and the same menu as upstairs. And even though this would make the perfect 90-minute-no-intermission play, this is Chanhassen Dinner Theatres, and people (myself included) want their dessert at intermission. So it runs just under two hours, including that intermission when you can have dessert delivered to your table to complete the dinner theater experience (continuing through November 29).

The play is structured as a combination of direct audience address, primarily with Mitch telling us his story, and scenes between Mitch and his professor Morrie. First we learn the back story - Morrie was Mitch's favorite professor at Brandeis University in Massachusetts in the '70s, so beloved that he affectionately called him Coach. And despite promises to stay in touch, life happens, and 16 years went by. Then Mitch sees his old professor on an episode of Nightline, talking about his diagnosis of ALS. Something called him back, and he began visiting Morrie every Tuesday, until the end. We witness these conversations, which are as funny as they are profound, discussing some deep topics, with a healthy dose of playful banter. We also watch as Morrie grows weaker and less mobile, something that Mitch doesn't want to admit, but eventually has to face, with the help of his mentor. 

Mitch and Morrie (Ryan London Levin and
Gabriele Angieri, photo by Tom Wallace)

These two people had a special mentor/mentee, even father/son relationship, which is palpable on stage in this production, thanks in large part to the actors. Fresh off perhaps his best performance to date in Theater Latte Da's Indecent (that closed less than a week before this show opened), Ryan London Levin gives another wonderful performance as Mitch, so natural and relatable, believably conveying the reluctant transition from busy career man with no time for feelings to someone more whole and human. He's well matched in Gabriele Angieri, a veteran actor with a ton of credits, but whom I haven't seen on stage much in recent years. He's a natural as Morrie, so charming and funny and vulnerable as he portrays the final journey of a man who's lived well, and is determined to die well. Ryan and Gabriele are a great comedy team (I recognize a lot of Jeffrey Hatcher's trademark wit in this play), but also aren't afraid to go deep with each other.

Morrie and Mitch (Gabriele Angieri and Ryan London Levin)
(photo by Tom Wallace)

Making her directing debut with this play is Serena Brook (currently playing Miss Hannigan upstairs), striking the perfect tone of laughter through tears. The story flows from scene to scene, Tuesday to Tuesday, with transitions that are seamless but mark the slow progression of time (and disease). The design team from upstairs (scenic designer Nayna Ramey, costume designer Rich Hamson, sound designer Russ Haynes, lighting designer Sue Ellen Berger, props designer Abbee Warmboe) also designed this show, proving they can do small scale as well as the do big scale. The wide and shallow Playhouse stage holds a simple set representing Morrie's home, two doors and an open space on one side, a counter and brick walls on the other, the only furniture a couple of stools, and later, Morrie's chair. Costume changes are minimal (unlike upstairs), with characters dressed in unassuming casual wear that hints at who they are, a suit jacket thrown over jeans for Mitch, a professorial slouchy sweater for Morrie. This is in no way a musical, but music is subtly incorporated with recorded tracks, since Mitch is a pianist and his (unseen) wife a singer, which adds to the emotionality of the scenes.

The Chanhassen is known for their big, splashy, colorful musicals, and Tuesdays with Morrie is the opposite of that, small and quiet and subtle, but just as beautifully done. While Annie gives us hope for the future, specifically in the power of girls and women to change the world, Morrie reminds us to be present with the people we love, to do what makes us happy not what the world expects of us, to forgive even when we're in the right, to connect with other humans on this planet. It's a message that Mitch needed to hear 30 years ago, and that we all still need to hear. Which is probably why the book was so popular, a simple message that's easy to forget, that the play and this production convey well with humor and grace.