“How To Dance in Ohio” is a musical adaptation of a 2015 documentary film of the same name about a group of autistic young adults at a counseling center in Columbus, Ohio, who, as part of their social skills therapy group, spend months preparing for a formal prom-like dance. The production, which opens tonight at Broadway’s Belasco Theater, has some tuneful melodies, some touching moments and, above all, an exhilarated and exhilarating cast, featuring seven performers who are themselves autistic young adults making their Broadway debuts portraying the autistic characters. But the musical falls short of the documentary it has adapted in ways that make the translation to the stage feel like less than an ideal fit for Broadway.
Dr. Emilio Amigo, the actual name of the physician who runs the Amigo Family Counseling Center in Columbus (portrayed on stage by Broadway veteran Caesar Samayoa), comes up with the idea for the dance to help focus the group: “Basically, the Formal is like a trial run for real life.” We see his clients practicing how to make small talk, how to ask for a date, how to dance. We learn about them little by little, one by one.
Remy (Desmond Edwards) likes to dress up; he hopes one day to design movie costumes. Right now, he has a Tik Tok channel in which he dresses as “the sixth member of the Spice Girls: Autistic Spice! “
Marideth (Madison Kopec), the newcomer to the group, finds comfort in learning facts. When her widowed father asks her whether she’s planning to buy a dress for the dance, she sings a song about Australia (“Unlikely Animals”) whose lyrics cleverly clue us into her state of mind and self-assessment:
Australia is an island out in the Pacific that’s mostly a desert
Australia is a lesson in what isolation and distance can do
A land of unlikely animals
So strange they couldn’t possibly be true
It’s in the tentative opening up of characters like Marideth to her fellow islanders that “How to Dance in Ohio” is most affecting.
But the disappointing contrast with the documentary was driven home for me by two moments in particular that occur one after the other near the end of the show, both unintentionally ironic.
Dr. Amigo agrees to be interviewed about the Spring Formal by two different journalists who contact him, as long as they agree to publish their stories after the dance. But one of them, a blogger, not only publishes his piece prematurely, he writes about the situation in offensively stereotypical ways — how Dr. Amigo is a “hero” for working with people who “suffer from Autism Spectrum Disorder, which for them, and also for their families, is a life sentence.” And how in organizing the Spring Formal, he is helping his charges “face their worst fears: a nightclub full of lights and sounds that could trigger tantrums, meltdowns, or worse.”
Amigo’s young clients are hurt and outraged; Remy sings:
It’s not like i’m shocked by the ableist clichés, but they do make me tired.
Do I only exist on this planet to make somebody else feel inspired?
As a result, only one of them shows up for the dance: Drew, who’s disappointed that the others are boycotting. (“But I shaved and everything.”) Drew does very well in school, has gotten into the engineering program at the University of Michigan, but he doesn’t want to leave his hometown, and decides to go to Ohio State instead. Dr. Amigo has been pushing Drew to change his mind. But Drew makes it clear he knows what he wants. Alone at the Spring Formal, he sings “Building Momentum,” a thrilling song, maybe the most memorable and moving of the 21 in the show. (Below is a music video that, interspersed with some scenes from the actual center in Columbus and the cast’s promotional appearances, includes a recording of the song by the performer who portrays Drew, Liam Pearce.) Pearce is fantastic in the role, a great singer, a persuasive actor, easily inducing laughter and tears. And then you read his bio – his previous credits include “Rent” at Paper Mill Playhouse and “Legally Blonde” at The Muny – and you realize: Why wouldn’t he be terrific? Pearce and the other cast members exhibit such palpable talent that the fact of their autism comes to seem irrelevant.
This is perhaps an ideal reaction in real life, and if the purpose of this musical is to demonstrate that autistic people can be as competent as anybody else – indeed exemplary – the show has succeeded.
But the documentary presented the struggle of the people in it to get to competence in their daily life, not always successfully. One says “It’s harder for people with autism to find jobs, because we don’t know the social rules like everybody else does.” The film is in effect a series of portraits through candid interviews and small, close-up, often challenging moments, as mundane as one woman meticulously making a lunch for herself.
A big Broadway musical is not well-equipped for such brief, intimate moments. There are only a few noticeable ones on stage; the most effective one (borrowed from the documentary and somewhat altered) shows Imani Russell as Mel being dressed down by their boss at a pet store, because Mel misinterpreted “Do you want to get the phone?” as an idle question rather than a command.
Without the struggle, what is the story; where is the drama?
The creative team implicitly acknowledges the greater need for dramatic tension on stage. They add a countdown clock, which starts at 99 days to the dance and reaches 1 by intermission; this doesn’t help. They also fabricate a number of scenes and subplots that were not in the movie, including the whole sequence with the journalist and his ignorant article killing the dance (spoiler alert: only temporarily.) This feels especially glib and ungracious to me given that the musical wouldn’t exist were it not for journalistic coverage of the group and their dance, by documentary filmmaker Alexandra Shiva, which the songwriting team Rebekah Greer Melocik and Jacob Yandura discovered while searching for something to turn into a musical. It also is, ironically, the only time we’re given any kind of definition of autism – we only get an anti-definition. The only other comment is at the beginning of the show, when the seven actors come out on stage as themselves, and one, Conor Tague, who portrays Tommy, repeats a line that’s in the documentary: “There’s this saying, ‘If you’ve met one autistic person… you’ve met one autistic person.’ You are now meeting seven autistic people.”
The encounter is a delight; they, and the characters they portray, are charming and disarming. The production is groundbreaking. But “How to Dance in Ohio,” directed with high energy and a bright scenic design that looks like the set of Wheel of Fortune, seems intended to make you want to root for the performers just as much as for the characters, as if they need rooting for. It thus seems primarily aimed at a niche audience, those who already know and care about autism — caretakers or autistic people themselves — and would most welcome the uplift.
How to Dance in Ohio
Belasco Theater
Closing February 11, 2024
Running time: two and a half hours including one intermission
Tickets: $48 to $215. Digital lottery: $35. Unsold tickets on day of performance: $50
Book and lyrics by Rebekah Greer Melocik, based on the documentary by Alexandra Shiva
Music by Jacob Yandura
Directed by Sammi Cannold
Choreography by Mayte Natalio
Scenic design by Robert Brill, costumes by Sarafina Bush, lighting by Bradley King, sound by Connor Wang
Orchestrations by Bruce Coughlin, music consultation by Mary-Mitchell Campbell Cast: Desmond Edwards (as Remy), Amelia Fei (as Caroline), Madison Kopec (as Marideth), Liam Pearce (as Drew), Imani Russell (as Mel), Conor Tague (as Tommy), Ashley Wool (as Jessica), Haven Burton (as Terry), Darlesia Cearcy (as Johanna), Caesar Samayoa (as Dr. Emilio Amigo), Cristina Sastre (as Ashley Amigo), Carlos L Encinias, Nick Gaswirth, Melina Kalomas, Martín Solá, Jean Christian Barry, Collin Hancock, Hunter Hollingsworth, Marina Jansen, Ayanna Thomas, Marina Pires
