Holiday seasons are a time of togetherness, charity, and good will toward men. Ground Floor Theatre believes in that message, but also believes it can be told without a cheery Christmas parable shoved down the audience's throats like a blot of mustard or a crumb of cheese. Instead, they're presenting some welcome counterprogramming with a buoyant production of William Finn's Falsettos, the 1992 Tony award winner for Best Book and Best Original Score, and celebrated anew with a 2016 revival. Set in 1979 and 1981, Falsettos tells the tale of Marvin (Jacob Rosenbaum), a man who's introduced as having recently left his wife and child for the arms of his friend Whizzer (Nicholas Hunter). The show explores family dynamics as each person struggles to find their own identity and their place in this new world. Marvin's wife Trina (Megan DeYoung) tries to find peace through her anger, initially by working with Marvin's psychiatrist Mendel (Max Green), whose interest in Trina quickly passes professional. Their preteen son, Jason (Juno McQueen), grapples with what his father's new relationship means for himself. And as for Marvin? Well, he "wants it all" - a happy family, a passionate love, respectability, freedom. Just those simple impossibilities.
With songs like the jubilant opener, "Four Jews in a Room Bitching," or wry interludes like "My Father's a Homo" and "Everyone Hates His Parents," this musical thrives on those unexpected intricacies. It's completely sung through, and Ground Floor's cast manages to blend beautifully while enunciating their way through Finn and collaborator James Lapine's fast patter. It's a wordy show, with each number dumping massive exposition along with emotional atom bombs and quick, clever jokes, but here it's handled with admirable aplomb. I'm not sure what melodic bootcamp music director/conductor Trey Shonkwiler ran these musicians and singers through, but whatever he did worked like gangbusters. Even those new to the music will be able to follow along. There's no mushmouth here.
The actors deliver not only with clarity, but with sheer athleticism. Director Trace Turner instructs his cast through massive feats of movement. Early on, Rosenbaum belts while essentially planking onstage. He and Hunter sing through racquetball scenes in the second act. And during Trina's song "I'm Breaking Down," there are roller skates. Yep. Roller. Skates. DeYoung's skating ability alone is impressive enough, but the way she belts her way through a mental breakdown deserves every adulation. It's a perfect number in a sea of noteworthy songs.
Each performer brings their A-game, resulting in an exhilarating watch. DeYoung gives an incredible portrayal of frustrated housewife, angry not just at her husband's departure but with what society says life should have given her. Rosenbaum and Hunter play electrifying passion, equally unhinged and unbreakable. Much credit for that goes to Rosenbaum. He captures Marvin's adoration for Whizzer and for his son Jason, but doesn't shy away from the toxic rage deep within his soul. Marvin is our protagonist, but he's no hero. He's a man working through what masculinity means. And he's doing it while gorgeously singing through modulating keys and dissonant tones. McQueen and Green, along with Act II's lesbian neighbors played by Coty Ross and Jessica Terán, fill out the performance with warmth and humor, along with goosebump-inducing harmonies.
It would be easy for a show like this, a Nineties touchstone addressing homosexuality in that monumental shift between free love and pandemic, to feel dated or remote. But it's held up shockingly well. The restricted time period helps, as do the clear connections to modern times. When Mendel mourns how people helping each other is lost in Reagan's yuppie culture - well, it's not a hard line to draw to 2024. But Finn and Lapine's characters manage to defend themselves by growing closer. In some way, Ground Floor found a perfect holiday musical. It doesn't shy away from the stress and neurosis. But it doesn't shy away from the depth of love's bonds either. To quote the characters, they are "scared together." Fearful, but with support.