National anthems

This time of year is always strange for me. Right after Labor Day of 2000, I moved back to my parents’ place in Naperville from San Francisco, where I had been living since late 1993, to be with my father during his final days (he died that October). I had no plans other than being present for his end, which meant that thinking about the future was near impossible. And I’m not great at being a live-in-the-moment kind of person. At the same time, I found that looking back in the immediate aftermath of loss was also quite painful.

I had thought at the time that losing my dad would be the worst thing I’d have to face for a while. But no. There was the “election” of George W. Bush, followed by the 9/11 attacks, the horrors of the Iraq War, the botched Katrina response, the financial collapse of 2008. And then there was the hope embodied by the election of Barack Obama—followed by the rise of the proto-MAGA Tea Party, the nightmare of the first Trump administration, the botched COVID response, and . . . well, you know. You were probably there for most of it. And you’re certainly witnessing even worse things now.

How do we regain hope when looking back at what we’ve lost stabs at us? How do we even think about getting past the desperation and fear that haunts us daily? How do we move on and where do we even go? And is it possible to laugh about any of it?

Two musicals now on local stages take very different approaches to examining huge events of the first decade or so of the 21st century. But despite great differences in tone, both also limn that universal tension between hope and dread.

Come From Away
Through 10/12: Wed 1:30 and 7 PM, Thu–Fri 7 PM, Sat 2 and 7 PM, Sun 1 and 5:30 PM; Paramount Theatre, 23 E. Galena Blvd., Aurora, 630-896-6666, paramountaurora.com, $31-$88
44 the Musical
Through 9/21: Tue–Wed 7:30 PM, Fri 7:30 PM, Sat 2:30 and 7:30 PM, Sun 2:30 PM; also Thu 9/18 7:30 PM; Studebaker Theater, 410 S. Michigan, 44theobamamusical.com/tickets, $44-$128.50

Come From Away, the 2017 Tony-nominated musical by Irene Sankoff and David Hein, captures a specific time and place: Gander, Newfoundland, in the days immediately after 9/11, when the small town with a mostly disused airport (a relic from the time before jets could get across the Atlantic without refueling) became home to thousands of travelers grounded in the wake of the attacks. It’s now in a stirring and soulful Chicago regional premiere directed by Trent Stork at Paramount Theatre in Aurora.

44 the Musical, created and directed by Eli Bauman, returns to Chicago at the Studebaker, after a run at the Epiphany Center last August (right in time for the DNC) under the title 44—THE unOFFICIAL, unSANCTIONED OBAMA MUSICAL (As Told Through the Hazy Recollection of Joe Biden). Obviously, it’s a different world now than a year ago, and though I missed the run last year, it’s hard not to look at this show through the lens of our current national nightmare.

Of the two, it was easier for me to settle into Come From Away—in part because I had seen and loved the 2022 touring production presented through Broadway in Chicago. But also in part because the show doesn’t put us in the position of trying to understand how our country got so fucked up that, after twice electing the man who ran on the audacity of hope, it has twice elected a sociopathic con man, 34-time felon, and adjudicated rapist motivated by sheer malice, vengeance, and greed.

The underlying causes of the 9/11 attacks are kept at arm’s length in the story, though we do see some ugly Islamophobia displayed (including the strip search of a Muslim passenger before he’s allowed to board his plane and leave “the Rock,” as the residents of Gander refer to their corner of the world). A stellar and hardworking cast of a dozen actors play the townspeople and the travelers alike, which underscores the growing sympathy and camaraderie between the two groups over the few days that the world came to Gander. (The creators based the script in part on interviews conducted with the town residents and their unexpected visitors.)

Come From Away may also be one of the best musical tributes to project management I’ve ever seen. That may sound glib, but the on-the-fly (well, on-the ground, really) arrangements that the townsfolk make to house, feed, and comfort the nearly 7,000 travelers (and a few animals, including Olga, a pregnant bonobo) are a testament to what people can do when they know they have to step the fuck up and make things happen, using the skill sets they’ve been implementing for more mundane tasks for years. The mayor and the head of the striking school bus drivers’ union call a truce so they can get people out of the airport and into community centers and homes. Several trips to local stores clear the shelves of food and toiletries. (In one humorous moment, one of the women of Gander realizes she’d better go and collect feminine hygiene products herself, rather than trust the overwhelmed guy who has been making the supply runs.)

One traveling couple (two gay men both named Kevin, played by Zak Berger and Adam Qutaishat) sees their relationship fall apart. Two other older travelers, Nick and Diane (played by Ron E. Rains and Susie McMonagle), fall in love. Hannah (Soara-Joye Ross), wracked with fear over the fate of her New York firefighter son, forms a bond with Beulah (Abby C. Smith), a local woman. Beverley (Andrea Prestinario), a woman pilot whose friend was on the crew for the plane that crashed into the Pentagon, mourns the loss of her colleague, but also recounts all the sexism and challenges she’s faced in her career (“Me and the Sky”).

The score, performed under the music direction of Kory Danielson by eight musicians, is a mix of rousing Celtic-inflected dance numbers, ballads, and rockers. Appropriately for a musical about the power of community in crisis, most of the numbers are for the entire ensemble. Milo Bue’s scenic design incorporates a series of receding arches like the rings of a giant and ancient tree, suggesting that though these stories loom large in our time, they are a blip on the arc of the earth’s history, which perhaps paradoxically make them feel even more important to honor in the moment.

A show about people coming together to help each other in times of great duress and fear might feel more like a fantasy than reality right now, but I left the Paramount convinced that with every protest, every direct action, every donation, and every act of kindness and resistance, we can provide comfort and light for those left stranded by a very different kind of attack.

By contrast, 44 the Musical left me feeling more becalmed and disquieted, despite the fact that it’s very much designed as a comedy revue. In part, I think that’s because the central character of Barack Obama (T.J. Wilkins) is a bit of a tabula rasa on whom the other characters project their own hopes, neuroses, hatreds, and resentments. That inevitably, at least for me, made me question how much we the people have failed at living up to Obama’s exhortation that “we are the ones we’ve been waiting for” in the pursuit of the latest shiny political object.

The ensemble of 44 the Musical at the Studebaker Theater Credit: Michael Brosilow

Bauman, who notes in the program that he worked on the Obama campaign in ’08, shoots some obvious fish in the comedic barrel. In “My Turn,” a bitter Hillary Clinton (Kelly Felthous) can barely believe that an upstart like Obama is ruining her chance at the nomination. Sarah Palin (Summer Collins) works the hockey MILF angle with “Drill Me Baby.” And the evil cabal of Mitch McConnell, Ted Cruz, and Lindsey Graham, or W.H.A.M. (White Hetero Affluent Men), make no bones about their plans to fuck over the first Black president and the Democratic Congress at every turn. (Herman Cain, played with resonant voice by Dino Shorté, starts out as the group’s clueless token mascot, but has an ahistorical turn into hero territory later in the two-act show.)

To be clear: I definitely laughed a lot here. Despite the first appearance of Chad Doreck’s Joe Biden leaning on the tired senescent stereotype that helped sink his reelection bid (thank god we didn’t choose an old guy in clear cognitive decline, huh?), the character quickly becomes an engaging goofball narrator. Doreck plays Biden a bit like the swaggering dude the Onion created, yet his bromance with President Obama at times competes with Shanice’s loving but no-nonsense Michelle. He also displays deft physical comedy and (along with the rest of the cast), sharp dance moves (choreography by Miss James Alsop).

Bauman’s show does occasionally know when to back off of the laughs. “Amazing Grace” pays tribute to the victims of so many mass shootings during the Obama years, when he so gracefully performed the thankless and heartbreaking role of mourner-in-chief, even as the GOP-led Congress steadfastly refused to do anything about gun control. The performers, especially and unsurprisingly Shanice, deliver Bauman’s score (inflected with strains of pop, gospel, and soul) with gusto under the music direction of Anthony “Brew” Brewster.”

If anything, the show should remind us that one person in the White House can never do everything on their own. It takes the cooperation of many others in power. And malevolent forces like McConnell who have been laying the groundwork for permanent GOP rule for years aren’t going to turn turtle overnight. In that way, 44 the Musical serves an instructive as well as an entertaining purpose. Though as the right seeks to center the idea of permanent authoritarian dictatorship and too many Dems seem intent on finding the Great Top-of-the-Ticket Savior for 2028, I fear that lesson may not land with everyone who needs to hear it.

By the end, I felt a sense of mourning in looking back on the happier moments of the Obama years (just as thinking about the happier times with my dad right after his death carried a bittersweet sting at realizing they were gone forever), and anger at the absolute perfidy of the electorate in failing to stand up against fascism.

Yes, we can . . . blame the voters. They’re grown-ups, and a nation of people stuck in perpetual cycles of adolescent tantrums and refusal to accept responsibility for the choices they make is one that will always be ripe for exploitation by the darkest forces. (Speaking of adolescent tantrums: It’s still unnerving to wonder if Trump would have ever followed through on the decision to run if Obama and Seth Meyers hadn’t tag-teamed in ridiculing him at the 2011 White House Press Correspondents dinner. That, as 44 reminds us, was the same night that SEAL Team Six took out Osama Bin Laden. Now the people who are trying to destroy us are firmly within the halls of power.)

But also, I did feel a faint remembrance of hope. Because we did elect “a skinny kid with a funny name” (as Barack Obama famously described himself) to the highest office in the land. (Technically, we also chose a woman over the con man in 2016, but the Electoral College is just one of the gifts from our slaver founding fathers that continues to bedevil us today. Hi again, Al Gore!) And when Wilkins’s 44th president steps out of “we go high” mode with Michelle, Joe, and Hillary all backing him up (plus a Black Abe Lincoln), it’s a fist-pumping moment. (My dad taught U.S. history and I think he would have gotten a kick out of that scene, too.)

Come From Away reminds us that we (or at least Canadians) can do great things by focusing on the immediate needs of others in crisis. 44 the Musical reminds us that trying to address those needs on an ongoing and national scale (like, say, providing affordable health care to our fellow citizens) continues to be a conundrum that won’t be solved until we widen the lens of our compassionate imaginations beyond our own prejudices and fears.

Meantime, at least we can laugh at the evil motherfuckers trying to tear us down. Maybe they won’t take it so personally they run for office just to spite us. Maybe.