Review: SIGNIFICANT OTHER at Elmwood Playhouse

We think of the phrase “significant other” as a generic rubric to describe someone’s partner without labeling the nature of the relationship, be it spouse, fiancee, platonic companion, or friend with benefits. 

However, in the context of his compelling play “Significant Other” – on stage through Feb. 8 at Elmwood Playhouse in Nyack (N.Y.) – Joshua Harmon may have something more macro in mind with his use of “other.” 

His principal character Jordan Berman is a gay man in his late 20s who’s looking for love in all the usual places – through the workplace, bars, friends. While Jordan is minus a significant other, his sexual orientation, even in a supposedly enlightened urban culture, still casts him as an “other,” someone outside the mainstream of embedded social constructs who must cope with the challenges of otherhood.

Jordan, beautifully rendered in a heartfelt, high-energy turn by John Carlos Lefkowitz, has three gal pals for whom he reliably serves as an off-the-shelf plus-one whenever one is called for. 

There is his guardian angel BFF Laura (Sam Snyder), comically narcissistic work colleague Kiki (Ceili Fitzpatrick), and high-minded literary editor Vanessa (Changu Nan’gandu Chiimbwe), who flashes a subversive sense of humor. The tight trio act as a kind of Greek chorus, along with Jason’s grandmother Helene, sweetly and warmly played by Carol Napier. 

They all do their level best to prop up the flop-sweaty Jordan every chance he gives them. What they cannot continue to give him, though, is their undivided attention. One by one, we watch them tie the knot, which ties Jordan up in knots over seeing his protective mechanisms conform (in his view) to the trite rituals of holy matrimony. 

We also meet the gal pals’ significant others, with actors Sean Jordan and Shane Romer stepping in and out of three roles each that include not only the girls’ spouses but also a flaming co-worker (whose high-pitched mantra is “Oh my God!”); a bar pickup for Jordan; and an office object of desire for Jordan. 

Director Kathleen Mahan keeps the carousel of characters moving smoothly and swiftly, with outsize panels upstage framing abrupt exits and entrances in an elegant set design by Bill Mentz, with spot-on lighting design by Mike Gnazzo that cues scene changes. Also noteworthy are the costumes -- and many rapid costume changes -- supervised by Costume Designer Janet Fenton, capped by a memorable curtain call of bridal beauty. 

Also effective is how playwright Harmon and director Mahan handle some of Jordan’s exposition when recounting a foray into finding love. Instead of, along with the girls, our just hearing Jordan’s tales of woe and wonder, we see them played out in the same scene. In the same breath, Jordan explains and acts out what he explains. It creates a fresh and engaging dynamic that elevates exposition. (In an Author’s Note in his script, Joshua Harmon puckishly points out, “The scenes of this play should bleed into each other. Because love bleeds. Ugh.”)

It’s an admirable cast that delivers the goods that Harmon has cooked up. He clearly is one of the stars of this show. Harmon wields a masterly command of language, with a verbal dexterity and sly wit that isn’t jokey (a la Neil Simon), and certainly not hokey (a la Mel Brooks) but more like “bespokey” – which is to say this formidably talented dramatist is one of one, refreshingly inventive. He cannily mimics not only what comes out of people’s mouths, but also nudges the nuances behind the spoken words to create his own trenchant parlance. A line like “The religion of cliche” speaks volumes. Or “You are so gendery.” And I loved “Just be yourself. Ish.”   

Another distinction here of Harmon-speak is Jordan’s serpentine, stream-of-consciousness monologues that do James Joyce proud (for all you “Ulysses” fans out there). In the mouth of Lefkowitz, they have a lilt to them that is borderline musical. 
One might be tempted to label this a love letter to Gen Z (Harmon is a Millennial) were it not for the poison pen darts he zings at Zers, and to sociey at large. 

His rapier takedowns reach a fever pitch in an Act 2 battle royale between Jordan and Laura during her bachelorette party. 

In their escalating push-and-pull with each other, we witness the longtime buds relive the entirety of their precious friendship, with Jordan spitting out his disdain for the shallowness and spectacle of weddings, and their endless antecedents (engagement party, bridal shower, bachelorette party, far-away destination parties, on and on). “Your wedding is my funeral,” he tells Jordan, another memorable coinage from the Harmon glossary.

The fury that actors Snyder and Lefkowitz bring to their verbal fisticuffs in this climactic scene is authentic – and eminently relatable to anyone who’s ever had a knock-down, drag-out argument with a significant other. 

It's a fraught moment that feels like the non-musical equivalent of an 11 o’clock Broadway number that rocks the audience back in their seats, breathless and riveted, as all the plot strands are resolved. (Come to think of it, the whole narrative of “Significant Other” echoes Stephen Sondheim’s breakthrough musical “Company,” wherein committed bachelor Bobby is exhorted by his married friends to settle down already, dammit. That 11 o’clock number is the emotive anthem “Being Alive,” which I easily can imagine being sung by Jordan.)  

The goings-on throughout “Significant Other” will be recognizable to Gen Zers, and Millennials, and Gen Xers. As for Baby Boomers who are at a further remove age-wise from the world on stage we are watching, there’s a surrogate in the person of Jordan’s grandmother. 

Harmon makes a case for younger generations’ shallow incuriousness about anything outside their self-absorbed orbit, including world history. Body image of course is a thing. A big thing. 

He also makes clear his dismissive take on the Gen Zers' self-regarding lack of concern for the financial wherewithal of people whom are expected by their engaged friends to take costly trips to a wedding-adjacent event. Not to mention how connecting obsessively 24/7 online leads to becoming disconnected from the physical world. In our cold age of digital distancing via Zoom and Facetime and TikTok, people determined to reclaim the warm connectedness of other people are the pluckiest people in the world.  

“Significant Other” could reasonably be classified as a situation-comedy or romantic-comedy were it not for the situation-dramedy bona fides Harmon invests in his characters and their situations. Rare is the sitcom or rom-com written with the acidity and incisive takes on generational haplessness that Harmon has the chops to muster. (“Succession” and “Veep” come to mind as unicorns of the form for their extraordinary writing, both created, not coincidentally, by the same showrunner, Armand Iannucci.) 

For all his travails and self-pity, Jordan can’t fool us: In the end, as he stands forlorn alone on stage, there’s a glint in his eye and a smile about to break across his face, because, we want to believe, he is coming to realize he is, at last, in love… with being alive.

Additional credits… Technical Director is Rob Ward. Property Design by Rich Ciero. Choreography by Jason Summers. Stage Manager is Allison Schneider. Produced by Steve Taylor and Nivia Viera. 

Elmwood Playhouse can be reached at 845-353-1313. info@elmwoodplayhouse.com.

Pictured (from left) are Ceili Fitzpatrick, Sam Snyder, John Carlos Lefkowitz, Changu Nan'gandu Chiimbwe. Photo by Steve Schnur

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