Powell’s latest feels playful and honest

Courageous. Charming. A lot of laughs.

That’s the staccato lead describing my reactions to In Love…Yet Again, Jason Powell’s comic musical romp at the Alchemist Theatre that chronicles a man’s lifetime of failed relationships. If not for all the kissing, dating, and alleged lovemaking his eponymous character actually experiences, it felt like Powell was retelling significant chunks of my own life history with respect to females.

Powell repeatedly falls for beautiful, brainy, occupied women, then writes them a song that utterly fails to win their hearts.

He describes his romantic exploits to an unnamed female friend onstage (Joanna H. Kerner), who prods him on like a wry psychoanalyst. Two able actresses (Katy Johnson and Ashley Retzlaff) rotate roles as the girl of the moment, reenacting key scenes with Powell, who plays both the reflective narrator and lead actor in his own (presumably quasi-autobiographical) story. The play is directed by Mallory Metoxen with tech by Sydonia Lucchesi.

The romantic exploits start in grade school, with Powell crushing over the nerdy girl at the back of whose head he stares for seven hours a day. They trade love notes and are urged to kiss on the playground tire swing, but alas, it was not to be. This pattern continues into adulthood and via new media with much comic effect. I could relate.

The night I attended was a blast not only because of what went right but also because of what went wrong. When Powell bursts out from behind the curtain singing and doing a little jig, I admit my expectations were upset. I was anticipating a narrative play with characters and plot, but instead he starts delivering a singing monologue about his dating history. What was I in for?

The happy accident of knocking over the guitar broke the ice. 

Mid-dance, Powell picks it up like a wounded bird and strums away. But when he sits down to tune the guitar for the next song, I could sense seething expletives unspoken as the musician’s tool has now been rendered out of tune. Yet the show must go on! Powell and company use the damaged guitar to their advantage, joking about it to incorporate it into their presentation. From the moment the guitar fell, the landmine of self-referential self-importance was defused and a bond with the audience formed. This wasn’t going to be a perfect show about a whiny guy; this was a real show, warts and all, about something more universal—relationships—delivered for our entertainment as the more-or-less real guy, warts and all, bravely pokes fun at scenes reimagined from his own life. That kind of exposition of self takes courage.

I got the feeling that this show was something of a tour de force for Powell, its writer, musician, and lead actor.

His plays tend to include a trio of cute chorus girls and In Love… is no exception. Credit must go to the versatile supporting cast, who play the parade of women in Powell’s life and are able to counterbalance and appropriately undercut Powell's sometimes heavy narrative. Johnson worked with Powell in Fortuna, reprising here as a feisty redhead with a clean, high singing voice. Retzlaff hails from my alma mater, Ripon College, and delivers a captivating performance with an impressive range of facial expressions. Kerner holds everything together, plays guitar, and alternates as the mysterious recurring Zoe character by donning a ridiculous blonde wig.

After intermission, Powell calls an audience member onstage for a “date” during which both are suitably embarrassed as he serenades her with the lyrics, “I want to fill you up…with my babies.” As the audience started singing along a cappella, it felt like we were lifting lighters and swaying together to a wedding song everybody knew.

Powell’s catchy music, which feels like a cult indie folk album, blends all the dense geeky silliness we have come to expect following Invader and Fortuna. I woke up the next morning with the titular song in my head.

From an evolutionary biology perspective, In Love…Yet Again is also the perfect calling card broadcasting the fitness of the presumably single male who created it. It’s birdsong advertising Powell’s matured availability. It projects the character of a sensitive, creative guy who’s been wounded a few times, caused a few wounds himself, but remains buoyed by an innate boyish optimism that might best be called human.

If the honesty is genuine, then I wish the man much luck, for such a character deserves another chance to love and be loved. But whether or not it’s genuine for him or for us, and whether or not we're boys or girls or in a relationship or not, isn’t that what we all want?