13. Being wholly in the moment with that one companion who just sees you no matter which you that you are in that moment, feeling loved, seen, and appreciated by that whole person and their whole being as you are being your whole self.
28. Face Glitter.
422. Home-grown Nasturtium blossoms
649. Not understanding how time can move so quickly and so slowly all at once and not at all.
525,601. Making my “main stage debut at the MET”
When I saw this play for the first time in 2021, I remember being moved by it, but sort of also non-plussed. Like it was touching and really gratifying because it was September of 2021 and live theatre as a given hadn’t really returned to us wholly because we were still well in the clutches of the Covid-19 global pandemic. (And here I thought it was ‘…just a couple years ago…’) I think I was just so grateful to be back at an in-person live theatre event…even though it was in a stranger’s backyard, outdoors, under an open-air tent, at a theatre company that sadly went defunct in spring of ’23.
Seeing it this time— seeing Every Brilliant Thing at The Maryland Ensemble Theatre, as the closing mainstage production of their nearly-exclusive 90-minute-no-intermission season (The Crucible was a glorious, tight two-and-change with intermission)— there was something stellar, moving, and remarkable about it.
733. Paul Morella once saying to me, “…But it seems that way because you’re different. You’re in a different place than you were before… The words are the same; you’re just in a different place and experiencing it differently.”
The words are the same. The script of Every Brilliant Thing is still penned by Duncan Macmillan and Jonny Donahoe. And on the Maryland Ensemble Theatre’s stage they’re being directed by Tad Janes and performed* by Jeremy Myers (at this performance.) But I’m different; I’m in a very different place from my life in 2021; I’m experiencing this show differently. And this review might seem deeply personal, or feel out of sync with what others might have to say about it, but this show is a deeply personal experience. No one person going into this or coming out of it is going to have the exact same experience as somebody else. And while that can be more broadly applied to most theatrical experiences, for this one it’s exceptionally true.
It’s set in the round, something director Tad Janes knows exquisitely well; he’s worked this particular play space for quite some time and it shows. And it’s wildly intimate in the sense that the audience is never truly removed from the experience. Shayden Jamison’s lighting (Cody James’ set has a few tri-chandelier type fixtures on the ceilings, a few lights on the walls, and very minimal else except for the platformed elevated play-space at center— and honestly it doesn’t need anything else) is kept mostly up— though there are critical moments when the lights flicker and later dim that really drive home an emotional component and all its respective essence.
55,555. The quintessential perfect kiss on a city street at night as you’re dressed in a perfect ballgown, after seeing your favorite show, sharing that experience with the perfect person, and wishing for all the world that that perfect kiss didn’t have to end.
55,556. Not falling off your paddleboard despite the wave nearly wiping you out.
There is something about this beautifully vulnerable experience that just washes over you from the moment you walk into the house. Jeremy Myers wears the text of this play so exceptionally well, you would swear it was a story he penned and was sharing as a part of some deeply cathartic, support-group therapy experience, but in a wholly truthful, fathomlessly meaningful way. You’re about to embark on a journey and you’re already on board before Myers ever utters the first word; there’s just something about the way he sets up the space, his mindful presence in the space, the way he’s just there— genuinely smiling, earnestly present, wholly expecting this crowd and ready to help them explore this narrative. It is a brilliant thing.
There is something jovial about Myers’ existence in this role as well; even in some of the darker moments there is a lightness that he brings to the stage that at best is indescribably heartwarming; it’s an infectious sense of glimmering hope that pulls you gently from one moment to the next. The play is meant to be an ‘every person’ experience and the effortlessness with which Myers achieves that effect is beyond astonishing. No performance, whether you see Myers multiple times or the two other performers* who are sharing the run of this production, is going to be the same and yet there is this familiarity, this comfort that Myers infuses into the space, into his way of speaking, into the manner in which he makes eye contact for however brief or long with each individual member of the audience; it makes you feel welcome and engaged.
664. Audience Participation when you are the audience and it is unexpected but welcome.
I’m no stranger to performing (have a degree and everything!) and my particular trade is improv-murder-mystery comedy, so when Myers landed on me for one of multiple audience-participatory moments and I actually found myself asking, “me?” (and then when he confirmed, my late-to-the-game-Hamilton-obsessed-self muttered to the poor person sitting next to me, “okay so we’re doin’ this.”) I was truthfully a little nervous, a little excited, a little uncertain, but wholly engaged. Myers managed, often without more than a nod, a smile, or an encouraging gesture and word or two, to get all the audience participants to feel at ease. And his ability to roll with whatever was coming out of their mouths was perfect; I would absolutely improv with him as he wholly understands ‘yes and…’ in addition to gentle redirection to keep the narrative trajectory flowing. And while you may not find yourself being called upon to engage as a person in Myers’ story? Everyone in the audience gets to participate in a small way and its immersive without feeling invasive; a truly brilliant thing.
One of the things that impressed me the most was how few notes I took about this performance. I’ve been a critic and reviewer for nearly 15 years (it’ll be a full 15 year on September 23 2026) and I’ve mastered the art of detailed note-taking in the dark whilst still engaging with the content on the stage. (Nobody can read my notes…not even me half the time, but it serves its purpose, I assure you.) I found myself hanging on Myers’ every word, every smile, every movement— and my goodness, does he move around A LOT in this performance. There’s an indefatigable exuberance and overriding energy that Myers brings to this performance that is both admirable and infectious; you want to move with him, you want to smile with him, laugh along with him, experience everything he’s experiencing, even when it’s heavy.
There are moments in this production that do hit. They tell you at the top of the show that it contains heavy subject matter— predominantly the notion of suicide— and yet Myers finds a way, even when discussing such topics, to shimmer like a brilliant twinkle shooting across the sky; his facial expressions, his body language, his voice— they all become brilliant things woven seamlessly into his performance. There’s a heavy emotional catharsis when he’s replaying a moment at the dinner table when he’s 17— it’s bomb-dropped with this intense anger and you feel it— but only for a moment and then Myers gently washes it away with the next beat, the next breathe, the next word. Myers delivers a human incarnation of life’s beautiful impermanence and how truly magnificent and breathtaking it can be to live in that uncertainty. There is just something about the way Jeremy Myers approaches this performance that has you hanging on every word, raptly engrossed in everything that he’s doing, even when you’re laughing or crying; it’s amazing. It’s brilliant.
242. Watching It’s a Wonderful Life on the big screen at The Senator Theatre every December
7,771. Foraging for mushrooms.
7,772. Foraging for mushrooms in the dark to make soup to impress somebody.
7,773. Somebody being impressed with your foraged-mushroom soup that ended up not being poison.
There’s a line in the play about what to do if you’re considering suicide and Myers says it so beautifully. Something along the lines of “It’s simple— don’t.” And then carries on to say that things get better, they may not always get or be brilliant, but they do get better. And while he is an extraordinary performer, living this story wholly as if it were his own, it’s that moment that just ties the experience together for me. You take this voyage of Every Brilliant Thing that Tad Janes has directed at the MET with Jeremy Myers as your beacon and you will be transformed by the experience.
Running Time: Approximately 65 minutes with no intermission
Every Brilliant Thing plays through June 14th 2026 on the Main Stage of the Maryland Ensemble Theatre in the Historic FSK Hotel building— 31 W. Patrick street in downtown historic Frederick, MD. For tickets call the box office at (301) 694-4744 or purchase them online.
*Rotating Performers:
Jeremy Myers** performs on May 15, 30, June 4, 5, and 14
Shea-Mikal Green** performs on May 14, 23, 29, June 6, 11, and 12
Nadia Palacios performs on May 16, 22, 31, June 7 and 13
**denotes MET Company Member
