Still, there is a sense of old-school, freewheeling crunchiness that works in “My Joy Is Heavy.” (The bounce of Abigail’s ’80s rock-star curls help). Maybe it’s just the retro idea of artistic parents turning to instruments and ululation to express themselves, but “My Joy Is Heavy” is better for its lack of gloss. It conjures the homespun, hodgepodge spirit of everything made during lockdown: the regrettable knitting projects, the misshapen yoga poses, all those unfortunately formed breads and cakes. With scenic designer Lee Jellinek’s careful replication of the Vermont house, we’ve traveled to the place where the Bengsons rode out the pandemic. And since his set never shifts, we’re stuck there too.
“My Joy Is Heavy” feels less like a drama than the Bengsons’ storytelling hour. Experiencing it borders on voyeurism, especially during the hardest moments of the family’s loss when I started to feel like an intruder. Pain pours out of Abigail, in particular. Chronic illness, miscarriage — she carries the show’s most unbearable weight, and we feel that heaviness with every vocal break in the songs that spill from her throat.
When Abigail sings, the act does not appear effortless. Instead, it’s as if she’s conjuring sounds from distinct body parts that all fold into the brassy, horn and drum-backed score. Her voice splinters; it’s loopy and atmospheric with a black-hole gravitas that sucks everything in. This body, one that has been tried in difficult ways, is nevertheless here — wailing its grief, yodeling its joy, insisting on its existence. Early on, Shaun also reveals that he’s hard of hearing, which adds dramatic weight to his presence. He remains a fine accompanist, ever-ready to pick up a guitar or settle at a piano. His vocals are more affecting for what they relay — the duo’s tender, hymn-like lyrics — than for how they relay it.
“My Joy Is Heavy” is a witness to one small family’s large burden and the exorcism of emotion that this burden demands. The show is more inspiriting than innovative, but it’s enough that unlike during the real pandemic, the Bengsons can now invite us into their home, and we wade the rivulets of their loss, side by side. With this production, the Bengsons’ joy is still heavy, sure. At least now, it’s also shared.
My Joy Is Heavy
Through April 5 at New York Theater Workshop, Manhattan; nytw.org. Running time: 1 hour 10 minutes.
