Meet Sarah Fernsby, a fiercely independent woman living on her vast Idaho property. She’s perfectly content on her own, armed with a rifle (though her demeanor is defense enough) and driving a truck so formidable it barely flinches at deer collisions.
Sarah is a force of nature: blunt, quick to anger, and seemingly unfamiliar with the concept of subtle emotion. Yet, in the hands of the magnificent Laurie Metcalf, her portrayal in Samuel D. Hunter’s insightful and empathetic play, ‘Little Bear Ridge Road,’ is a masterclass. This production, which debuted at the Booth Theater on Thursday night, introduces one of the most hilariously human characters to grace the New York stage recently.
Despite Sarah’s ordinary, almost deliberately unglamorous life—full of domestic routines and sudden mood swings rather than grand events—she remains captivating. As she shrewdly observes while channel surfing, ‘Real people aren’t always desperately doing things.’
This marks Samuel D. Hunter’s Broadway debut, following a successful Off-Broadway career built on plays like ‘A Case for the Existence of God’ and ‘Grangeville,’ all steeped in his signature Idaho setting. ‘Little Bear Ridge Road’ first premiered at Chicago’s Steppenwolf Theater Company last year before its transfer to Broadway. This move also signifies the return of producer Scott Rudin, who faced public criticism and a temporary exile in 2021 due to bullying allegations. Yet, the exquisite craftsmanship of this production, brought to life by Rudin and media magnate Barry Diller, unmistakably showcases the refined artistic judgment for which Rudin is renowned.
At its heart, ‘Little Bear Ridge Road’ explores the damaging impact of social isolation and the complex nature of self-reliance. The story unfolds at the height of the Covid-19 pandemic, with the world in lockdown. Sarah, though not actively seeking companionship, finds it arriving unexpectedly: her estranged nephew, Ethan (Micah Stock). He’s traveled from Seattle, masked and maintaining a careful distance, to sell the home of his late father—Sarah’s brother.
As the last remaining Fernsbys, Sarah and Ethan are two sides of the same coin: wary loners with sharp, sarcastic wits. Sarah, a nurse with almost four decades of experience, has a deeply buried vein of kindness but zero hesitation in bringing her colleagues to tears. Ethan, an M.F.A. holder, dreams of being a writer but is currently creatively stalled. He harbors deep resentment towards his father, whose meth addiction (a devastating issue in rural America) cast a long shadow over his youth, and whose final contact was a plea for cash.
When Sarah offers Ethan a place to stay, they unwittingly begin a journey into the kind of profound familial intimacy that both fiercely independent individuals have meticulously avoided for years.
‘You’ll have to be patient with me,’ Sarah grumbles, unaccustomed to sharing her personal space – a warning that equally applies to her. As Ethan extends his stay through the pandemic and its lingering effects, a slow, mutual softening occurs. They begin to ‘tame’ each other: the nephew who feels no grief for his father, and the aunt haunted by her inability to save her brother, and by extension, his son.
Joe Mantello’s direction, coupled with an outstanding cast, masterfully evokes the peculiar, anxious atmosphere of early Covid-19. True to the script’s description, the stage features ‘a couch in a void’ – specifically, a large, beige recliner nestled on a circular patch of sand-colored carpet.
Initially, the stage surrounding this isolated circle is shrouded in darkness, a powerful visual metaphor for the profound disconnection experienced during that era. (Credit goes to Scott Pask for the set design and Heather Gilbert for the lighting.) The pandemic isn’t just a backdrop; it’s the very psychological terrain of the play, used to explore American cultural isolation while simultaneously immortalizing the specific nuances of that unprecedented period in dramatic art.
One wonders if future audiences will grasp the significance of Ethan’s mask in 2020, his initial reluctance to approach his aunt, or the heartbreaking fact that his father passed away alone in a hospital (‘They still aren’t allowing visitors,’ Sarah notes). Will they understand the awkwardness when Ethan and graduate student James (John Drea) meet for a casual encounter a year later, as simply being in a bar feels strange, and why Ethan instinctively pulls back after shaking James’s hand?
As the world slowly reawakens, so too does the play’s scope, offering glimpses of the cosmic. This expanded perspective comes partly through James, an astrophysics student who evolves into more than just a casual acquaintance, and partly through Pask’s stunningly textured upstage wall, now fully visible. Its abstract grandeur infuses the play’s intimate setting with the expansive presence of nature.
The characters, too, begin to shed their protective layers. Sarah and Ethan bridge the vast emotional gap between them, while the gentle James — a man raised with privilege and free from deep-seated trauma, unafraid of love — carefully makes his way closer to Ethan’s guarded heart.
However, the path to love is fraught with fear: the vulnerability of needing someone, the pain of potential loss. Without giving anything away, the play doesn’t shy away from critiquing the U.S. healthcare system and broader societal decay.
After a frustrating call about a medical bill, Ethan exclaims, ‘I hate this country!’
Sarah’s dry retort: ‘Trust me, it hates you more.’
Metcalf, with her fierce commitment to the role, consistently resists any hint of sentimentality. Hunter, however, occasionally leans towards it, much like he did in ‘The Whale,’ another Idaho-set play that brought him widespread recognition over a decade ago.
The conclusion of ‘Little Bear Ridge Road’ subtly mirrors ‘The Whale,’ both in a character’s request (no spoilers here) and in its explicit articulation of the play’s themes. While this clarification might seem redundant, it ultimately aligns with the play’s overall narrative.
Back on that symbolic ‘couch in the void,’ shortly after Ethan’s arrival in 2020, he begins watching a TV series. Sarah soon joins him, a silent pact to find common ground between two socially awkward individuals. Season after season, they tune in, and eventually, James joins their viewership.
However, after countless hours invested, the series finale proves to be a disappointment.
‘That was terrible,’ Ethan exclaims, genuinely appalled. ‘That was the single worst episode of television I have ever seen.’
In just 95 minutes, ‘Little Bear Ridge Road’ offers a tightly woven narrative. And if Samuel D. Hunter chooses to tie up his story with a satisfying bow, it’s a deliberate artistic choice. Unlike those frustrating TV shows, he guarantees his audience will not leave feeling cheated.
Little Bear Ridge Road
Playing through February 15th at the Booth Theater, Manhattan. Running time: 1 hour 35 minutes.