HOW TO URN AUDIENCE SYMPATHY
This one-man show is described as an “immersive” experience, and the immersiveness begins right at the entrance of the particularly fitting venue, the oh-so-appropriate First Reformed Church in the cozy neighborhood of Park Slope, Brooklyn. Audiences are invited to play along with the premise that they have gathered not to purchase a theatre ticket, but to pay their respects to the memory of Roman, the dearly departed.
Audience members are greeted by a friendly fellow with a clipboard, checking names from a reservation list. When asked for his name, he replies, “My name is Milo.” He thanks everyone for coming and indicates the area for sitting. In the site-specific location, in front of folding metal chairs, there is a platform with a table. On that table sit two containers: a small vase holding a few flowers and a silver urn, holding therein, presumably, the cremated remains of Roman. Milo, a dear friend of Roman, soon departs the entry area and re-enters the performance space to deliver the titular speech of A Eulogy for Roman.
In real life—or rather, in real death—there’s typically only one solemn service for a customer. But lately, the late Roman has been making the rounds. Have urn, will travel. A Eulogy for Roman is currently being presented through April 6, 2025, across four—count ’em, four—different locations in downtown Manhattan and Brooklyn (see venue list below), featuring three different actors alternating as Milo. Roman’s story of death isn’t new; it first emerged at the Edinburgh Fringe and was revived last year in New York City at 59E59 Theaters, where it received a Drama Desk nomination. The script was penned by Brendan George and conceived by Peter Charney, the original director, both of whom remain as creative consultants for this incarnation, which is directed with evident care by Ron Lasko.
Pacing, then facing the audience, then turning to face the urn—then, finally, facing the reality sinking in—Milo begins. Muttering, meandering, and melancholy, he mumbles and stumbles a bit, trying to collect himself. He thanks the crowd for coming, asks someone in the front row to hold his note cards. The Milo du jour is the endlessly endearing and subtly magnetic Ryan Boloix, who makes an art of hesitation, hemming and hawing as he grapples with the recent death “two weeks ago” of his “best friend.” Slowly, he emerges from his shell—and from his shell-shocked state. Dressed in black shirt and pants, the panting young character is embodied by the slim, attractive actor who charms in a quirky, quicksilver way. His big blue eyes and a series of shy, sly, and sweet smiles light up both his face and the room.
Ryan BoloixTender tales tumble out of Milo, self-conscious and uncertain, and his more confident, “cool” best friend, Roman. But they don’t unfold in chronological order: Road trips, troubles, being bullied at a dance, meeting as boys at the local swimming hole, and being filled with the philosophy that there are no true strangers in life. And most notably, the making of their boy-bonding bucket list—99 things they vowed to accomplish together.
A Eulogy for Roman puts the “you” in “eulogy,” as Milo’s rhetorical questions about shared experiences of loss shift into direct appeals for acknowledgment. Addressing both his grief and the gathered audience, he explicitly asks: How do you relate to LOSS? A long half-minute of silence follows—until a man in the second row, longtime Park Sloper and seasoned life-coper James Palmaro, speaks up. He shares that the greatest loss of his adulthood was the gradual loss of his sight. Becoming fully blind, he explains, reshaped his perspective, his priorities. It brought challenges—but also unexpected opportunities and new connections. He recalls the kindness of strangers (shades of Blanche DuBois in A Streetcar Named Desire) and a serendipitous encounter: spotted by a passing filmmaker while playing harmonica and singing outdoors, he found himself the subject of an award-winning documentary and podcast (Stoop Chat with Jimmy and Shanaya and “The Frequency of Courage, respectively). The experience brought him new close friends.
Milo, pausing to snap a selfie—including the urn—asks for Palmaro’s email, and others take note as well. Then, as if Roman’s spirit has nudged the room into action, the audience steps in to complete his unfinished bucket list. Some drop to the floor for push-ups, others push past awkwardness to give shoulder massages. Voices call out suggestions for lists of life priorities and meaningful favorite songs. The air crackles with shared purpose. Wouldn’t Roman be pleased!
Bit by bit, moment by moment, the mourning, mopey Milo loosens up—relaxed, relieved, soaking in the shared warmth of kindred spirits. This isn’t just a celebration of Roman’s life; it’s a full embrace of life itself, a collective joie de vivre. The niggling nervousness that once gripped him lifts, replaced by something lighter, freer—he seems buoyed and blissed out. But… but—what if there’s more to the story? More happening than what meets the teary eye? Has this seemingly sincere soul been careless about some key fact, overlooking something crucial? With emotion, drama, and a well-placed surprise, A Eulogy for Roman delivers more than just a tribute—it brings a lot to the table, right alongside that silver urn.
A Eulogy for Roman
Thursdays @ 8:30 | The Center, 208 W 13th Street, Room #310
Fridays @ 7:30 | Old First Reformed Church, 729 Carroll St in Park Slope, Brooklyn
Saturdays @ 7:30 | Studio Exhibit, 62 Orchard Street, 2nd floor
Sundays @ 5:30 | Westbeth Community Room, 55 Bethune St
alternating with Mr. Boloix are Blaize Adler-Ivanbrook & Richard Diamond
75 minutes
ends on April 6, 2025
for tickets ($30), visit Spin Cycle NYC.
