TOAD-ALLY DELIGHTFUL

Ribbiting from start to finish, this Year goes by in a flash.

✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦

Arnold Lobel’s Frog and Toad series has delighted generations of young readers for decades, beginning in 1970. In 2000, his daughter Andrea Lobel (a well-regarded theatrical scenic designer in her own right) commissioned composer Robert Reale and his brother, librettist and lyricist Willie, to develop a musical based on the books. The resulting show, A Year With Frog and Toad, was a smash hit Off-Broadway, somewhat less successful when it transferred to Broadway (likely because of a reluctance to pay increased prices for a “young-adult musical”), but well-reviewed and nominated for multiple Tonys (Musical, Book, and Score). So, I put on my winter boots and stomped down to Lincoln Park to take in the production mounted by Young People’s Theatre of Chicago, in residence at the historic Greenhouse Theater.

The plot is simple: Frog and Toad are best friends. Frog is assured, calm, and unflappable; Toad is anxious, cranky, excitable, and prone to making lists (which is nothing like this critic at all!). These two somewhat anthropomorphized amphibians amble about their days, content in each other’s company. They fly kites, grow plants from seed, bake (and eat) cookies, and generally lead a pleasant — if mostly uneventful — life. Very cottagecore.

I vaguely remember reading the Lobel stories to a younger sibling when I was a tween. Revisiting them several decades later in the context of this show, I was pleasantly surprised at how sophisticated some of them are. Most focus on developing good childhood habits (I say “childhood,” but…) such as patience (“The Garden”); stepping outside one’s comfort zone (“Down the Hill”); and doing a good turn — not for reward or acknowledgment, but simply because (“The Surprise”). And then there are tales about body image (“A Swim”) and, most impressively, a remarkably nuanced examination of the importance of giving people space to be by themselves — even if that person happens to be your best friend (“Alone”).

Interspersed among these stories are some truly delightful songs, some of which are sung by birds, a snail, mice, and an especially snarky turtle (who is also nothing like this critic at all!). The costumes by Ellen MacKay are cheeky and clever — the flying creatures are dressed as flight attendants and a pilot — and the three actors playing all these parts are wonderful. A scene-stealing Sam Hook brings the house down in snail mode with the most wholesome striptease you’ll ever see in “I’m Coming Out of My Shell.” Hannah Remian and Maliha Sayed don’t get a showstopper, but acquit themselves admirably and are hilarious — and hilariously mean when required.

The lovely set by Lauren Helpern keeps the aesthetic and sensibility of Lobel’s illustrations. Two slightly off-kilter houses — one green (Frog’s) and one brown (Toad’s) — sit side by side. Off in the corner is a pond dotted with cattails. The backdrop begins with a simple, vibrant azure with shadows of reeds, grass, and more cattails. Kevin Rechner’s lighting design gets a surprising amount of mileage out of this bare-bones setting, the colors shifting in gorgeous tones to indicate the changing of the seasons.

And so we come to our brilliant principals: Ryan Stajmiger as Frog and Teddy Gales as Toad. I cannot — and even if I could, I would not — separate the two. As befits these stories, they are a matched set. The chemistry between the actors is boundless. Frog and Toad are in a friendship that all of us aspire to, one where loyalty and devotion are unquestioned and marked by unconditional regard. This is the ideal of platonic love. The cockles of my heart warmed every time Frog beamed at Toad’s neuroses with obvious affection. Is it any wonder that children love these books so much? Here are two friends who will forgive each other anything, who care only about the other’s happiness and well-being. The beauty of “The Letter” is that, in real life, it would have exactly the same effect on anyone, regardless of whether they were five or fifty years old. Kindness has no age limit.

I watched this show in a theatre mostly filled with exquisitely well-behaved children (was I that well-behaved as a child? Surely I was. Anyone who says differently is lying!) who ranged from toddlers to the Girl Scout troop sitting behind and beside me. The highest compliment I can give YPT’s A Year With Frog and Toad is that they put on a near-eighty-minute show without an intermission — and in the age of screen time and shortened attention spans, there wasn’t a single fidgety moment in the audience; at least none that I detected.

As I was gathering up my stuff after the curtain calls, I heard a sniff to my left. I turned, and a little girl (maybe three years old?) across the aisle whimpered, “They’re gone? They’re not coming back?” When her parents confirmed the truth of that observation, her lower lip started to quiver: “But I don’t want them to go.”

Same, baby girl. Same.

✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦

photos by Steven Townshend | Distant Era

A Year With Frog and Toad
Young People’s Theatre of Chicago
The Greenhouse Theater Center, 2257 N Lincoln Ave
ends on December 21, 2025
Sat at 11am; Sun at 11am & 1:30pm
80 minutes, no intermission
for tickets: $21.50–$36.50), visit YPTCHI

✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦