LOG OFF AND SING

Dave Malloy’s brilliant chamber musical turns
doomscrolling, loneliness, and internet addiction
into something unexpectedly humane

I don’t know what I was expecting when I walked into Raven Theatre’s first ever mounting of a musical, but it wasn’t the basement of a church (rec center? YMCA?). Closing out Raven’s triumphant 43rd season, Octet, a chamber musical with music, lyrics, book, and vocal arrangements by Dave Malloy (Natasha, Pierre & The Great Comet of 1812) is set in a dingy room, where a self-help group calling themselves the “Friends of Saul” meet on a regular basis. Any resemblance to the “Friends of Bill” is entirely coincidental, I’m sure. Milo Bue’s scenic design is so detailed and precise that you can practically smell the weak coffee and store-bought cookies on the refreshment table in the back.

The concept is simple: eight strangers regularly meet as part of an AA-like twelve-step program to help each other deal with their addiction to the internet—the word “internet’ itself is used only once in the entire show; it is otherwise simply referred to as the “Monster,” the inflection from the actors firmly inserting the capital letter. This is no run-of-the-mill bogeyman but a defined, concrete entity, bent on ruining the lives of our protagonists, or so they would have us believe.

Each of the actors—splendid, all of them—gets a solo detailing their specific addiction. Interspersed between the solos are hymns, mantras, fugue states, and meditations, all led by Paula, played by Teressa LaGamba in an exquisite performance, channeling the placidity and gentle but firm control deployed by leaders of mutual aid fellowships everywhere.

There are no musical instruments. The actors use pitch pipes and the company forms a kind of vocal orchestra to provide musical backing. Taking a leave of absence from Kokandy, music director Nick Sula, not content with elevating mediocre musicals into spectacular productions, apparently needed to ratchet up the difficulty of his job even further.

It would all be a bit too clever and precious if it weren’t so damn good.

Octet is presented through the eyes of the newest member of the group, Velma (Joryhebel Ginorio, in a beautifully reactive performance). Velma serves as the audience surrogate as we cycle through the characters in turn; viral rage-videos, match-three puzzles, online dating, incels, self-fulfilling misogyny and nihilism, and trolling are all explored here through song.

As a concept, there isn’t anything particularly special here. What sets this apart is the nuance, depth, and the complexity of the characters and the lyrics. Neala Barron’s Jessica starts us off with a blistering number (“Refresh”) that details the destruction of her life because of a solitary moment of uncontrolled rage that was captured on camera and went viral. It’s a startling opening, not least because of its tone and delivery, but because it directly implicates the audience—is there anyone among us who has not watched something similar and thought, “What an awful person. They deserve what they get”? Probability would dictate that some have not, but I suspect that number is very low. The brilliance of “Refresh” is that it forces the audience to confront the psychological fallout that goes on long after the event has faded from public memory. Malloy cleverly balances these candid but unsparing analyses with humor (“Candy”), but never loses sight of the underlying loneliness and isolation that drives this behavior.

My favorite section of the show is a mini suite that goes from solo to duet to solo. Begun by Grace Steckler (so delightful as Sylvia in Writers Theatre’s As You Like It last year), “Solo” details Karly’s obsession with dating apps and the horrible dates that ensue, eventually bringing in Ed (Ryder Dean McDaniel) as one of those encounters for a brief duet, before transitioning to a solo for Ed where he sings about turning into an incel because it’s simply easier that way; when your loneliness is that crippling, any community—even a toxic online one—becomes enticing. It’s an absolutely gorgeous stretch, beautifully sung and acted, and like the rest of the show, too complex to be easily described in a review—in general, this is a very difficult show to review; it’s very tempting to say, “Oh just go watch Octet” and have done with it.

I had a few very minor problems with the show itself (not the production): the bit involving neuroscientist Marvin (Jonathan Golding) about rationalism and God takes far too long to get to its point, even if it ends with a sledgehammer of a punchline (with a little padding, it could almost be turned into a short one-act), the repeated nods to Saul secretly watching the sessions don’t seem to have much of a point other than a weak ironic one, and the Rider–Waite–Smith tarot theme running through all the songs, while brilliant in concept, is one level of cleverness too many. Yes, as absurd as it sounds, my biggest complaint about this show is that it has too many good ideas; a pull-quote for a humble brag if there ever was one.

And major kudos to director Keira Fromm for conducting this balancing act with such flair. Special mention to casting director Catherine Miller as well; I can’t imagine the challenges in assembling a cast for this show. The ensemble is flawless, but the vocal tryouts must have been brutal. Malloy’s score and songs may be gorgeous, but the degree of difficulty for the performers, both solo and as an ensemble is astounding.

I have a strong bias towards small productions. That’s not to say that I don’t enjoy a big lavish spectacle but there is something special about being up close in a room with talented actors with no fripperies to cover up or distract from the play itself. Even taking that bias into account, I was completely taken aback by Octet. It examines an alarmingly widespread phenomenon—that shows no signs of abating—and does so with unsentimental insight and understanding, expanding memes and tropes into real lived-in characters. This is a show about the loneliness epidemic and how online interactions exacerbate it.

But it’s not all handwringing.

In the most powerful moment of the show, a character describes how they connected with another lonely soul somewhere in the world; someone they will never meet, but whose mere existence is solace and succor enough. Because isn’t that what we all want? To know that there is at least one person out there who knows how we feel; who understands our isolation. And protected by the shield of anonymity we can genuinely unburden ourselves to them and, in that unburdening, derive the comfort to carry on.

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photos by Joe Mazza

Octet
Raven Theatre, 6157 N. Clark St.
Thurs–Sat at 7:30; Sun at 3
ends on June 21, 2026
for tickets ($45), call 773.338.2177 or visit Raven Theatre

for more shows, visit Theatre in Chicago

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