THE WEIGHT OF WHAT REMAINS

In Brooklyn’s charming Fort Greene, Bubba Weiler makes his playwriting debut with Well, I’ll Let You Go, a lightly funny meditation on grief and healing, brought to the stage at The Space at Irondale under the direction of Jack Serio (Grangeville). It’s a nonlinear domestic drama that recounts the unraveling of a Midwestern family after a sudden loss, but though the structure bends time, the emotional thread is easy to follow. Talented Michael Chernus inhabits the role of Marv, a cherished lawyer, husband, and father figure whose life was cut short when he intervened to protect a young woman from an anti-abortion fanatic outside a community college. Opposite him, Quincy Tyler Bernstine gives a moving performance as Maggie, his grieving widow.

Emily Davis, Quincy Tyler Bernstine

Michael Chernus

Marv’s “ghost” serves as our chaperone through time and emotional clutter for the entire play, and he immediately sets the scene: we are in the family room of a Midwestern farmhouse, in a town economically bruised, Amazon-employed, and barely hanging on to its zip code. The house, once owned by a hopeful farmer and passed down to his reluctant son, was later purchased on a whim by Marv. At center stage, a table flanked by two folding chairs; to the side, five other chairs imply a sectional couch. A small fridge full of freaky casseroles brought by the neighbors, a side table, and a few carefully chosen props suggest a kitchen, and the audience is seated on both sides of this hyper-minimalist world. Marv informs us there’s also a piano, a television, a fireplace, and a recliner so ugly it has become an irreplaceable comfortable fixture. And today, at the table sits Wally, a bearded and fidgeting mailman in a fantasy-themed T-shirt, jeans, and checkered shirt.

Quincy Tyler Bernstine, Michael Chernus

Quincy Tyler Bernstine

Will Dagger plays Wally as the ideal verbose, neurotic character, spinning conspiracy theories about coworkers trying to rob banks via postal routes. His monologue is both comic and tragic; his imagination is vivid but it’s also a smokescreen for loneliness, and a desperate need for significance. Wally’s memory of Marv’s generosity, to the point of sending him home with mountains of leftovers every time he visited, is tender and sad. It wasn’t just kindness; it was survival for Wally who lives on the fringes of self-sufficiency like many others. Maggie, meanwhile, listens, gently challenges, redirects, until she can’t anymore. Her interruption, “You’re in the clouds again”, isn’t cruel but a stop to his spinning.

Michael Chernus

When Wally leaves, the funeral planner Joanie enters. Played by a bumbling, chirpy Constance Shulman, the character brings a satirical farce, and yet her function is crucial. She represents institutionalized grief with its funerals, flowers (now balloons), suits, potpourri, and carpet swatches. She’s there to make death palatable, organized, almost branded. Maggie, already numb, grows increasingly alienated by the absurdity; the funeral becomes less about honoring Marv and more about comforting others.

Quincy Tyler Bernstine, Will Dagger

Following Joanie, we meet Julie, Maggie’s sister-in-law, brought to life by a smooth Emily Davis. Their bond is rich with shared history; she introduced Marv to Maggie when she was going out with Jeff, his brother. Julie wants to be helpful now but she wasn’t there when it truly mattered, and even a mention of her “living” family carries an edge of guilt. Then, she subtly introduces a disturbing question: why was Marv at the community college? With that, the play takes a turn, moving beyond grief into the shadows of suspicion. Maggie’s memories of Marv are no longer safe.

Constance Shulman, Quincy Tyler Bernstine

When Julie leaves, her husband — the story’s unreliable narrator — enters. Danny McCarthy is absolutely believable as the grieving brother who is struggling to maintain a version of events. Jeff shows up with beer, offers to spread mulch, volunteers to plan the funeral, but underneath that helpful exterior is something more self-serving: a desire to move on, to wrap Marv’s death in a narrative of heroism and communal mourning. The next guest is an unknown woman, Angela (a riveting Amelia Workman), who keeps calling Maggie. The two circle each other through a dense fog of misunderstanding, guilt, and grief, only to arrive at a deeper, messier kind of truth I will obviously not reveal. Once Angela is gone, Maggie finds the strength to prepare her husband for the funeral, dressing him carefully and sharing the memories that shaped their love.

Quincy Tyler Bernstine

Amelia Workman

The play’s final words belong to Ashley, played by Cricket Brown. Just 19, she’s Angela’s daughter and the young woman Marv died protecting. Her portrayal is sincere and affecting, yet the scene had the air of a second curtain call, more sentimental epilogue than essential. It could have been part of the previous scene, the one with Angela. Which is strange because under Jack Serio’s direction, with Frank J. Oliva’s spare scenic design, lighting by Stacey Derosier, costumes by Avery Reed, and Avi Amon’s original score, the staging and the emotional register of the play are carefully restrained, always avoiding the easy pull of sentimentality.

Danny McCarthy, Quincy Tyler Bernstine

Quincy Tyler Bernstine, Emily Davis

All in all, this is a finely acted slow burn with a smart script, though it could use a few adjustments and a bit more movement on stage. At times, Cherner and Bernstine seemed trapped in invisible boxes, delivering big emotions from fixed positions. The blocking needs rethinking; I often couldn’t see the actors’ faces because they were turned toward the opposite side of the audience for too long. A more complex lighting design wouldn’t hurt either; the opening’s stark brightness felt more like a rehearsal room than a theatrical moment. And a humble plea: cushions for the folding chairs, because 100 minutes on bare metal is a minor form of theatrical torture. Still, for all its rough edges, the play is absolutely worth your time.

Cricket Brown

photos by Emilio Madrid

Well, I’ll Let You Go
The Space at Irondale, 85 South Oxford St. in Fort Greene, Brooklyn
100 minutes with no intermission
Mon-Fri at 7; Sat at 2 & 7
ends on August 29, 2025 EXTENDED to September 12, 2025
for tickets ($49), visit Let You Go