Jessie Fisher Photo by Michael Brosilow

Written by Duncan Macmillan with Jonny Donahoe, the show developed from a fifteen-minute monologue written by Macmillan, through a Facebook-facilitated collaboration to bring the list at the center of the show into being. The list was then designed and rendered in an art instillation that formed the backdrop for readings of the monologue at a theatre festival, and from there the text eventually grew into the full-length, one-person play performed in collaboration with the audience.

It takes its title from the list the main character begins to compile as a seven-year-old child in the wake of their mother's first (but not last) suicide attempt. Without ever becoming either heavy-handed (or, conversely, glib and Pollyanna-ish), it explores the ways in which biology and the accumulation of experience converge (or perhaps conspire) to shape our responses to life and what–for all of us some of the time, and for some of us most of the time–feels like the burden of living.

Among the especially impressive aspects of a very good piece of work is its inherent flexibility. The gender of the central character can map on to the gender of the performer or not, and the performer can seemingly choose an audience member of any gender to take on the role of their love interest, their school therapist, their college lecturer, and so on.

And yet the main character distinctly has a mother (never directly portrayed in the course of the show) and a father (chosen from the audience), and the overt expression of the mother's mental health issues sharply contrast with what the main character, as a child, thinks of as the "normal" rhythms of their father's moods, which they are able to gauge by the kind of records he plays while locked away in his study. As the character's own struggles in adulthood trend toward the father's mode of expression, the play thus subtly interrogates what might be tolerated as masculine or pathologized as feminine.

And all the while, the show is fun and funny and joyous, as audience members, when cued by number, call out their brilliant thing, or find themselves explaining Goethe (or tie-in novels for the CW's "Supernatural" for that matter) on the spot with nothing more than a book jacket to aid them. In the WT incarnation, this vibe is facilitated beautifully by Izumi Inaba's scenic design, which casts the intimate space as a backyard party.

The audience is arranged nearly in the round with a fair number on the ground level on comfortable indoor/outdoor sofas and loveseats, folding chairs, and at cabaret tables. A good chunk of the main floor is actually done up to mimic a backyard lawn. The rest of the audience sits in more traditional theater seating on risers that suggest a multilevel deck. The only real "set" is a round, very slightly raised bit of decking that is, perhaps a yard in diameter, a turntable and the "kitchen piano" set facing the wall farthest from the entrance to the theater.

Although the house lights remain up for the entire performance, Jason Lynch (lighting design) adds to the yard-party vibe with an array of paper lanterns and mismatched hanging light fixtures dear to any given neighborhood restaurant or American home in the 1980s. Angela Joy Baldasare and Mikhail Fiksel (co-sound designers) keep the show's momentum rolling not just with tightly executed sound cues, but also with great care to convey the warmth of jazz on vinyl, the overwhelming swell of strings on Etta James' "At Last," and the bright veneer of late-twentieth-century pop on the radio.

Jessie Fisher might, at first, seem to have almost too much warmth and charisma to get to where the main character goes at points during the story. But even in her sunniest moments, Fisher uses her body, her voice, eye contact and lack thereof, as well as the attention and energy she has created in collaboration with the audience to convey a host of subtle emotions. She lets her fingers falter on the keys of the piano or her head dip for an instant to signal not just things to come, but the turmoil for her character even in the midst of her greatest joys.

Moreover, although the audience for the press opening was remarkably game and those who participated acquitted themselves particularly well, it's clear that Fisher's skills as an actor and improvisor supported that success.

Every Brilliant Thing runs through January 5, 2025, at Writers Theatre, 325 Tudor Court, Glencoe IL. Seating is General Admission and audience members are encouraged to arrive early to take advantage of the immersive activities just outside the theater. For tickets and information, pleases visit www.writerstheatre.org or call 847-242-6000.