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Kyle Mangold (Younger Noah) and Chloë Cheers (Younger Allie); Ken Wulf Clark (Middle Noah) and Alysha Deslorieux (Middle Allie) ; Beau Gravitte (Older Noah) and Sharon Catherine Brown (Older Allie). Photo by Roger Mastroianni. So many love stories end with a vague “happily ever after” when, really, the characters’ lives together are just beginning. However, The Notebook, in every iteration—and there have been several—is about real love, the kind that stands the test of time. First brought to life as a best-selling novel by Nicholas Sparks, the story has also been made into a much-loved 2004 film and, now, a tender musical featuring music and lyrics by Ingrid Michaelson and a book by Bekah Brunstetter, based on Sparks’ work.
The musical, onstage now at the Durham Performing Arts Center, brings together three versions of Noah and Allie, the story’s destined lovers, and three distinct timelines: the 1960s summer when they both met, their 1970s reunion, and the present day, where Allie is grappling with Alzheimer’s disease. Noah visits her at a retirement home daily, reading her the story of their love together, a story that plays out for the audience as the older versions of the characters watch in the background. Like memory itself, their story is not always linear. The timeline jumps from their adolescence to their young adulthood and back and forth again. Sometimes, all three versions of the characters even appear onstage together. Smart, period-appropriate costuming choices (Paloma Young) and careful direction by Michael Greif and Schele Williams enable the shifting story to progress with clarity. Similarly, thoughtful casting—each version of Allie and Noah is similar enough to be believable while still remaining distinct—aids in limpidity. The varied character incarnations also allow for cross-generational appeal. There is something for every viewer, at every stage of life, to connect with. Older Noah (Beau Gravitte) and Older Allie (Sharon Catherine Brown) speak to both seasoned and aspiring couples, while the young versions (Kyle Mangold; Chloë Cheers) bring back the blossoming excitement of burgeoning love. Middle Noah (Ken Wulf Clark) and Allie (Alysha Deslorieux) represent the tough decisions that cement a relationship and enable it to mature. And, at every stage, these gifted performers stay true to the heart and the undying passion of the characters, slowly weaving a romantic tale that grows with the viewer. As the older, still-charming Noah, Gravitte is warm with just the right rough-around-the-edges touch. He plays nicely off of Brown’s sweet-voiced, often-confused older Allie, and their scenes together, especially those rare moments when memory floods back, serve as a reminder of the strength of their love. Wulf Clark’s Middle Noah is every bit as likeable, playing his role with a simmering intensity that complements Deslorieux’s softer performance. And, as the youngest versions of Noah and Allie, Mangold and Cheers brim with all the joy of first love. Michaelson’s diverse, soulful lyrics capture all the ups and downs of Noah and Allie’s journey, flowing and winding from the first spark of interest to the final embrace. With their soaring voices, Cheers and Deslorieux give some of the most memorable vocal performances, though all three Noahs shine in the bittersweet “Iron in the Fridge” number that details Allie’s mental decline. Throughout this emotional journey, David Zinn and Brett J. Banakis’ minimalist set lets imagination fill in the blanks. The iconic blue-shuttered home that Noah restores for Allie is there in all its glory, but other spaces are sparse or seen from afar, creating the hazy quality of long-ago memories. This lovely effect is further enhanced by Ben Stanton’s sweetly simplistic lighting design. With only a few hanging lights, Stanton uses color to allude to everything from twinkling stars to sterile hospital lights. The Notebook is a multigenerational masterpiece, a story told with the gentlest touch. It is one of those rare tales that will both break your heart and lift your spirits. It is proof that some things—like true, undying love—never grow old. -Susie Potter
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