Wesley

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There is a particular magic in the theatrical alchemy that transforms memoir into musical theatre, and Wesley, based on Stacey O’Brien’s tender and unconventional memoir Wesley the Owl: The Remarkable Love Story of an Owl and His Girl, attempts precisely this with notable heart and surprising emotional heft. What might sound twee or eccentric on paper—a woman and her lifelong bond with a disabled barn owl—becomes, in this Off-Broadway staging, a meditation on love, purpose, and the ineffable links that can exist between human and animal. It is part memoir, part fictionalized fantasy, and entirely sincere.

With a book by Mark Hantoot, and music and lyrics by Scott Steidl, Wesley charts the peculiar but profound emotional journey of Casey, a disillusioned young rock musician working as a lab technician at Caltech who finds herself unexpectedly tethered to a vulnerable baby owl. Her initial reluctance to care for the bird gradually gives way to devotion, and in turn, transformation.

Wesley is, ultimately, a love story—but not a cloying one. Director Mary Duncan resists the sentimentality, even as she embraces sentiment. The tale of Wesley the owl understands that devotion, even to a creature of another kind, can be life-altering. And in the hands of this cast and creative team, it is.

Scenic designer Germán Cárdenas-Alaminos frames the story with elegant restraint, with  Camilla Tassi’s projections upon stark white walls evoking shifts in time and place—an aesthetic choice both functional and poetic. The visual economy allows room for emotional richness.

Austin Phillips’ puppet design deserves special mention. His owlet creation is imbued with uncanny charm—Wesley is clearly an owl, yes, but one whose subtle articulation suggests personality rather than anthropomorphism. The puppet becomes a living character, thanks in large part to the finely tuned performance of Daniel Sanchez, making an impressive Off-Broadway debut. As Wesley, Sanchez navigates a delicate balance: he gives the owl presence, agency, even affection, without sacrificing the essential strangeness of the animal. His portrayal renders the owl’s devotion to Casey moving and believable, even as we are always aware that this is a bird, not a human in disguise. As he dances with Casey during the “Winter is Coming” sequence, we are painfully aware of how little time they can expect to share together.

The emotional nucleus of the piece is Andrianna Ayala’s Casey. In her Off-Broadway debut, Ms. Ayala offers a performance of earnest vulnerability. Her clear soprano is ideally suited to Steidl’s lyrical score, and she traces the arc from bitterness to quiet grace with an understated but unmistakable emotional intelligence. Her journey is the audience’s journey, and Ayala ensures we never lose sight of the stakes—even when those stakes involve feathered companions and avian body language. The love story, improbable as it may seem, feels emotionally grounded in her capable hands. We see the individual who can selfishly claim, “I don’t want anything depending on me,” become that person who ultimately doesn’t heed Dr. Penrose’s warning of “Just remember, I wouldn’t name him. It’ll be easier when he goes.”

Jack Kehoe brings charisma to the role of Zane, Casey’s romantic prospect and eventual casualty of her owl-centric devotion. His is a role shadowed by metaphor—the love that cannot rival the purity of a nonverbal, cross-species bond—and Kehoe plays the emotional suppression skillfully. Christa Lisette Beveridge, also making her Off-Broadway debut, delights as Willow, Casey’s confidante. While her vocal performance is sublime, it is in her nonverbal acting that she most impresses; her disdain for Zane in the trio “Never Saw It Coming – I” is delivered not with a line, but with a loaded glance and the imagined weaponry of a guitar-turned-semiautomatic rifle. It’s comedic gold delivered with surgical subtlety. Her later scene when Casey is released from the hospital is a lesson in tenderness and vehement support, underlined by the emotional duet, “Here Again.”

In smaller but essential roles, Christopher Kirby-Saunders lends gravity to Dr. Penrose, a scientist devoted to empirical knowledge to the point of emotional detachment. His performance is shaded with nuance—obsession without caricature. Maya Pierce and Tara Dougherty (as Jane and Marie) add warmth and dimension to the Caltech lab, often serving as a sort of Greek chorus whose harmonic commentary extols the joys of science and rationality, even as the plot veers deeper into emotional irrationality.

If there is a central thesis to Wesley, it is encapsulated in a single line from the libretto: “Life is about love, wherever you find it.” It is a credo the musical clings to tenaciously, and one it defends with sincerity and a lack of cynicism rare in contemporary musical theatre. This is not a musical about spectacle or narrative twists; it is a slow unfurling of mutual dependence and trust, of an owl’s silent language meeting a woman’s wounded soul.

The premise, to be sure, invites skepticism. A nearly two-decade bond between a woman and an owl? A profound, quasi-spiritual communication between species? And yet, the musical renders it plausible. In fact, it renders it quietly beautiful. It is easy to be persuaded that interspecies understanding, absurd as it sounds, is not only possible but movingly theatrical when done right. You need look no further for confirmation of this heightened emotion than all the “crazy cat ladies” and “dog daddies” that will tell you for certain that the relationships they have with their fur babies is like nothing they can duplicate with humans.

If your heart is open to stories that wander beyond the expected terrain—if you believe, or are willing to believe, that love need not follow familiar shapes—then Wesley may just fly straight into your heart.

Wesley (through July 23, 2025)

Anne L. Bernstein Theater, The Theater Center, 1627 Broadway at 50th Street, in Manhattan

For tickets, call 212-291-7862 or visit http://www.ticketmaster.com

Running time: 90 minutes without intermission