Little Bear Ridge Road

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Samuel D. Hunter has built up a noteworthy resumé at prestigious not-for-profit Off-Broadway theaters with his well-received plays about aching souls in small-town Idaho like The Whale and A Case for the Existence of God. With his latest, Little Bear Ridge Road, which marks his Broadway debut, he continues his preoccupation with sad, isolated beings, picturing their existence with spareness, poignancy, and humor.

However, like its characters in their narrow world, the play itself—which premiered last year at Chicago’s dynamic Steppenwolf Theatre—seems small and isolated on a Broadway stage, even at the relatively intimate Booth. Despite a typically sterling performance by Laurie Metcalf, whose presence in a part that fits her like a glove is the principal reason to make a visit worthwhile, Hunter’s dramatic tropes seem too familiar to generate the kind of breakthrough excitement warranted by the price of a Broadway ticket.

Little Bear Ridge Road is a 95-minute one-act that begins in a rundown house outside Troy, Idaho, during the 2020 pandemic. The place belongs to Sarah (Metcalf, who originated the role at Steppenwolf), a crusty, acidulous woman in her sixties. An experienced nurse angry about her work shifts, her history has made her defensive, sarcastic, stubborn, and independent to a fault.

Sarah’s nephew, Ethan (Micah Stock), a would-be writer who hasn’t written anything, shows up—broke—to sell the crumbling home and mostly useless possessions of his late, meth-addicted father, Sarah’s brother. The man was an abusive parent and sibling who kindles only unpleasant memories. Despite their recent estrangement, Sarah, knowing his pecuniary status, invites Ethan to stay with her until his affairs are settled, which accounts for the next two years.

Like Sarah, Ethan, a shlubby gay man, who reeks of emotional instability, is not an easy person. Predictably, he and his crabby aunt, kind despite her shielded affect, begin their fraught relationship with caution; as they bond over TV watching—a frequent source of comic banter—they grow closer, if not less guarded, as Sarah’s friendship helps him gain stability.

Ethan also forms a romantic relationship with a sweet young man named James (John Drea), a budding astrophysicist obsessed with the stars, which opens a path for Ethan’s currently blocked future. Still, Ethan’s insecurity rejects whatever succor James openly offers, just as Sarah pridefully refuses Ethan’s assistance when she’s diagnosed with cancer. Both she and her nephew are, for different reasons, too self-involved to accept the help of others. While we can accept Sarah’s wishes not to depend on her nephew’s caregiving, Ethan’s rejection of James’ outreach seems petulantly boorish.

Metcalf’s Sarah is everything the part requires, using her perfect timing to find the comic or perceptive nuance in even the tiniest moments, as when she sometimes bites down with unexpected pressure on ordinary words that she makes pop with feeling. Her laser-like ease in rapid-fire conversation, her lithe use of gestures and props, her deadpan retorts, her clinical exposition of her condition, and her frailty when sick make her consistently compelling, even if we’ve seen many of these elements in other roles she’s played.

Micah Stock is a strong presence as Ethan but his open-wounded vulnerability can be irritating. John Drea does nicely as Ethan’s wannabe helpful suitor, although James’ acceptance of Ethan’s whining can try one’s patience. A fourth character is a professional caregiver named Paulette, played gracefully by Meighan Gerachis. In a closing scene, she reads to Sarah something Ethan, now gone, has written, its ambiguity implying a potential happy ending.

Hunter keeps his plot honed to the principal elements, bringing in one or two characters purely by telephone rather than in person; little that’s extraneous interferes. This efficiency is welcome in what is essentially a character study situated within conventional situations.

Joe Mantello directs deftly, using a minimalist set by Scott Pask that is little more than an off-white, leather couch on a white-carpeted circle surrounded by darkness. Overhead, a ceiling lamp/fan slowly rotates, and the shifts in time and place are effected by actors moving the couch into new positions. Perhaps this spatial simplicity is an attempt to lift this quotidian story to a more cosmic level, hinted at in James’ astrophysicist ambitions and the frequent chatter concerning a TV show whose humans may secretly be aliens.

The barebones look offers lighting designer Heather Gilbert opportunities for effective touches, and costume designer Jessica Pabst succeeds at finding the right ordinary clothes for these ordinary people. That very ordinariness, in fact, is what identifies Little Bear Ridge Road. It’s easy to see its appeal to those who will appreciate its concentration on two lonely people struggling to connect, their preoccupations seeming almost trivial in the context of the universe at large.

However, for all its occasionally touching vibes, smart repartee, and Laurie Metcalf’s expertise, the stakes in Hunter’s otherwise respectable dramedy aren’t high enough nor its conception novel enough to make it an especially memorable contribution to the Broadway catalogue.

Little Bear Ridge Road (through February 8, 2026)

Scott Rudin and Barry Diller Present

Booth Theatre, 222 W. 45^th Street, in Manhattan

For ticket, call Telecharge at 212-239-6200 or visit http://www.littlebearridgeroad.com

Running time: 95 minutes without an intermission