The Midnight Company

Broadway World

by James Lindhorst / July, 2025

The Midnight Company, in collaboration with playwright Colin McLaughlin, is staging the World Premiere of McLaughlin’s new play Pride and Joy. The comedic family drama eavesdrops on an intervention staged by the family’s youngest daughter Sam. But which member of the Moran family is Sam’s target for the intervention and why has she pulled the family together? McLaughlin’s play opens as Sam’s parents and her two older siblings attempt to get into her locked apartment. The clatter in the unseen hallway foreshadows the Moran family’s personalities and their communication style. Each is a bit self-consumed with their own baggage and agendas. They constantly interrupt and talk over one another.

Sam’s father is a ‘functioning’ alcoholic. Her mother, co-dependent and controlling. Her brother is a sarcastic 20-something looking for his next Grindr hook-up, and her sister is an aloof and oblivious pot smoker. She has invited her entire family over to announce her newly found sobriety and ask for their support, but the family takes over hilariously spilling their own confessions and truths.

McLaughlin’s funny script is ripe with the type of organic banter that reminds you of an Amy Sherman-Palladino TV series (The Gilmore Girls, The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel). The family’s witty conversation tackles topics seen on - what was considered - the edgy sitcoms of the 1970s.

Shows like Norman Lear’s Maude and Mary Hartman, Mary Hartman, or Suan Harris’ SOAP that were considered progressive for their time. Pride and Joy is a bit of both, sitcoms of old and the more recent dialogue driven comedy-drama series.

Director Carl Overly Jr. welcomes his audience with a sound bed of memorable sitcom title themes. The familiar music from Taxi, The Jeffersons, and Full House play in the background to create a vibe of lighthearted comedy and to disarm the audience from the start.

His intimate staging puts the audience directly on top of Sam’s tiny studio apartment. The cramped set, expertly designed by the multi-talented Chuck Winning, supports Overly’s tight blocking, calculated pacing, and deliberate timing.

Overly cast five of the area's most expressive and comedically gifted actors as the sparring Moran family. Lavonne Byers (Mom), Joe Hanrahan (Dad), Jayson Heil (Jay), Sarah Lantsberger (Sam), and Alicen Kramer-Moser (Maggie) execute McLaughlin’s snarky chatter with conversational spontaneity while spilling their family tea.

The five well-rehearsed thespians deliberately trip over one another physically and verbally as the idiosyncratic Moran family. The ensemble's animated reactions to one another carry dynamic authenticity. They elicit laughter with smirks, eyerolls, knowing glances, one-word quips, and zestful comedic timing.

Overly gives his actors license to develop and build McLaughlin’s new characters. Byers, Hanrahan, Heil, Lantsberger, and Moser define relatable characters who are perhaps a bit too familiar. They lay their character’s burdens bare causing amusing and discomforting laughter from awkward recognition of oneself and one’s own family members.

McLaughlin and Overly’s audience are unwelcome intruders listening in on a family’s raw, unfiltered, and private conversations. Pride and Joy is very funny. The Moran Family, as portrayed by the talented ensemble, is a bit of a trainwreck. Overly’s crisp pacing and sharp direction milks the script for maximal laughs and just the right amount of drama.

Two On The Aisle

by Gerry Kowarsky / July, 2025

The world premiere of Pride and Joy is a total delight. The play by Colin McLaughlin and the production by the Midnight Company are both terrific.

The characters are the five members of the Moran family: Mom, Dad, and the three children—Jay, Maggie, and Sam. The action takes place in Sam’s apartment. She sent a text to the others summoning them to a family intervention, but she did not say for whom.

Sam is not at home when the others arrive. Her parents and siblings are all puzzled about whose benefit they have come for. Their speculation suggests the intervention could be for any of them. They all have a dependency or co-dependency that creates problems for themselves and their loved ones.

McLaughlin’s script is both hilarious and insightful as the family works through its issues. The jibes at one another are genuinely funny, and they defuse tension instead of escalating into nastiness. By the end of the play, the family has made hard-earned progress, and the audience has had a ball.

The cast is a superb ensemble. Its members, in alphabetical order, are Lavonne Byers as Mom, Joe Hanrahan as Dad, Jayson Heil as Jay, Sarah Lantsberger as Sam, Alicen Kramer-Moser as Maggie. They are completely invested in their roles, and their reactions to what the others say are just as engaging as what they say themselves.

The dialogue never weighs the play down because Carl Overly Jr.’s direction fills the stage with purposeful movement. Even when lines overlaps, the coordination among the performers is exemplary.

Liz Henning’s costumes portray the clothes-conscious Morans as vividly as the actors do. The audience in The Chapel faces away from the stage instead of toward it. In Chuck Winning’s impressive scenic design, the nook at the rear of the theater is cleverly incorporated into the set as the kitchen in Sam’s apartment. Tony Anselmo’s lighting keeps the focus on the well-designed real living space in front of the kitchen.

Talkin Broadway

by Richard T. Green / July, 2025

The term "couch play" takes a different meaning in Colin McLaughlin's new comedy Pride and Joy. The usual stage trappings of a living room set, with Chesterfield or davenport fixed prominently at center-stage, soon resemble a lively and complex family therapy session in this 80-minute romp. And one of the great over-arching jokes is that everybody gets to fire a mother-lode of psychoanalytic jargon at one another, like paintball guns or laser-tag shots at a family intervention.

It's a perfectly lovely world premiere at the Chapel on Alexander. But the actors are of such high quality that you end up watching them as much as listening to Mr. McLaughlin's introspective dialog. Smart, young and energetic Carl Overly Jr. directs for The Midnight Company, doing an excellent job with the great cast. They easily grasp his comic intentions and then go delving into their souls for startling emotional depth.

Here the legendary local actress Lavonne Byers is cast as a nice suburban mom. And many of her realizations or changes of emotional direction subtly add heart to the show. She almost seems to churn through each new revelation like an ice-breaker making its way through the impenetrable floes. And Midnight Company founder Joe Hanrahan takes a different tack as her harried husband. Like a champion poker player, he cautiously reads all the other family members before placing his bet.

Gradually, though, he's worn down by a gaggle of three grown children who turn an addiction intervention for one into a lifeline for them all. Perhaps the greatest Irish-Catholic joke (beyond all the play's co-dependency laughs) is that they truly believe that each of us can eventually get it right and be freed from whatever ails us. (A "joke," I suppose, because it can never really be disproven.)

The admirable set is by Chuck Winning, with very good lighting with minimal instruments by Tony Anselmo, and first-rate costumes by Liz Henning.

On stage, Alicen Kramer-Moser balances the almost feral qualities of sneakiness and exposure as the pot-smoking daughter Maggie. She perfectly maintains the comic tone. Sarah Lantsberger has an excellent transparent quality as Sam, the daughter who's staging her own intervention for alcohol abuse. And the terrific Jayson Heil throws himself into a series of emotional chasms as the gay son: a "body-culture" fanatic, in more ways than one.

With a lesser cast, it might be just another play. Here it's briskly paced, full of what seems like an occasionally bitter and remorseful cohort of floating shipwreck victims. In a series of delightful clashes, they learn to pull together and wrestle each other up into the same boat.

Snoop’s Theatre Thoughts

by Michelle Kenyon ("Snoop") / July, 2025

The Midnight Company’s latest production is a new play that’s also something of a throwback. Deliberately styled in the form of a classic sitcom, Colin McLaughlin’s Pride and Joy is a comedy about a family with a lot of drama, kind of like a “Very Special Episode”. As directed by Carl Overly Jr. and featuring a first-rate cast of local performers, it’s a show that brings lots of laughs and a credible portrayal of a family with a lot of issues to work out.

The sitcom elements are obvious before the play even starts, as the audience is treated to a playlist of famous themes from classics like Friends, The Jeffersons, The Office, Cheers, and more, and the well-appointed set by Chuck Winning brings to mind a classic sitcom living room setup. As the show gets going, more of these elements become apparent, including “commercial breaks” and bumper music. The pacing is sitcom-like, as well, although the runtime is longer than the average sitcom at roughly 80 minutes. It somewhat calls to mind one of those “Very Special Episodes” of classic comedy shows, when a serious issue is brought up, although the tone here is, for the most part, kept relatively light.

The story follows the Moran Family–parents Michael (Joe Hanrahan) and Mary (Lavonne Byers), and their adult children Jay (Jayson Heil), Sam (Sarah Lantsberger), and Maggie (Alicen Moser). The action takes place at Sam’s apartment, as the rest of family arrives having been called there for a “Family Intervention”, although Sam is late and everyone else is left to try to figure out who the intervention is for. After a while, Sam arrives and the goal of the evening is made more clear, but even though there is a stated “target” for the intervention, a lot of issues get brought up, and every character gets their moments to fess up about various issues, including Jay’s self-professed “assholery”, Mary’s focus on others to the perceived neglect of herself, Maggie’s fondness for weed, Michael’s on-and-off issues with drinking, and Sam’s own issues that she reveals in the course of the intervention, which tie into her relationship with her family. It’s a quick-witted, characterful show with a good deal of genuine laughs and moments of drama peppered in for good measure.

The characters are well-drawn and expertly played, led by Lantsberger in a well-measured performance as the well-meaning but occasionally controlling Sam, and Byers as the motherly, long suffering Mary, who gets some of the best dramatic moments in the show. There’s also excellent work from Hanrahan as the reluctant Michael, Heil as the outspoken Jay, and Moser as the somewhat mischievous Maggie. The give-and-take in the conversations and the undercurrent of genuine care in the midst of the bickering is well done and expertly paced, making the most of the sitcom format and providing much to think about and relate to, as well as laugh about.

There’s also notable work from lighting designer Tony Anselmo and costume designer Liz Henning, as all the elements of the show work together to give the audience a funny, thoughtful look at a dysfunctional family that tries hard to function better. The enthusiastic laughter of the audience also adds to the overall sitcom vibe. Pride and Joy is an intriguing, funny new play that provides the classic TV experience with the bonus of live theatre energy.

Ladoue News

Midnight Company’s World Premiere of ‘Pride and Joy’ Tests the Family Bonds

by Mark Bretz / July, 2025

Story: The Moran family has gathered at the home of Sam, the youngest of Mom and Dad’s three adult children. Samantha Kelly (Sam) isn’t yet home, though, when Mary Margaret (Mom), Michael Patrick (Dad), Christopher Joseph (Jay), and Margaret Marie (Maggie) arrive on schedule. Sam has told them it’s for an “intervention,” and that she needs the entire family to be present.

An intervention, though, for whom? And an intervention for what? That’s still to be determined. Speculation centers on Dad, who has been known to imbibe an alcoholic beverage or three from time to time as well as keeping his emotions mostly in check.

Could it be Mom? She’s the glue that holds the Moran clan together, but she’s also religious to an exasperating degree to her children and even her understanding husband, who generally sides with whatever she says.

It might be Jay, who is all too keenly aware of his shortcomings and how he hasn’t lived up to his own expectations about his life and career. Or is it Maggie, who has the family market cornered on drugs, mostly preferring marijuana to calm her occasional anxieties.

Highlights: The Midnight Company presents the world premiere of a one-act comedy by local playwright Colin McLaughlin, who is co-producing this effort in association with founder and artistic director Joe Hanrahan’s Midnight Company troupe. The script is nicely crafted, the acting is fine, and the direction by Carl Overly, Jr. maintains a focus on more serious matters even as McLaughlin’s script offers up a bounty of humor.

Other Info: Chuck Winning’s set design shrewdly utilizes the floor space in The Chapel rather than the stage to allow for sufficient space to show Sam’s living room at center stage and kitchen at the back of stage left in her compact apartment. Tony Anselmo’s lighting spotlights the various characters in their key moments, and Liz Henning’s costumes amusingly fit the spirit and personalities of each member of the Moran brood.

There’s also a fun sound design which makes humorous use of themes from several TV sitcoms, from “Taxi” to “Cheers” to “Friends” and “The Office” and others, to properly set the mood for the story to follow.

Under Overly’s steady and focused guidance, the quintet of performers takes their turns at delivering the story’s reservoir of humor, save Sara Lantsberger, whose portrayal of Sam instead gives her many of the show’s more serious moments, which she handles nicely.

Hanrahan and Lavonne Byers, who worked well together a year or two back in Midnight’s presentation of “The Lion in Winter,” display an easy camaraderie as Mom and Dad. Hanrahan’s Michael keeps his emotional cards close to his half-open shirt, while Byers nails Mary’s conservative inclinations both in mannerisms and in her gentle delivery, which nonetheless leaves little room for argument from Michael or the kids.

Alicen Kramer-Moser and Jayson Heil succeed in showing the less flattering sides of Maggie and Jay, respectively, while also depicting their often well-meaning if awkward intentions to persuade the others.

McLaughlin’s Morans aren’t contenders for a heavyweight tragedy of a family, a la “Long Day’s Journey into Night” or “Death of a Salesman,” but that isn’t what he’s doubtless aiming to achieve. “Pride and Joy” is more a look at an average family filled with normal people, even if one of the characters at one point says, “I don’t think normal people are happy.”

Perhaps that comment isn’t accurate for the Morans. For most parents, traditionally their children frequently are their “pride and joy.” That’s likely the case with this clan and its own take on familiar and familial situations.

PopLifeStl

The Messy Morans Merrily Roll Along in Original Comedy ‘Pride and Joy’

by Lynn Venhaus / July, 2025

If your family is friends of Bill W., you can relate to the messy Morans in Colin McLaughlin’s humorous original play, “Pride and Joy.”

However, no matter what level of experience you have with a family of strong personalities who eagerly share their judgmental opinions, you may recognize common traits inherent to those folks related to each other in the Midnight Company world premiere.

Like so many others, they don’t really seem to be connected at times but are inextricably linked as more layers are peeled off. Hence, the similarities to typical American middle-class parental units with idiosyncrasies (don’t we all?).

St. Louis playwright McLaughlin takes a light-hearted look at the emotional and argumentative Morans, who are focused on putting the fun in dysfunctional. A top-flight ensemble takes off with the homegrown material and runs at breakneck speed with it.

Think of it in the same vein as a very special episode of a family sitcom popular in the ‘70s and ‘80s, before Dr. Phil’s “How’s that workin’ for ya?” and Dr. Drew’s Celebrity Rehab.

Director Carl Overly Jr. has cleverly framed the presentation like a television program, complete with TV theme songs playing before the show starts, With such a spry cast, he deftly sets the scene and conveys a lived-in atmosphere easily.

The youngest daughter Sam has invited the family over to her cramped apartment for an intervention, but she is not yet there when they arrive, wondering who the person in need of one is. Is it the dad, who seems to be an imbiber where it may impede his life? Is it the pot-smoking daughter Maggie?

To their surprise, it is their hostess, Sam. She has harbored this secret, and has announced she is sober for three weeks, and is working on the Alcoholics Anonymous program. All worth learning about and supporting.

In this role, newcomer Sarah Lantsberger is endearing as anxious Sam tries to maintain order, but her family isn’t good at following directions. Loud and opinionated, they make it more about themselves. Whose intervention is this, exactly?

Sharp, smart performers who are renowned for crafting authentic characters appear to have a personal history with others from the start. Mom Mary Margaret is Lavonne Byers, one of the true legends of local theater and three-time St. Louis Theater Circle winner for lead performances.

She rarely does comedy but is a master at timing and is always present in every role. You know who this mom is immediately. And of course, she is scurrying around Sam’s apartment, picking up laundry and tidying up.

She and Joe Hanrahan, who plays the rumpled, grouchy, defensive dad Mike, have worked together before, so they are comfortable in a cramped space trying to dispense wisdom to their strong-willed brood.

Hanrahan, the artistic director of The Midnight Company, has always been open to collaborating with a gifted mix of young performers, and engages well with fearless artists, often associated with SATE, ERA, and the St. Louis Fringe Festival.

Oldest daughter Maggie, a ‘type’ of new-age pot-smoker prone to pontificating, is played by seasoned veteran Alicen Moser, another flexible performer. With her family, Maggie is a tad prickly and guarded, but you sense she could contribute more to the mental health goals if applied.

Jayson Heil once again demonstrates his versatility as the jerky, self-centered brother Jay, quick to criticize others and be a disagreeable sort. You get the feeling he didn’t play well with others as a child, let alone his sisters.

Heil, recently seen in “Cabaret,” “First Date” and winner of the St. Louis Theater Circle Award for “All My Sons,” all at New Jewish, is a casual cross between a know-it-all and a slacker as Jay, forced to be somewhere he’d rather not and loathe to confront family memories.

With all their nutty qualities and hang-ups, you can tell there is fertile ground for the characters to dig into, especially in a 12-step program. McLaughlin’s dialogue allows them to convey a shorthand with each other. And the performers are quick verbally and physically to further color the family interactions.

As people familiar with dime-store psychology frequently do, they all talk in self-help books’ psychobabble. Mom is religious, using her faith when it’s convenient while the rest of the family dismisses her outspoken reverence for the son of God.

So, is there a point besides shining a light on a quirky family who needs to break some patterns and establish healthier practices? Hopefully, the intention is to share the universality of family enablers, personal struggles leading to self-medication, self-absorbed people having a change of heart and showing they care for each other when you don’t think they are capable of it?

St Louis Arts

by By Rob Von Nordheim / July 16, 2025

Add a world premier to Midnight Company’s list of accomplishments. From July 10 to 26, the company will perform Pride and Joy, a never-before-seen play written by local artist Colin McLaughlin. Directed by Carl Overly, Jr (who performed in Midnight’s 2021 production It Is Magic), Pride and Joy is a slice-of-life family dramedy anchored by five strong performances. This kind of story—highly relatable, broadly appealing, but with plenty of pathos and a little St. Louis flavor—fits in nicely with Midnight’s oeuvre and could become a new local favorite (like Provel on pizza).

A family of four pushes, shoves, and curses their way into an apartment. They’re the Morans, and the apartment belongs to Sam, the oldest daughter (Sarah Lantsberger). They’ve brought pizza for… what exactly? Oh, for the intervention. Wait, the intervention for who? Could it be for Jay (Jayson Heil), who compulsively works out and browses Grindr? Could it be for Maggie (Alicen Moser), who took a hit from a cannabis vape just right now, when she thought nobody was looking? It could be for Dad (Joe Hanrahan)—but where would you even start? It could also be for Mom (Lavonne Byers), a self-sacrificing neat freak with codependency issues.

As it turns out, the intervention is for Sam. Her family members were too distracted by their own problems to notice hers, so she planned it herself. But each of them thought that the intervention could be their own… what the hell does that say about their family? What unfolds is a series of impromptu mini-interventions (call them “minterventions”) for each of the Morans. Despite Sam’s best efforts to follow the AA script (she even pre-wrote affirmations for everyone), the “healing moment” quickly descends into shouting and finger-pointing. They finally decide to do it “Moran” style, wrap it up in 80 minutes or less, and achieve some level of “California sober.”

Addiction is a heavy topic—one that every family in America has dealt with. Pride and Joy explores it with curiosity, compassion, and a fair amount of dark humor. The play spoofs sitcom tropes, mimicking the “fade to black” before a commercial break with its quick scene changes. It also features an ending that more-or-less wraps things up and returns the characters to their status quo (although it does hold forth the possibility of genuine growth). If nothing else, it’s clear that the Morans, messy as they are, love each other. Each member of the cast is entirely convincing as a member of this loud, lively, and selectively self-aware brood.

Midnight opted to use the Chapel, one of their favorite venues, for Pride and Joy. The small-yet-stately space at 6238 Alexander Dr. is a great venue for an emotionally mature adult comedy. With no elevated stage, the cast members are mere feet away from the audience. The set effectively recreates the feel of a studio apartment—cozy, cramped, and awkwardly intimate. Complimentary drinks are another plus—just try to exercise a little more self-restraint than the Morans.

And not lose sight of that handy mechanism, humor. While some of the characters exhibit traits common in a family with substance abuse issues, a few moments of levity don’t seem to fit as family members deal with their own issues and how it relates to the family dysfunctional dynamic.

So, little digs here and there are just their way of accepting – or not – their habits and excuses. They have some encouraging breakthroughs instead of denial, which leads to a sense of relief that there is hope here.

Yet, there are a few actions that negate that (Maggie’s weed consumption acceptance, dad retrieving a hidden flask…is this a joke? Has nothing changed?). Leave it at hopeful, not thinking “well, maybe not…”

This is a very personal, heartfelt show that means a lot to the playwright, director, cast and crew. It’s obvious in the work that was put into it, and the satisfaction in having it ring true to patrons.

Chuck Winning’s set is a cozy blend of form and function, rendering a young woman’s first apartment, and utilizing the Chapel’s performance space well, while Tony Anselmo’s lighting design suits the material well. Costume designer Liz Henning’s casual attire simply shows each character’s personality.

Art that can entertain, amuse and call people to action is joyous to behold. One doesn’t have to be preachy or melodramatic to get points across. And that’s the beauty of connecting through live theater.

The fact that we can all sit in a darkened theater and laugh at the foibles we see in ourselves, and how we each can change the things we can is a powerful message. Therefore, any opportunity to provide some helpful tools is always welcome (just as triggering messages are).

In that spirit, I would be remiss, after years of advocacy, personal tragedies, a long list of documented dire consequences for generations of alcohol and substance abuse, and much therapy for the remaining family members, not to mention that there is a genetic component that factors in understanding, communication and progress.

No one is ever alone.

“God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.” – Serenity Prayer

STL Stage Snaps review

by Charles Adams / July, 2025

What if you held a family intervention and everyone came? That’s the question at the heart of “Pride & Joy,” Colin McLaughlin’s sly and affecting new play, now in its world premiere in a coproduction with the Midnight Company. What begins with the familiar rhythms of a sitcom — a couch-centered living room set, musical bumpers, a playlist of nostalgic TV theme songs — quickly deepens into something thornier, funnier, more human and more real. Under the well-calibrated direction of Carl Overly Jr., this five-character, single-set play reveals itself as less “Full House” and more “The Seven Samurai” by way of “Cheers”: each family member shows up, emotionally armed, to defend or dismantle the fragile ties that bind them.

The clever setup is simple. Sam, the youngest child in the Moran family, has summoned her parents and two siblings to her cramped apartment for a mysterious family meeting. She’s not there when they arrive. Confused and irritated, they try to piece together who the meeting is for — suspecting, with good reason, it might be any of them. What follows is part group therapy session, part verbal free-for-all and part confession booth as everyone reveals the small and large ways they’ve been numbing themselves: alcohol, weed, caretaking, denial.

McLaughlin’s script is sharp, funny and deceptively light. The sitcom format isn’t parody — it’s strategy (an approach more playwrights wrestling with “issues” could learn from). The audience is disarmed by the familiar structure: the musical cues, the pacing, the commercial breaks that never quite come. What lands instead are conversations that start as quips and end as gut punches. The real work of this play takes place not in the punchlines but in the silences that follow them.

What gives “Pride and Joy” its staying power is rooted in the specificity of its characters and its emotional resonance with anyone who has been touched by addiction — whether through personal experience or proximity to a loved one. The language of recovery, though never didactic, is threaded throughout. Those who know the cadence of 12-step meetings, the tension of early sobriety or the impossible desire to fix others will recognize themselves in these characters. The play quietly echoes the Serenity Prayer —by dramatizing its plea: to accept what can’t be changed, to change what can and to try to tell the difference.

Sarah Lantsberger plays Sam with a delicate balance of frustration and control. Her sobriety, recently claimed and still fragile, is the quiet center of the play. Lavonne Byers, as Mary, the family matriarch, deftly toggles between warmth and exasperation. Her need to hold the family together has calcified into a kind of emotional martyrdom. Joe Hanrahan brings weary subtlety to Michael, the father whose relationship with alcohol walks the line between functioning and failing. As Jay, the acerbic older brother, Jayson Heil is all sharp edges and wounded pride, while Alicen Kramer-Moser gives Maggie, the pothead sister, a haze of comic detachment that masks a deeper craving for clarity.

What’s remarkable about this ensemble is how seamlessly they overlap, interrupt and pivot — just like a real family. Overly’s direction maintains a fine-grained control over this verbal chaos, never letting it devolve into noise. Each actor has a rhythm and arc that pays off emotionally, and together they create the sense of a shared, difficult history.

Chuck Winning’s set — Sam’s slightly-too-small apartment — feels authentically lived-in and appropriately claustrophobic, a physical manifestation of emotional entanglement. The audience, seated close and facing away from the usual stage setup, becomes an uninvited guest, almost uncomfortably embedded in the action. Tony Anselmo’s lighting design moves subtly between sitcom brightness and naturalistic shadow, while Liz Henning’s costumes speak volumes about who these characters are — or think they are.

Despite its 80-minute runtime and comedy-forward marketing, “Pride & Joy” doesn’t seek easy catharsis or quick resolutions. There’s no hugging-and-learning moment (per se), no syrupy last-minute revelation to tie things up. Instead, it offers something better: honesty without spectacle, connection without sentimentality and a few hard-earned laughs along the way.

In its unassuming way, “Pride & Joy” offers a kind of truth that sitcoms rarely do, and that theater at its best often does: it invites us to sit with discomfort, to recognize the performance we give as families and to wonder — quietly, maybe even hopefully — what might happen if we tried a different script.