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Hudes proves this by telling two parallel tales: of the returned Iraq veteran Elliot (Armando Riesco) now starring in a war movie in Jordan with the more refined Arab-American actress Shar (Annapurna Sriram) and the on-set Iraqi adviser Ali (Dariush Kashani), while Elliot's cherished cousin Yaz (Lauren Vélez) copes with her newfound life of neighborhood support and activism back in Philadelphia as she ponders a relationship with an older friend, Agustín (Tony Plana), and the presence of the simpleminded but well-intentioned homeless man Lefty (Anthony Chisholm) who's become an unintentionally integral to her life. As the action unfolds, it becomes increasingly clear that Hudes is exploring the formation of new families, friendships, and communities amid old wreckage of the mind and military alike. Elliot, still tortured by the memory of the first Iraqi he killed, is desperate to make amends by returning the man's passport to his widow and son, something that neither the friendly nor realistic Ali nor Shar, who rapidly becomes to Elliot something much more than just another actress, understands or respects. And Yaz must balance wanting a child, and wanting to help the desperate Agustín, with wanting to clean up the community she's concerned may no longer be a fitting home. The Happiest Song Plays Last excels most as the capstone of Elliot's saga, tying in crucial concepts and plot points from the preceding plays (Elliot, a Soldier's Fugue and Water by the Spoonful) that brand the young soldier-turned-actor's adventures as significant components of a larger and more important existence. If you've followed Elliot since his beginnings Off-Off-Broadway in 2006 (as I have), there's something bittersweet about seeing him approach the closure he's always sought, in no small part because Riesco has played him every step of the way.
Ruben Santiago-Hudson's direction is a bit arid, rarely giving Hudes's writing much of a sense of rich, theatrical feeling; and Michael Carnahan's crate bungalow set, erratically lit by Rui Rita, strikes a "romantic comedy" tone that's even more at odds with what's onstage. Though Chisholm and Plana work hard, Hudes hasn't given them enough to work with to register as much more than temporary atmosphere. Kashani fares better, presenting an intriguing gregarious anger that helps ground the Middle East scenes, and the subtle but forceful resentment Sriram wields gives Shar a surprising and tasty edge. Vélez brings an attractive strength and an inescapable likability to Yaz, but has trouble shedding Yaz's early lightheartedness for the darker scenes she must sell later. Because Elliot is ultimately central, it's Riesco who's best poised to make a powerful, even unforgettable, impression—and he does. His eyes shining with the wonder of new possibilities, he shows how Elliot is both at home and out of place on the movie shoot, tormented by what he's done but ready (if unable) to put it behind him. But when pressed to recreate an occurrence a bit too similar to something from his own experience, the rage Elliot unleashes is both terrifying and honest: out of his control, symbolizing the wild animal he's still trying to cage. Riesco seamlessly blends boy-next-door charm with a broken man's harshness, and the actor lets us see how that battle is always Elliot's most important. Whether stifling rage, embracing grief, or even courting delight as he crows of longing to be the only Puerto Rican partying with the Egyptians who just deposed President Hosni Mubarak, Riesco has cast his final appearance as Elliot as the ultimate growing-up chronicle—and one that, based on what we've seen of Elliot before, we weren't entirely sure he needed. But he did, and during The Happiest Song Plays Last we understand why. By its end, Elliot has become fully adult, and his accepting for the first time all of his responsibilities to new family, old family, and himself is truly moving, whether you've known Elliot for eight years or for only two and a half hours. If it's hard not to wish that Hudes had unlocked in this play a bit more life so she could end her trilogy with the same quiet majesty with which she opened it, it's still in most ways that matter a fitting finale to her fascinating and deeply American story.
The Happiest Song Plays Last
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