Brian d'Arcy James and Maya Hawke Photo by HanJie Chow

In the long-running musical Hadestown, the story of Orpheus and Eurydice is set in a post-apocalyptic, industrialized society, whereas Ruhl draws on elements of fairy tale and children's literature. For instance, in an homage to "Alice in Wonderland," Bradley's hallucinogenic scenery evokes a paranormal spa, tilted slightly to the side and adorned with pastel-colored tiles. An incongruous, glittering chandelier dangles precariously from the ceiling, and an elevator with sculpted copper doors, thrusts–more accurately, with its tidal wave effect, flushes–the departed into the underworld. (Reza Behjat's dramatic lighting, Bray Poor's haunting sound, and Oana Botez's whimsical costumes contribute to the dreamscape atmosphere.)

As Eurydice, Maya Hawke is luminous and delivers a richly textured and deeply moving portrait of a woman torn between two worlds. In the opening scenes with Orpheus (Caleb Eberhardt, who is captivating), she exquisitely conveys the character's ebullience and coquettishness. This Eurydice is also impetuous, and on her wedding night, she follows a rather sinister stranger (played with devilish slickness by T. Ryder Smith, who is also very funny as a puerile and petulant Lord of the Underworld) to his luxurious high-rise apartment. The man claims to have in his possession a letter sent from the underworld by her dead father (Brian d'Arcy James). The rendezvous culminates in Eurydice's untimely demise.

A chorus of stones (Maria Elena Ramirez, Jon Norman Schneider, and David Ryan Smith, who are suitably both creepy and annoying in their spooky-clown get-ups) greet Eurydice to the underworld. They inform us that the dead soon forget about their previous existence and speak a different, quieter language. They become "like potatoes sleeping in the dirt." Struggling to recall her former passionate love of Orpheus, Eurydice explains, "When I got through the cold they made me swim in a river and I forgot his name. I forgot all the names. I know his name starts with my mouth shaped like a ball of twine–Oar–oar. I forget."

Interestingly, the relationship of the living to the dead summons comparisons with Thornton Wilder's Our Town. Recounting the recently and not-so-recently departed in Grover's Corners, the Stage Manager describes how they are "weaned away from earth." He says, "Gradually, gradually, they lose hold of the earth ... and the ambitions they had ... and the pleasures they had ... and the things they suffered ... and the people they loved." Considering the plays in tandem demonstrates the timeless and universal struggle with loss and separation.

Eurydice's father, though, is what the stones refer to as a "subversive." He has resisted the systematic forced forgetting, and he helps his daughter regain her cherished memories and fervent love for Orpheus. Because of him, Eurydice is receptive to her husband's return and attempted rescue, but it means that he risks losing her yet again. Remaining true to the original myth, Ruhl's play nonetheless takes a more heartbreaking turn for its characters.

James gives an indelible performance, and he exudes paternal affection. Watching him act out, for example, what it would be like to walk his daughter down the wedding aisle, constructing a makeshift home for her, and sharing a brief dance are images I will not soon forget. Yet again, he exhibits his remarkable versatility as an actor.

The play's rumination on death and lost love may resonate differently with audience members based on their emotional mindsets. In the intervening years between the Second Stage and Signature productions, both of my parents have died. Revisiting the show, I was especially struck by the poignance of the scenes between the father and his daughter in the underworld. Looking back, I realize I was not emotionally ready for Eurydice in 2007. This is a rare case in which a backward glance yields significant rewards.