Chloë Grace Moretz and River Lipe-Smith Photo by Emilio Madrid

The play follows a bruised mother-daughter road trip from West Virginia to Illinois, as Maddie (Chloë Grace Moretz) tries to protect her nine-year-old trans daughter Caroline (River Lipe-Smith) after an abusive episode with Maddie's partner Brian. With nowhere else to turn, she seeks refuge with her own mother, Rhea (Amy Landecker), after many years of estrangement. The uneasy reunion forces prolonged confrontations. Maddie, perpetually in recovery from substance abuse, carries a lifetime of guilt, while wine-sipping, suburban Rhea routinely deflects responsibility. Young, confident Caroline, caught between them, insists on truth, kindness, and authenticity. While the plot veers away from formulaic narratives and predictable contemporary conflicts, the play captures a neverending cycle of accusation and avoidance that may feel familiar to anyone who has witnessed families suffering through addiction and estrangement.

Caroline's identity as a trans girl resonates with her mother Maddie's struggle to stay sober as they both fight to prove themselves in the face of institutions that deny their reality. In a devastating bit of dialogue, Caroline worries she will "never be a girl" because a classmate claimed scientists could someday identify her skeleton as male. Yet Caroline is powerfully self-assured, choosing her own name–immediately affirmed aloud by Maddie in the diner scene and later beaded onto a bracelet in their hotel room. Through Maddie and Caroline, the play poses powerful questions including: How do you assert who you are when the world insists otherwise? What does forgiveness look like when everyone has made mistakes, and when children inherit the costs?

River Lipe-Smith and Amy Landecker Photo by Emilio Madrid

Moretz, making a moving return to the stage after a decade, plays Maddie with natural ease, in a body etched with exhaustion and punk tattoos. Moretz balances wryness with warmth and optimism to deliver a vivid embodiment of contradictions characteristic of recovery. The most potent performance is by River Lipe-Smith, in their Off-Broadway debut. The sly, scene-stealing Lipe-Smith radiates a magnetic mix of wit, wisdom, and humor with irresistible charisma, giving the inquisitive and insightful young character Caroline a presence that is both fully grounded and unshakably cool.

Cromer's gentle direction on Jellinek's segmented set, with Micoleau's harsh white lighting, David Hyman's everyday costumes, and Christopher Darbassie's pulsing sound design all work together with Allen's hyperrealistic dialogue to produce an intensely naturalistic drama with weighty conflicts covering the opioid crisis, generational blame, and the precarious lives of trans youth.

This is an absorbing play of fragments, absences, estrangements, and endurance. In its raw, concentrated authenticity, Caroline shows us that survival emerges not from traditional mainstream institutional support or the illusion of suburban safety, but from small acts of persistence like a handmade bracelet, a passionate promise, a chosen name spoken aloud.