Kelvin Roston Jr. Photo by Michael Brosilow

Roston sets the piece in 1979, in the hours before the end of Hathaway's life. In that fateful Essex House room, the story begins quietly enough with an ordinary struggle with a tape recorder and a song that won't quite make itself into the world. His frustration grows in slow-burn fashion until the phone rings and we understand the stakes: He needs the song to come, not only because he hopes it will help to salvage his recording sessions with Roberta Flack and hopefully revive his career, but more importantly it will serve as proof that he has reconnected with his music and essential self in the wake of years of being institutionalized and professionally undone by side effects from the medications used to treat his paranoid schizophrenia.

If the premise sounds inescapably dark, it is important to acknowledge that Roston, on the whole, is successful in walking the line between a serious, respectful exploration of Hathaway's mental illness and the joy and fulfillment he found in music. Even as the mundane crises accumulate and escalate, and Hathaway's world is briefly, jarringly filled with static, harsh lights, and threatening voices, his gaze pierces the fourth wall and he recognizes the audience as his angels. Although it's easy to see how the mechanics could be clunky, Roston pulls it off and gains the audience's buy-in as Hathaway tells the story of his relationship with music, with God, and with the dangerous, punishing voices in his head, beginning with church performances at the behest of his grandmother, proceeding through meeting his wife at Howard University, having children, and launching and all but losing his professional career.

The story is piecemeal in a productive, believable way that tells the story of his individual life, even as it sheds needed light on the experience not just of schizophrenia itself, but the treatments for it, the collateral damage it does to family and other loved ones (not least because of the inexcusable lack of support available), and so on. Roston integrates the music in ways that are both interesting and productive. There's none of the typical setup of the hit the audience knows is coming. Often, a song breaks off just as it seems that Donny will hit his groove, but instead paranoia and overwhelming sensation intrude. Yet there are satisfying and wonderful performances of full songs, including an audience-participation version of "The Ghetto," and for the most part it feels like there is just the right mixture of drama and musical celebration.

Given the rigors of a one-person performance, Roston is well served by the set design (Sotirios Livaditis), as well as sound (Eric Backus) and lighting (Jason Lynch). The set is unmistakably a hotel. It is well-appointed without being lavish. Its blandness is subtle but effective, and in so being, it serves well as a backdrop for the very active use of projections (designed by Rasean Davonté Johnson to render mental static (as well as moving images denoting contentment and creative energy), the memories of loved ones (as well as depictions of violence, protest, and Hathaway's inner demons), musical notes, nature, and so on.

Although in most instances the projections enhance the storytelling, there are some opportunities to pare back the visuals and let the performance carry the moment. Similarly, the work of Backus and Lynch is vital to conveying the often rapid-fire mood changes that Hathaway experiences, and although the frequent use of overwhelming light and sound is clearly intentional, the saturation risks desensitizing the audience and losing some of the empathy the play, the performance, and the production have otherwise carefully drawn us into. Similarly, the reasoning behind some of the decisions about when to use a sound cue for the voices of others (or the voices in Donny's head) is not exactly clear

Roston's musical direction is outstanding. Although there is a fair amount of a cappella singing, or Hathaway accompanying himself on the piano, the show does a masterful job of really putting his genius as a composer, arranger and producer on display, giving us glimpses of how the pieces arise in his mind and the euphoria that hits when we hear them fully formed.

As an actor, Roston finds and judiciously delivers sparing moments of genuine comedy, including his falsetto performance of a hymn as little Donny. In exploring Hathaway's motivations for telling the story to his "angels," Roston also moves deftly between charm, shyness, anger, confusion and paranoia. Finally, his singing voice is more than up to the challenge of portraying, rather than impersonating, Hathaway's true gift.

Twisted Melodies runs through August 10, 2025, at Northlight Theatre, 9501 Skokie Blvd., Skokie IL. For tickets and information, please visit northlight.org or call 847.673.6300.