Brendan Hunt Photo courtesy of Steppenwolf Theatre

It's practically a trope of reviews to say that any one-man show that succeeds at all is one that acknowledges and subverts the conventions and potential pitfalls of the genre and form. Nonetheless, this is a truth in this case: Hunt frames the story, acknowledges its artifice, sets up the emotional beats anyway, and then proceeds to do nothing but deliver for roughly ninety minutes. I don't presume to know how Hunt thinks about himself, but from the perspective of an audience member, what works so very well here is the slight disconnect between a writer who is supremely confident (and with good reason) and a performer who will always be aspiring, no matter how objectively skilled they are.

In the course of show, Hunt uses his "C-List Celebrity" moment meeting Sir Paul McCartney to frame a story that stretches from his own contested first memory to the birth of his son in the most uncertain days and uncertain circumstances of the COVID-19 pandemic. Along the way are stops that chart his own psycho-biography by way of his love of the Beatles. He explores territory from the early days of this affinity, inherited from both of his parents, through the awkward, often self-sabotaging ways in which he forges his own relationship to the music.

And it seems obvious that the story will end–must end–with something that seems to come full circle, mythically speaking. Rather than settling for the trite, though, the show ends with the kind of comedic beat that is too absurd to be anything but true. And Hunt, sure-handed with a story as ever, follows this with the most open-ended, yet moving and satisfying of epilogues, one that questions what power that the Beatles (or anyone outside the true bonds we ultimately form, if we are lucky) can or should have, even if we are writers invested in the power of the story arc.

It's a truly well-crafted tale, masterfully told with expert support from the design team. Meredith Ries has created a set that skillfully and subtly combines the utterly generic color palette inherited from stand-alone motel and SRO signs that boast color TV, with a respectable, mid-century modern couch flanked by two end tables with matching lamps. The couch adds unobtrusive depth to the stage, plausibly appearing as the couch on which the too-young Brendan watches Yellow Submarine with his mother, as well as serving as a random bit of cover for those trying to survive an ill-advised acid trip at a rave outside Amsterdam.

The simplicity of the set provides the backdrop for Nick Solyom's lighting design. The text of the show has some obvious demands in this regard, given that Hunt's elongated pursuit of a degree in theatre lighting plays a major role in the story at several points. But beyond the expository "just for laughs" recitation of the history of theatre lighting, Solyom delivers, over and over, on comedic and dramatic moments that demand sharply executed cues that maintain the story's pace.

Kate Marvin's sound design is effectively in lock step with the lighting as needed. But Marvin also gently weaves in the sounds of city traffic and other scene-setting elements, as well as managing the necessary needle drops with ease. Stefania Bulbarella's projections likewise help to move the story through time and space through images that appear along the top of the set's second proscenium and later on the wood-paneled back wall.

The cumulative result of these individually excellent aspects of the design is the creation of a space that is certainly constructed, the way all memories are, if they are important enough for us to craft a story about them. And yet that space is also warm, real, and as comforting as reruns of classic shows playing on the front room TV in the hours after school.

Hunt's performance against this backdrop certainly centers the humor and cultivates the laughs. He pulls no punches with the images and artifacts he shares to conjure up his past selves, but rather than there being the sharp pivot into drama late in the show, there's a gentle, heartsore thread that runs through the whole of it. That's certainly a product of the writing, but Hunt's physicality and delivery coax it off the page and into the room, creating a truly remarkable and moving show that also happens to be absurd and hilarious.

The Movement You Need: An Evening with Brendan Hunt runs through May 10, 2026, at Steppenwolf Theatre Company, Downstairs Theater, 1650 N. Halsted St., Chicago IL. For tickets, visit steppenwolf.org or call 312-335-1650.