The Cast Photo by Photo by Joe Mazza

Dave Malloy's genius musical digital cautionary tale is beautifully performed, beautifully directed, beautifully staged. It's 100% unlike anything you've seen before, unlike anything you'll see again, and it has a whole lotta buzz.

Chicago buzz? It's the Raven's musical debut: an all-in, if we're going to do this, let's do it different, do it right, do it our way kind of show. And now it's on stage at the venerable Goodman, the Chicago institution, which makes it the definition of a summer hit. National buzz? Lin-Manuel Miranda is making it into a movie, starring, among others, Rachel Zegler, Phillipa Soo, Jonathan Groff, and Gaten Matarazzo. Incredible.

So it's good, right? In a hundred ways, yes. But there's just one thing. More on this later.

Octet puts us inside an internet support group. The Friends of Saul meet in what appears to be a church basement. Could be a YMCA basement. It doesn't really matter. Part of what gives the musical its Off-Broadway, upstart, art-house charm is that it can be set anywhere you can fit eight amazing voices and some chairs in a circle.

The eight-person cast is remarkable. There are no weak performances. Every seemingly ordinary internet addict in the basement turns out to be a standout performance, capturing the depth of humanity and complexity vital to making us care about eight people on a two-hour break from their phones.

Here we begin our trip through Malloy's brilliant score and libretto, a strange, wondrous a cappella ride.

The meeting begins with the ensemble yearning for the natural clarity of "The Forest," a world away from the Monster, which is the internet, or maybe all of us.

Then Neala Barron, as Jessica, gives us more than a little insight when she shatters the forest peace and pulls us down the rabbit hole with her powerhouse, vocally stunning, super unnerving, online freak-out testimonial, "Refresh." Here we're given a riveting, don't take your eyes off this look at the Monster.

And, well, yep, turns out we're the Monster, and also, in a way, its victim.

This sets the stage for the rest of the musical, a strange, heartbreaking, deeply uncomfortable look at the myriad ways screens fuck up our lives.

Here's a brief synopsis with the understanding that every performance is, well, Wow.

Teresa LaGamba grounds and guides the group as the meeting leader, Paula, who's got problems of her own on full display with her "Glow," a big-hearted, endearing, and really lonely anti-love song.

Sam Shankman's fun, funny, high-energy "Candy" brings a little levity before reminding us that we spend way too much time, like way way, way too much time, playing candy games on our phones.

Ryder Dean McDaniel and Grace Steckler's "Solo," a comedic, hopelessly fatalistic look at life with online dating apps, is absolutely wonderful, and utterly agonizing.

Elliot Esquivel is touching and terrifying as the terminally online Toby in "Actually," the story of a boy with a gorgeous voice, wracked by frustration and paranoia, a boy who really needs to go outside.

Jordan Golding's mind-bending "Little God" is a perfectly delivered story–cerebral, twisted, cynical, and comic–which gives us plenty of understanding, and somehow none at all, about truth, the universe, and the nature of knowing.

Then they all drink psychedelic tea, which would be a spoiler, but it's really not, for reasons I'll soon explain. And they're all in a nice refreshing coma, except for Velma, the newcomer to the Friends of Saul internet addicts support group. And here Joryhebel Ginorio, as Velma, brings it home with the only moment of pure hope and joy in the odd, mostly wonderful musical. Her voice, her song, her sentiment, her connection... "Beautiful."

So the show's a hit, and it should be. Like I said, you won't see anything even remotely like this anywhere else, maybe ever. Keira Fromm's production soars. Maximo Grano de Oro's lighting design is a character in and of itself. Christopher Kriz and Hannah Kwak's sound design is pitch perfect. Laura Savage's choreography perfectly complements the voices.

Every piece of the show works. Except one. And it's kind of a big one.

Technically, in this brilliant, extraordinarily creative, groundbreaking musical, there is no discernible story. There's a whole lot of genius but no plot. Just eight broken people who need a lot more forest time and a whole lot less screen time. They can sing, good lord they can sing, but they start broken and end broken, broken and, well, drugged. And that would be fine. There doesn't need to be a story (although yes, there does), but then what's with Saul, the group creator whom we never see, except for a brief flashing light? What is that?

Octet might all just be the most artistic PSA ever, but if so, it's at least six years late. The Monster showed up, ravaged the village, and melted the kids' brains. Unless you skipped COVID, two elections, and the rapid rise of AI, you and the Monster are well acquainted.

Octet grabs us, shakes us, and tells us to live our lives and go to the woods. This may have been a revelation in 2019 when Octet premiered, but in 2026 it's just a Thursday. While I was watching the show, three phones went off in the Owen (one chime alarm, one impossibly loud vibrating rattle on a theater seat, and one straight-up ring). No one batted an eye. And after the show ended, the rest of the audience powered up on their way through the lobby, their deadened faces awash in blue light.

The problem isn't that we don't know what we're doing. The problem is that we know what we're doing and we keep doing it.

Maybe that's the story. Maybe go to a meeting, sing about pain, drink some tea, slip into a coma, go home, rinse and repeat, is the story. But that's not really much of a story in 2026. We need a better story.

Here's my hope. Maybe Lin-Manuel Miranda and Dave Malloy went into a room and gave the 2019 plot an update, something new, something better, something to get us through these terrifying screen times. I'll buy a ticket to watch that movie–on a screen.

Octet runs through August 2, 2026, at Goodman Theatre, Owen Theatre, 170 North Dearborn Street, Chicago IL. For tickets and information, please visit www.goodmantheatre.org