All Nighter

Alyah Chanelle Scott, Kathryn Gallagher, Julia Lester, Havana Rose Liu and Kristine Froseth
Photo by Sara Krulwich

“It was a very small pizza” may sound like a statement of fact, but it’s meant as a reassurance in All Nighter, Natalie Margolin’s bracingly funny play at the Robert W. Wilson MCC Theater Space, it’s an insult or lament. When one of the four young women studying for finals shocks another by sharing that she had prepared and cooked a pizza from scratch earlier that afternoon, insecurities about time management and productivity are triggered – thus, the downplaying of the pizza’s size.  

Assurances and validations pack the fast-paced script as Margolin chronicles one chaotic night in a college common space as a group of housemates gather for their final titular study group. Fueled by anxiety and Adderall (their “little blue friend”), four young women, students at a Pennsylvania college, prepare for their final exams and their entry into the “real world.”

There’s the organized Darcie (Kristine Froseth), whose friendship with nervous theater student Lizzie (Havana Rose Liu) includes frequent affirmations and consolations. Jaqueline (Kathryn Gallagher) is the self-appointed leader of the group, staging interventions in different corners of the ballroom and gently confronting one of the women about a prolonged, self-destructive situationship. And Tessa (Alyah Chanelle Scott), the most economically secure of the four, is struggling with the discovery of a stolen credit card.

Late nights at the campus ballroom are nothing new to these friends – even though they must face the indignity of another group of students having taken over their usual table – and, fueled with energy drinks and hummus, they embark on their final night of exam prep. But more than test questions are pondered upon, as questions about the previous night’s drunken partying and missing Adderall pills are asked and, sometimes reluctantly, answered.

Efficiently directed by Jaki Bradley, All Nighter offers an unapologetic look at the tenuous bonds of female friendships and how those connections can fray when tested with adult responsibility and accountability. This group has known each other since freshman year and clearly understand the roles they each play – and to not challenge them, lest their delicate balance be upended.

Julia Lester and Havana Rose Liu
Photo by Sara Krulwich

The quartet’s chemistry is evident, as the four actors share warmth and respect for each other. Liu’s nervous energy brings unexpected depth to Liz, while Gallagher’s Jacqueline attempts to hide her sensitivity beneath a casual coolness. Scott’s dignity is admirable but not alienating – while Froseth offers glimpses of what lies Darcee’s smooth hair and tasteful neutrals.

The friends, especially Jacqueline, are pre-emptively nostalgic, already looking forward to missing these late-night cram sessions, but the joys of “being there for each other” and promising they will be “friends forever” can easily lapse into toxic positivity and veer on codependency. And those bonds are tested when these friends are forced to face each other as adults.

The most well-adjusted of all of the characters is actually Wilma, played with vivacious chaos by Julia Lester. Wilma does not live with the quartet, nor does she remain at the table throughout the night. Instead, she bursts in and out of the room, announcing that she has been awake for 48 consecutive hours and repeatedly wondering what Madonna is up to at the moment.

Lester, one of the brightest spots of a very bright Into the Woods revival in 2022, mines the role for all it’s worth, wearing Michelle J. Li’s costumes with wild grace and earning applause simply for an entrance or exit (the latter of which involved a prolonged, complete split). Along with serving as the dramatic foil, Wilma provides much-needed change in energy as she annoys or antagonizes one of the quartet and is dismissed by another, having unwittingly revealed someone’s secret. Wilma may be, as the girls would say, “kind of a lot,” but she is true to herself without being told to that it’s OK to do so.

Those reassurances are repeated proffered in Margolin’s play, but both their humor and their power wane as the 90-minute play nears its end. Margolin must have been aware of this, because that’s when the writing and the plot begin to stumble. A plot point, mentioned in passing, becomes the ultimate instigator – and what should have been a shocking reveal about one of the characters instead feels like a last-minute addition to the script that was scribbled onto a Post It and stuck to the final draft. It’s a shame, because the plot twist could have contained real depth and meaning but leaves one confused rather than shocked.

But perhaps that’s what Margolin intended – nothing in the dreaded “real world”, which looms behind the glass doors in Wilson Chin’s effectively simple set design – will be neatly resolved either, and all of the affection and validating language won’t solve “real-world” problems or answer the looming question of how much responsibility actual adults have to take for each other’s mistakes. This quartet, for better or worse, has been clinging to each other since their freshman year, but, like it or not, the sun will come up and this final all-nighter will come to an end.