‘The Old Man & The Pool’ review: Mike Birbiglia makes another Broadway appearance

With his latest solo exhibition the old man and the pool Mike Birbiglia is cementing his reign as Broadway’s greatest comedic storyteller—he just doesn’t quite fit stand-up comedy—and yes, competition for the title isn’t great, for example, but if it was, Birbiglia could fit the bill. He is so good and so is his last performance.

Directed by regular collaborator Seth Barrish and performed on a handsome, deceptively simple set designed by Beowulf Boritt — a curved, wave-like backdrop features pool tiles, medical charts and more with projections by Hana S. Kim — The old man and the pool build on Birbiglia’s previous successes sleepwalk with me and The newThis latest novel takes its title from Hemingway The old man and the sea.

The show, which opens tonight at Lincoln Center’s Vivian Beaumont Theater, doesn’t so much expand on Birbiglia’s stylistic approach or theatrical range or his main talking point—himself, his health, and his family—as it refines them into a taut, perfectly assembled 85 minutes. . Anyone who has seen his other works will be delighted with this update. If you don’t have it, you’ll be lucky.

Now in his mid-40s – he’s only metaphorically “the old man” of the title; someone else makes a more literal claim – Birbiglia has endured a combination of health crises since childhood – bladder cancer, a lifelong condition of a rare sleep-walking disorder that causes him to spend every night in a specially constructed sleeping bag to prevent the dip which was repeated long ago through looking glass and left permanent scars on his legs. His father died of a heart attack at the age of 56, as did his father’s father, giving the comic a very real look at mortality, health and the fragility of life – and, most poignantly, the fragility of our connections with those who are our love

These insights take him and us on delightfully entertaining excursions. As his final show begins, he recalls how he had long intended to put aside his 56th year by clearing his schedule and booking an AirB&B near an emergency room for a year. As with all great observation strips, Birbiglia can’t resist pointing out the scam at AirB&B — no breakfast.

His last encounter with the medical establishment begins with a routine physical examination, specifically with one of those breathalyzers that measure lung capacity. His performance is so poor that his doctor basically throws up his hands, mutters something about a heart attack, and immediately sends the patient across town to a cardiologist.

Finally comes the correct diagnosis: diabetes type 2. Haunted by the prospect of dying before his beloved baby girl grows up, Birbiglia, her pot belly, flabby, thinning hair, pretty but somewhat doughy face, and a laconic, sometimes whisper-quiet delivery proposes to give quality to an every person, or perhaps every patient – determined to solve their latest health problem through diet and exercise.

Sounds easy right? But the rigors of this particular self-care routine are, well, tough, especially for a man whose job depends on constant travel and late nights. “Healthy food goes to bed early,” says Birbiglia about life on the streets. “Pizza stays up all night.”

And then there is the exercise. Five days a week of cardio is the recipe, a feat Birbiglia says is not even possible for professional athletes.

From here, Birbiglia regales us with his early life experiences at athletics—a miserable attempt (and hilarious portrayal) of high school wrestling, in which he was so bad that he was matched with opponents well below his own weight class.” at a paperweight that on paper pinned.”

When his cardiologist recommends swimming, Birbiglia relents, though the nearly suffocating smell of chlorine at his local Brooklyn YMCA conjures disturbing childhood memories of naked old men — including those that give that title at least one of its meanings. Since his adult swimming skills are so ridiculously childish that even the Y’s swimming instructor calls him a lost cause, Birbiglia sets out to prove everyone wrong. Even though he has less of a swimmer’s body and more “the body of a drowning man, practically the body of a river corpse,” he will swim five days a week, beat diabetes and watch his daughter thrive.

That’s all you need to know for plotting or plotting. Birbiglia uses the story to weave in a variety of life observations, confessional moments and important family truths, almost all of them hilariously funny and more than a few bittersweet bites. We set aside an adventure with the mold and mildew infesting his Brooklyn home, the psychological dread of making a will and making plans for his child should something happen to him and his wife, and the terrifying missed opportunities, everything rolled into one growing up with a family that used “take care” as the best approximation of the always unspoken “I love you.”

If you think that all sounds too heavy to support the “comedy” part in “Comedy Storyteller,” just know that Birbiglia’s audience rarely stops laughing during the performance, even when — especially when — he’s around. Moment of silence begging for fellow YMCA swimmer who died in an absurdly avoidable way. Birbiglia chides individual viewers with a kind of mock rage, whose giggles soon give way to tears, like children trying to hold back laughter in church.

Firing his glances and disapproval from one laughing audience to the next, Birbiglia essentially directs the growing laughter to a crescendo like a choirmaster conducting a choir, then caps it off with a punchline of his own . This is a man in complete control, perhaps not of his body or his health or any of the bad things that life throws at us, but of how he, and perhaps his audience, handles it. “Enjoy every sandwich,” he quotes the late Warren Zevon at one point, and The old man and the pool is a great sandwich.