'The Roommate' review: Strong performances carry The Dio's latest

Courtesy of Michelle Anliker Photography

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At some point in our lives, most of us have endured the awkward roommate scenario. Whether in college or well into adulthood, there’s something deeply relatable about sharing space with a stranger. That tension fuels Jen Silverman’s “The Roommate,” which opens with Robyn, newly transplanted from New York City, arriving in rural Iowa in search of reinvention. Waiting for her is Sharon, an overbearing, tightly wound single mother who spends her Friday nights leaving rambling voicemails for a son who has clearly stopped listening. It is a classic comedic setup that, at its best, feels like a modern, gender-swapped riff on “The Odd Couple.”

The broad strokes are more than enough to hook audiences at The Dio, which has carved out a welcome niche by staging often under-produced works and giving them fresh life. “The Roommate” had a high-profile Broadway run in 2015 led by Mia Farrow and Patti LuPone, so the shadow is long. Following in those footsteps is no small feat, yet director Steve DeBruyne and leads Carrie Sayer and Kathy Waugh deserve real credit for locating the humor and the humanity in a script that often leans heavily on caricature, cliché, and some dubious narrative pivots to cross the finish line.

The play begins with Robyn, played with scrappy unpredictability by Waugh, unloading her U-Haul boxes into Sharon’s meticulously kept kitchen. Sayer’s Sharon watches in near shriveled disbelief that her call for a roommate has actually been answered. She is a textbook empty nester, her identity wrapped up in a son who has relocated to the Big Apple and whose sexuality she obsessively speculates about despite knowing very little about his life. It is an amusing character trait at first, though Silverman pushes the joke so insistently that it borders on redundancy.

Robyn presents as Sharon’s polar opposite. She is a free spirit determined to outrun her past, even as that past lurks ominously in the background. On the surface, the character feels assembled from a handful of buzzwords tossed into a blender, grifter, lesbian, vegan, rebel, and poured onto the stage. Yet Waugh resists the stereotype. She finds surprising warmth and vulnerability beneath the edges, grounding Robyn even when the script does not.

Under Matt Tomich’s resourceful scenic and lighting design, the entire action unfolds in the kitchen. The confinement works to the production’s advantage. It forces intimacy and allows the actors to build a rhythm that grows increasingly electric. Conversations escalate from veganism to dating to drug use, and soon the pair are trading confessions with the reckless abandon that only strangers can manage. For a 105-minute, no-intermission two-hander, that energy is crucial.

Sayer, in particular, devours the dialogue. She stretches punchlines to their breaking point and wrings every ounce of awkward delight from Sharon’s late-in-life experimentation, especially during a scene involving an encounter with some cannabis. Her transformation from brittle Midwestern mom to someone tentatively rediscovering desire is genuinely compelling.

Where “The Roommate” stumbles is in its tonal whiplash. The script introduces a major revelation: Robyn was once a phone scammer who preyed on the elderly, draining their bank accounts. It is a dark and morally loaded turn. Instead of interrogating that weight, the play treats it as an offbeat lark. Sharon, newly emboldened, eagerly attempts to try her hand at the grift, adopting accents as if auditioning for a comedy sketch.

It is undeniably subversive, and I can appreciate the narrative risk. But the humor lands awkwardly. Financial exploitation of vulnerable people is not a victimless crime, and the play’s breezy handling of it undercuts the emotional authenticity it otherwise strives to achieve. The melodrama feels imported from another, sharper play. You can sense Silverman reaching for something dangerous and provocative, yet the execution never fully reconciles the moral implications with the comedic tone.

Still, Sayer and Waugh work overtime to smooth those edges. Their chemistry is undeniable. The banter feels lived-in and spontaneous, and they manage to make even the more contrived plot developments feel momentarily plausible. DeBruyne’s confident direction keeps the pacing brisk and allows the performances to carry the evening. As does a slew of tongue and cheek needle drops between the scene changes, including Natasha’s Bedingfield’s 2004 banger “Unwritten” and “Girl’s Just Want to Have Fun.”

At its core, “The Roommate” wants to be about reinvention. About two women at crossroads discovering that it is never too late to start over, and that the mistakes of the past do not have to define the future. In Sharon’s final monologue, the play briefly transcends its sitcom scaffolding and touches something more sincere. Viewed through that lens, some of the show’s stranger detours feel like imperfect stepping-stones toward a larger truth.

The result is uneven but undeniably engaging. The script may not always stick the landing, and several jokes land softer than intended, but the performances are more than worth the price of admission. Comedy is hard. This brand of comedy, balancing absurdity with emotional vulnerability, is even harder. Sayer and Waugh rise to the challenge.

And of course, there is the added perk of The Dio’s famously delicious pre-show chicken dinner. Dinner and existential reinvention are not a bad way to spend an evening.

IF YOU GO:

The Dio’s production of “The Roommate” continues through March 8. Tickets, which include dinner and the show, can be purchased here.