The focal character of the new musical "The Boy in the Bathroom" is David, a young adult whose obsessive-compulsive disorder has taken the form of limiting his entire existence to the inside of a locked bathroom. The bathtub is his bed, the toilet his desk as he scribbles out notes for a master's thesis. His mother, Pam, enables him by pushing food under the door and speaking with him from the hallway.
After breaking her hip in a fall, Pam hires Julie to help her with the housework. As one would expect, Julie eventually begins to interact with David, and the two bond romantically, raising a number of questions: Can David emerge after a year of self-incarceration and live a normal life? Can Pam share David with a girlfriend? Can Julie help David through the rough patches?
All of these problems and more are capably handled by Michael Lluberes (book and lyrics) and Joe Maloney (music and additional lyrics) in a surprisingly compact, intermissionless 90-minute production. The valiant script, directed by Oanh Nguyen, refuses to shy away from harsh issues connected to how relationships are affected by psychological disorders.
Chris Klopatek generates warmth and even engenders our sympathy via David's panic attacks, which arise from seemingly harmless circumstances. His David, mop-haired and slightly unkempt, is just confused and anxious enough to be credible, collapsing into a heap and hyperventilating into a plastic baggie whenever he feels pressure to join the world. As one might expect, his mom has her own issues to contend with, expressed by Marina Coffee's portrayal of her as a chunky, bewildered schlub and in the revealingly bitter solo "Full." With the most assured vocal skills of the three, Liz Holt sketches Julie as a sullen lost soul seeking an escape valve and finding it—to her own, and our, surprise—in the person of David. In many ways, the play paints the couple as genuine opposites who mutually attract.
Maloney's music is so-so, but his and Lluberes' pungent lyrics do the trick. Bradley Kaye's white and off-white set is appropriately claustrophobic, and Brian Shevelenko's shifting lighting brings a different mood to every scene.
Presented by and at Chance Theater, 5552 E. La Palma Ave., Anaheim Hills. Apr. 23–May 22. Fri., 8 p.m.; Sat., 3 and 8 p.m.; Sun., 2 p.m. (714) 777-3033 or www.chancetheater.com.