The lockdowns of 2020 broke our brains. The initially idiopathic nature of the coronavirus made many believe that the government-suggested safety protocols must be part of some shadowy “plan-demic.” Those who lived in areas with few reported cases downplayed the potentially fatal nature of COVID, complaining instead about how the lockdowns were impacting their ability to shop or travel. The pandemic tested our character, asked us to look into our hearts for perhaps the first time. When faced with a crisis, how much would we be willing to think of others? Is there such a thing as “working together for the greater good?” Have we lost the ability to put aside our differences, and adapt to the new reality?
Jen Diamond’s new play explores many of these same themes with characters eerily recognizable, existing in an alternate universe that will evoke our not too distant pandemic life while simultaneously creating surprise and intrigue. Directed by Lily Kanter Riopelle, The Morbs places the emphasis less on pathogens and more on how our fear of change or the unknown can become a contagion on our attitudes and beliefs. The story probes how public health emergencies brings out new sides of ourselves as well as our loved ones, forcing us to confront who we really are when the chips are down. Like the lockdowns, COVID forced a series of social, political, and personal reckonings that we are still wrestling with today.
Diamond’s play opens in the winter, somewhere in New England. A second outbreak of a mysterious virus referred to as “the morbs” has been reported, forcing people to shelter in place. Diamond withholds key details about this virus’ signs and symptoms, the method of transmission elusive. This fragmenting of information dials up the fear, and places the audience into the same realm as her characters. We remember how little we knew back in April or May 2020, don’t we?
The three central characters of The Morbs are twentysomethings who were all close when they were in college, but who are now reacting to this latest outbreak in a state of confusion, denial, or alarm. There’s Tatum (Emma Kikue), a wealthy snob who thinks everyone is just overreacting, because money and privilege insulate us from danger in all of its forms, right? She’s pivoting to turn his latest lockdown into a fun weekend with her besties, staying in her childhood home in New England where everything is exactly the same as it ever was (a richly detailed scenic design by Christopher & Justin Swader). Their college reunion party that weekend was disrupted by the morbs, so Tatum pivots, and turns a regional health crisis into a holiday. She invites her upbeat friend Trish (Rachel Ravel) to join her, as well as their other classmate Wendy (Alexandra Templer), who has been a little distant since they all graduated five years ago, which was also when the first outbreak happened.
Wendy is the only one who comes to the old cabin prepared. Not only has she loaded her backpack down with soup cans, but she’s also brought a folder containing the protocols on how to deal with the morbs. Trish and Tatum think she’s being a little alarmist, with all of her reminders about social distancing and enacting “the commitments”–a kind of memory test that has something to do with identifying if one has been infected. But nonetheless, the three follow the rules and do the right thing–at least, initially. As The Morbs continues, secrets will be revealed, and new sides of each person’s character will arise. Nothing can stay the same, and nothing is certain or secure.
Initially, the young women see their time sequestered in the woods as a time to really catch up. Tatum and Tirsh are far more lax about the situation than Wendy, but even she relents over time due to peer pressure, exhaustion, or a combination of the two. But everyone feels uneasy around Harriet (Jennifer Regan), Tatum’s aunt who lives in a cabin nearby. She moves in a strange manner, her speaking and mannerisms are just a little bit off. Eventually, we discover that Harriet is “a hollow’–someone who has been infected by the morbs, but who is still alive. Sometimes, infection can lead people to violence and even murder, unless they are executed by a private mercenary firm–such as the one run by Tatum’s father, who has amassed considerable wealth since the first outbreak. In the play as in life, there are always people who seek to profit off of the suffering of others.
This is an excellent ensemble of actors, each one playing their roles convincingly and with delight. My personal favorite was Ravel, as Trish transforms from ditz to bad-ass over the course of her time in lockdown. Templer infuses Wendy with a believable heroism, and Kikue is skilled at chronicling the disintegration of Tatum’s confidence into desperation and panic. Riopelle isn’t afraid to let her actors breathe and live in the spaces in-between Diamond’s well-crafted scenes. The Morbs succeeds in showing us a group that used to be very close, but whose current friendships are frayed.
Will these women be able to repair their bonds and stay close, or is it inevitable that these women outgrow one another? The Morbs investigates the role circumstances play in the formation or destruction of our allegiances. Though some of its setting may echo that of an X-Files episode, Diamond’s play always keeps the human element right up front. The Morbs is a drama told through humor, a nightmare that often steps into the realm of the absurd, a story about friendship and memory that is located with a landscape of fear. It’s a play that is both familiar and unlike most plays you will see this year.
The Morbs
The Jeffrey & Paula Gural Theater at A.R.T./New York
October 26 – November 14, 2026
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