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A line in “Maybe Happy Ending” describes the lives of fireflies, the once-ubiquitous insects that magically produce their own light.
“They only live for two months. But what a beautiful two months.”
The same was nearly said of the stage show itself. Of all the new musicals debuting on Broadway this season, “Maybe Happy Ending” is the sole entry not based on true events, archival music or any other existing material, which made it a box office underdog when it opened last November.
Its unabashed originality has since become its biggest boon. Set in Seoul circa 2064, the one-act adventure centers on two retired Helperbots who set aside their solitude and head to Jeju Island; Oliver, optimistic by design, hopes to reunite with his former owner, and Claire, cynical from experience, wants to witness the fireflies’ glow before her own obsoletion. Along the way, these robots fall in love, their narrative needle dropped by jazz standards of a bygone era.
This intimate spectacle — already a hit title in Asia for years, before the isolation of the pandemic and the existential threat of AI — is a singular exploration of human connection and the beauty of being alive, even though the only living thing in their apartments is a potted plant named HwaBoon. The Times spoke separately with members of the musical’s cast and creative team about developing the standout show in Asia, witnessing its remarkable rise to Broadway acclaim and pulling off an ending that fascinates audiences to the tune of repeat viewing.
Hue Park (lyricist, book writer): In 2014, I was in a coffee shop, and a song played in the background: “Everyday Robots” by Damon Albarn. The lyrics start with, “We are everyday robots on our phones / in the process of getting home.” I immediately thought of an intimate love story, but the protagonists are robots.
Will Aronson (composer, lyricist, book writer): His pitch was, “Two robots in the future in Korea, but one plays trombone alone late at night in the garage beneath their apartment.” There was already a strong emotional color because of this aspect of loneliness and isolation.
Park: I had just gotten out of a long-term relationship and lost a close friend to cancer, and in the back of my head for a long time was hikikomori, the Japanese phenomenon [of severe social withdrawal] that is also in Korea. It made me wonder: Loving someone can be a heartbreaking thing, so why do we do it? Do I really want to pursue another deep connection with someone new, or do I want to be by myself, which is more comforting in many ways?
Aronson: We thought about the reasons for that isolated state and formed our two Helperbots: Oliver has found a routine, and there’s a real draw to stay in that room and never leave it, even if it means not experiencing anything. Claire is on the other side: I’ve seen it and I don’t want it, I’m not going to engage with any of it.
Michael Arden (director): The music was so fresh. I felt like I was listening to some love child of Sufjan Stevens, Richard Rodgers and Mr. Rogers, because something about it made me incredibly nostalgic. Then I got to the script — robots in the future? What the hell is this? Any new musical is a hard sell to investors, but especially one with an elevator pitch that’s slightly odd. But by the time I finished reading it, I was in tears. It’s about robots, but it’s really about life.
Park: There was a specific style and sound that I wanted us to try: In this futuristic Korea, we have this extremely acoustic, chamber sound, with jazz as a big element. I found that contrast exciting; to make everything electronic would be so obvious.
Dez Duron (actor, Gil Brentley): These gorgeous jazz standards feel like hits from the ’40s and ’50s — songs that Oliver would still be listening to on a record player, over a hundred years later. If these songs existed when Frank Sinatra and Dean Martin and all those crooners were alive, they would’ve beat down Will and Hue’s door to let them sing them first.
Clint Ramos (costume designer): Theater fans [in Asia] have been talking about this musical for years. It’s interesting — to a non-Asian audience, it’s an amazing love story, but to Asian folks, it hits all these different things. For example, between the robots, there’s no lust, there’s no sex. There’s a lot of holding back emotions, and a touch or a look is so charged with energy — that’s like a classic relationship, but it’s also very Asian in a lot of ways.
Park: [Bringing it to America in 2020,] we were stubborn — we’re not changing the location, we’re not doing stunt casting, the actors should really match the characters. Luckily, the show was already running for multiple years in Korea and Japan and China, and everyone was respectful of what was already done, so we were able to stick to the authenticity of the material.
Aronson: At one point, we had Denée Benton playing Claire, Corey Cott as Oliver and Jon Jon Briones as both [Oliver’s former owner] James and the jazz singer. Then, our thinking was: They’re robots, so they could technically be any background, but if the audience only has a few moments to define the setting, it helps that the protagonists are cast Asian.
Helen J Shen (actor, Claire): Talking to people at the stage door, there are so many Asian faces — people who have followed the production since Korea, people trying to do musical theater, people who are excited to see either themselves reflected onstage or just something that doesn’t fit what we’ve become accustomed to seeing. Me embodying this character and standing in this building [on Broadway] is a revolution in and of itself; I feel the weight of that all the time, and it’s easy for that to feel a little paralyzing.
But the other day, Baayork Lee held my hands and told me, “You’re representing us — it’s a lot of pressure, but you’re doing it.” Those surreal “pinch me” moments make me reevaluate growing up and not seeing faces that look like me, or seeing the few that do play characters who weren’t well-rounded. I hold that person when I perform this.
Darren Criss (actor, Oliver): Let’s call a spade a spade here — I’m the white-passing Asian of our group, but it is my identity. The AAPI community in the arts is a smaller, if not marginalized, group, so to be up there, I feel that excitement and encouragement from the community at large. It’s important, and I hope this show can continue to have that legacy and be an inspiring call to action in other artistic spheres.
Marcus Choi (actor, James/Junseo): The American version has a deeper narrative between James and his estranged son, Junseo. I appreciate it because, growing up as a second-generation Korean American, I had some cultural difficulties when it came to my father — something I think a lot of Asian American families can relate to. Playing both roles has been therapeutic; it’s been an opportunity to voice my frustrations as a son while also sympathizing with the father character.
Justin Scribner (production stage manager): I’m excited for Asian artists to see themselves in a piece that’s not about Asian trauma, of which there’s so much in the musical theater canon, like “Miss Saigon” and “The King and I.” That takes its toll. To have roles for Asian artists that just happen to be in Korea, built by Asian creatives in Asia — it all feels like a possible beginning of something.
Arden: The challenge throughout this whole process was never letting the complexity of the design overwhelm the simplicity of the story. We frame everything in these boxes that open and close, which is inspired by how we read manga — you see an image, and then you move to the next one, and the scenes are brought to you like a conveyor belt — as well as how we absorb media on our phones. Our whole first movement is presented in a vertical rectangle, like you’re watching an Instagram Reel. It feels familiar but also somewhat unhuman.
Dane Laffrey (scenic designer): The Helperbots’ units are inspired by the Nakagin Capsule Tower, which was built in the ’70s as part of a transient architecture scheme: There’d be many of these towers in every major city, and your apartment could go with you from city to city. It was utopian and idealistic, and the pods were designed with modular furniture built into the walls. But no other tower was ever built, so these futuristic cubes stayed there, started to decay and became obsolete.
Michael and I were briefly in Tokyo before the building was torn down [in 2022], and it was extraordinary to see from the outside how much of it was being held together with plastic and tape, with extension cords coming out of the windows. It was sad and amazing and inevitable, all in a way that felt connected to our story.
Ramos: In Asia, the aesthetic that Westerners perceive as “cute” also translates to nonthreatening. So Oliver’s costume is maxed out in that aspect — he’s put together in a kind of uniform, with clean lines and sharp angles, but it also resembles that of a doll. There’s no hardware, no belt; it’s a look that’d make a person feel safe.
Claire’s costume had to be modest; we didn’t want a K-pop or schoolgirl vibe. And because she’s a more advanced model, her look evokes an individuality, a sense that she and her owner could kiki about fashion and try on those black suede boots. In comparison to Oliver’s, Claire’s outfit has more curves, textures and room for her more complex movements.
George Reeve (video projection designer): I love how, in Oliver and Claire’s memories, the humans are represented digitally while the robots are played by people.
Ben Stanton (lighting designer): For those memories, we fly in a hologauze, a scrim that’s so fine it’s almost invisible but reflects light back so successfully that, when projecting video onto that surface and then lighting the actors behind it, we have a hologram effect. We drain all the color from the stage so it’s all monochrome, and it suddenly feels like a different reality.
Scribner: We have over 50 automated elements, including the turntable, lifts, firefly hatches in the deck — they’re individually programmable pieces, but they’re run by operators who press buttons rhythmically and in the right order.
Altogether, we have 19 crew members, and they’re busy every second, working very fast in very small spaces. When Oliver’s apartment disappears for 13½ seconds and comes back all packed up, that’s seven crew members precisely choreographed to grab certain things, hand them to each other and get out of there — all in the dark.
Reeve: This whole time, we’re watching Oliver and Claire travel to see these fireflies, and because that moment is actually quite quick, it had to land. It needed to be abstract yet theatrical, joyful but also makes you cry. There was such a discussion about how a firefly flashes — How many seconds? Are ours twinkly enough? — but those details make it all click.
Stanton: There are hundreds of fireflies in the background, on the video screens, upstage and scattered throughout the house. We get this real sense of depth and dimension; this scene of robots in nature feels magical because it’s tangible. And then a single firefly flies out over the house, which is lovely.
Scribner: The string quartet plays from an empty dressing room for most of the show. During the quietest scene, they tiptoe upstairs, put on in-ear monitors and tune their second set of instruments until the last second. They’re led onstage and, once they all nod, an electrician blasts the space with fog, and suddenly they’re on a turntable, playing expressively from memory.
We had a lot of rehearsals to make sure all the musicians were comfortable — it’s not the usual gig! — but they’re excited to be a part of it. They understand how special the thing is that we’re doing.
Criss: After a few previews, we noticed that audiences had conflicting ideas about the ending and would ask us for answers. We told Michael, and he said defiantly, “No, that’s not the play we’re doing. This is what happens, make sure you tell that story.” Shy of any eye flutters, we’re doing that same directive every night.
Shen: People come back and absolutely see different things because this show can hold something different each time you see it. Whenever anyone asks me, I love turning it back on them and hearing how they’re reflecting their own existence into that moment.
Criss: Even though we’re trying to be definitive, people want to see things and need the ending to be one way or the other, maybe because of taste or life experiences. It just speaks to the investment people put into these characters and the story.
Aronson: I actually interpret the title more as: Even if the facts are clear, is it a happy ending or not?
Scribner: In the beginning, it was scary; it felt like we were giving away tickets. I was like, Is this gonna be the greatest thing I ever worked on and no one got to see it? But to then have all of the reviews be so positive, and speak to the storytelling’s depth and layers, changed the game. I stopped getting texts asking for free tickets and instead got texts asking how to get any tickets at all.
Park: That these audiences became our biggest supporters is the best thing in the world. I found it sad that, because we didn’t base this on anything famous, we weren’t selling enough tickets in advance. We’re creating a new show, a new story — that’s our job. And to be sustainable, it shouldn’t be original?
Aronson: I get it — with tickets this expensive, people want a safe choice. We were asking people to take a risk, especially before anyone knew what it was about or what the experience would be. Am I really going to go see robots in love?
Park: But it’s like Oliver opening his door to Claire when she knocks. You don’t have to answer, but if you do, it could be really rewarding, even life-changing. I hope we are not too cynical to open that door.
The post Inside ‘Maybe Happy Ending,’ the revolutionary robot musical that has Broadway audiences aglow appeared first on Los Angeles Times.
