Buffalo Theatre: The play about saving plays by Lauren Gunderson runs through Oct. 19 at Road Less Traveled

By Bella Poynton
(Image above: Norm Sham, center, and cast)

Lauren Gunderson is having a moment. Again. She’s currently the most produced playwright in the U.S., a title she’s held in 2015, 2023, 2022, and now, again in 2025. At least a dozen college theatre departments I know of are staging her work this year. It’s a kind of Gunderson wave, and The Book of Will, a co-production between Road Less Traveled Productions and Shakespeare in Delaware Park, directed by John Hurley, is one of the works riding it. The play is both gloriously theatrical and downright clever; it’s a love letter to Shakespeare, theatre history, and the strange business of preserving plays before they slip away into time. If you love Shakespeare, this is basically your Comic-Con.

The plot is simple enough: After the death of Richard Burbage, legendary actor of The Lord Chamberlain’s Men (later, The King’s Men), Henry Condell realizes that all of Shakespeare’s work is at risk of disappearing. Once all the original players are dead, no one will ever utter another word by the Bard! The quartos floating around London are full of mistakes and half-finished, inspiring Condell and his friend John Heminges to collect and preserve the complete works of their dear friend (especially Pericles!)

The show opens with an energetic turn by Peter Palmisano as the well-known Shakespearean actor Richard Burbage. He’s only in the first scene, but his presence lingers across the whole play. His death, in many ways, is the catalyst for the whole story, and his loss makes the others realize that if they don’t act now, it will soon be too late.

David Marciniak as Henry Condell and Gregory Gjurich as John Heminges are a spectacular duo. Marciniak radiates joy onstage—there’s no other way to put it. His performance is big, animated, and funny, commanding every inch of our attention. Gjurich, meanwhile, gives a softer energy to John Heminges. He is the sometimes-needed voice of reason to Marciniak’s more animated rants. Together, these two are a perfect on-stage pair. Yes, their comic timing is spot on, but their more heartfelt scene at the start of Act II is also one of the most moving I’ve seen in Buffalo in years. Bravo to both.

The play gives us just enough historical context without being dry or arcane. There’s talk of copyright law (or lack thereof), pirated texts, the competitive world of London publishing, and the practical impossibilities of compiling the folio, yet somehow, Gunderson keeps it all breezy and theatrical. One of the most delightful moments comes when the actors burst into the tavern, dumping every snippet and half-written line they’ve found onto the tavern’s table. Jeremy Kreuzer’s Ralph Crane then arrives with the jackpot—full transcripts of multiple plays from the archives of The Chamberlain’s Men. It’s a thrilling moment that sets us off to the races.

In terms of design, Dyan Burlingame’s set is skillfully rendered as half a warm Tudor-style tavern complete with frosted paned windows and a faux-stone fireplace—perfectly English. The other half is a partial playhouse complete with velvet curtains and columns. The inclusion of a stage-on-a-stage is fabulously meta and reminds us that we’re not only watching a play, but a play about how so many other plays came to be made. Todd Warfield’s costumes are beautifully colorful and stylistically varied. At first I thought Heminges’s navy damask was a bit much, but then again, why not? Surely, he was a man of style!

Norm Sham is delightful as Ben Jonson, a contemporary of Shakespeare’s and his friend and rival in writing. He grumbles and complains his way through the story, but the audience still reveres him. There’s a complexity to his irritation, but he still respects the project even as he pretends not to care. Sham is known around town for being a fabulously silly comic actor, but here he gives us more of a Jaques-type role. Always a pleasure to watch. Dave Lundy is fun as William Jaggard, the shady London publisher that Condell and Heminges are forced to deal with. Lundy manages to be simultaneously clueless and cutthroat. He’s a business-minded villain who’s never entirely evil, but definitely in it for himself. In a play that needs clear obstacles beyond the simple struggle to find Shakespeare’s manuscripts, Lundy is a lovely foil.

I would be remiss if I did not mention the fabulous work of Lisa Ludwig, Amanda Funiciello, Becca Elkin, and Melinda Capeles. When Gjurich’s Heminges needs a good talking to, Ludwig comes through with her signature strength and style. Funiciello is lovely as Alice Heminges, bringing feminine charm and youthful energy to the near-constant masculine dynamic between Marciniak, Gjurich, Hayes, Lundy, Kreuzer, and others. Ludwig, Elkin, and Funiciello remind us that Shakespearean Queens were no less witty, ferocious, or complex than the Kings.

Capeles is a treat, as always, in her single scene as the flirtatious, wildly intelligent, and slightly resentful Amelia Bassano Lanier (Shakespeare’s Dark Lady). The sexual politics of the moment are quite progressive, reminding us that people of the period were anything but prudish. Historically, Lanier has a lot to gripe about, as she herself was a brilliant and well-published poet who’s been given little acknowledgment. She’s a poet and thinker who knows exactly what it feels like to be overlooked. Lanier is actually one of the primary candidates among Anti-Stratfordians who claim that someone other than Shakespeare wrote his plays… but worry not! The scene steers clear of any wild proclamations or scandals, and Capeles is a fabulous addition.

During the final scene, line after line of Shakespeare is spoken aloud for what feels like several minutes. It keeps going long enough that we begin to wonder if it’s too much. But then you realize, this is the point; this was what they were trying to save. Just when you think it’s over, another famous line lands. Then another. And another. It’s an inundation of phrases that we all know, even if we don’t remember where we learned them.

Oddly, while this play is a comedy, it’s really about death—trying to avoid death and desperately seeking to capture the truth of being human before the candle ultimately goes out. If you love Shakespeare, or just love theatre about theatre, then you won’t want to miss this one. It reminds us that what we write down might outlive us, that is, if someone cares enough to save it.

Dr. Bella Poynton is a playwright, dramaturg, actor and theater historian from Buffalo. She teaches at SUNY Oswego.