Most of my mainstream media writing is about the theater, but that’s a topic I almost never broach on The Critical Condition. That’s largely because I don’t like to write about things on this site that can only be experienced in New York.

Happily, the best new musical of the season, next to normal, has posted an excellent video of my favorite scene. The clip is crafted with a filmmaker’s eye, meaning it’s shot and edited to be compelling on a flat surface, yet it also captures the spirit of the live version. (I don’t think I’ve seen another filmed stage performance that’s so effective on both levels. Anyone?)

After the jump, I’ll post a snippet of a number called “I Am the One.” Even if you don’t know the musical, I recommend this kick-ass power ballad on its own merits. Arrange it the right away, and I guarantee you it could be a hit single for Pink or Kelly Clarkson.

I’ll also break down why the direction pushes this already fantastic song toward the spectacular.

But first, let me set this up: next to normal follows a family’s attempt to cope with their wife and mother’s  mental illness. “I Am the One” appears midway through Act One, when Diana’s (Alice Ripley) husband Dan (J. Robert Spencer) confronts her about a recent relapse. As he tries to convince his wife he can help her, their son Gabe (Aaron Tveit) looks on.

Damn! You guys, I watched this clip six times last Friday, alternating between crying and acting out the various parts. (I totally rock Alice Ripley’s finger point.)

As visceral sound, the song punches me in the stomach. The staccato insistence of the “I am the one who loves you” section drags me forward like a towline, until the crescendo of “yeah yeah yeahs” crashes over me like a wave. There’s something about that progression, plus the heavy percussion and the eventual overlap of three belting voices, that absolutely replicates my own experience of fighting with a loved one. That kind of fight is both manic and focused. There’s all this chaotic emotion, but it’s directed at one person, so you feel weirdly clear. Composer Tom Kitt reflects that in the song’s structure. Good on him.

Also? Brian Yorkey’s lyrics pierce with their simplicity, like a Lucinda Williams song. Dan’s words mingle fury, hurt, and dedication for a wife who refuses just to open up and let him take care of things already. He’s bewildered that she won’t let them be on the same team, but he’s pissed about it, too.

And then Diana and Gabe get in there with him, expressing the kind of pain that can only be provoked by someone you absolutely love.

I’m particularly affected by Dan’s lines, “I am the one who’ll heal you/ And now you tell me / That I don’t give a damn / But I know you know who I am.” There’s something so flawed and beautiful about that. Of course he can’t heal his wife’s mental illness, but for Dan, that’s his job. It’s what he wants to do, and he can’t see beyond his own sense of purpose. In loving her, he’s hurting himself. In loving her, he’s pushing her away. But in loving her, he’s also finding an endlessly renewable dedication.

Spencer’s performance—easily the best from a man in a Broadway musical this season—clarifies that conflicted position. Sometimes, he makes Dan seem almost helpless in his love for his wife: He can’t not be devoted, so he just keeps giving all he’s got. Sometimes, that gives him strength.

God… remember when we talked about artistic devices that move us? Let me add this one right here:  Someone who can’t stop loving. I’m writing about this predicament at 2:00 AM, sitting in a t-shirt and shorts, surrounded by Netflix movies and empty glasses, and I’m still getting choked up.

But wait… there’s more!

To talk about what director Michael Greif (best known for the stage version of Rent) accomplishes here, I have to reveal a major spoiler.

So… um… spoiler ahead.

Greif’s direction makes the song even more striking because…

here’s the thing…

Gabe is dead.

He’s been on stage from the beginning, but we’ve just learned he’s dead moments before this song begins. More to the point, we’ve learned that  since he died in infancy, Diana’s been hallucinating his entire life.  She’s got a love for her son that’s as steadfast as her husband’s love for her.

But the way Greif stages this scene, Diana’s claim on Gabe gets shaky.

As he moves around the edge of the action, he’s attacking his father with his singing, doing everything he can to punish him for negligence and for not leaving Diana alone. But who’s imagining him? Diana sits silently for a long time, so is Gabe the expression of what she’s thinking? Is he singing what she wants to sing as Dan tries to reach her?

Or is Gabe singing what’s going on in the back of Dan’s mind? Is the memory of the son plaguing the father, even as he tries to reach the wife?

Frankly, I think it’s both. Everyone in this family has a relationship to Gabe’s memory, and in this song, he’s got an obvious reason to interact with both his parents. Because Greif keeps him moving—and occasionally has Ripley turn away from him—Gabe becomes two characters at once. He is “Diana’s Gabe,” the voice of strength and resistance, and he is “Dan’s Gabe,” the punishing hammer.

This gives the scene remarkable depth. At :36, for instance, when Gabe sings “Look at me,” he’s both Diana’s rebuke to her husband and Dan’s rebuke to himself. Even when Diana runs into Gabe’s arms, you can interpret his presence from the wife’s perspective and the husband’s. The kid’s memory is both a shelter and a barricade.

And that is just… breathtaking. next to normal is not a perfect musical—the second act especially gets bogged down with repetitive action and an unnecessary minor character—but it’s a thrilling one. The bulk of its power is in its ability to show us many sides of a single situation, to demonstrate how every moment in a troubled family is a palimpsest of ancient feelings.

This snippet from “I Am the One” depicts the show’s power at its height.