Too earnest but mostly worth a listen

‘Tiny Beautiful Things’ lays out advice for life

Can a play have too much of a good thing? If so, I put a fin on Cheryl Strayed’s “Tiny Beautiful Things,” an earnest story, earnestly adapted for the stage by Nia Vardalos (of “My Big Fat Greek Wedding” renown), currently and earnestly directed by Ken Rus Schmoll for Long Wharf Theatre, where “Tiny Beautiful Things” resides through March 10.

“Tiny Beautiful Things” is refreshing fodder for theater, and the gang responsible for ferrying Strayed to the stage (co-conceivers Marshall Heyman, Thomas Kail, and Vardalos) followed the road less taken insofar as personal correspondence seldom serves so absolutely as a play (A.R. Gurney’s “Love Letters” and Jerome Kilty’s “Dear Liar” are two venerable, epistolary examples).

“Tiny Beautiful Things” consists of seemingly countless letters sent anonymously to Strayed, then a volunteer advice columnist working under the nom de plume “Sugar.” Though Strayed is the first to admit that she has no formal education suited to dispensing advice to the lovelorn, suicidal or sexualassault victims. On the contrary, she has battled her demons and survived some pretty tough times that would make Dear Abby blush. Her experience, along with her innate empathy, listening skills and wits, is just what the doctor ordered to comfort so many isolated souls.

The play starts with Sugar (Cindy Cheung) overwhelmed by the sheer volume of mail dumped in her lap. She initially responds with bromidic niceties apparently appropriated from Hallmark. When her readers vociferously reject her platitudes, she realizes that, if she is to finish out the week at least, she’d better simply share her wide range of experiences relating to the question, and let the readers mine her analogies for something they can use.

After Sugar’s sobering brush with her unhappy readers, she quickly gets the hang of it and skates peacefully the remaining hour remaining in the 80-minute performance. The play settles into a predictable rhythm of one desperate letter writer after another declaring “fire!” and Sugar not only extinguishing the flare-up but figuratively making each person feel warm and loved. They believe that she listens, and cares.

You’d be surprised just how taxing an hour of soul-soothing can be. While there are a few genuine laughs in “Tiny Beautiful Things,” it grows monotonously earnest: or, as Nigel Tufnel of “This is Spinal Tap” might say, “it goes to 11.”

Schmoll stages the play in Sugar’s backyard (Kimie Nishikawa’s literal set, complemented by Leah Gelpe’s sound design, lends a Pleasant Valley Sunday air to the production). Further personalizing the performance, all the letter writers (Brian Sgambati as Writer No. 1, Elizabeth Ramos as Letter Writer No. 2 and Paul Pontrelli as Letter Writer No. 3) are all physically present in the same space with Sugar, even sipping Bud Lights together as if attending a picnic with old friends.

While such a concept fleshes out the camaraderie and communion between the characters, it also suggests that the letter writers have become her disciples while she is their sole confidant, minister and shaman. Sugar seems infallible, which rubs against the humanity idea.

That said, the protein of “Tiny Beautiful Things” is Strayed’s wonderful language. Her written responses are poetic, replete with delicious rhetorical device even amid horrible circumstances, and yet clearly accessible to her rangy readership. She eloquently speaks their language.

The performances are all fine, but Cheung’s Sugar is addictive. She is unaffected yet passionate and wise beyond books: Her Sugar plays to her fellow characters, not the audience.

“Tiny Beautiful Things,” which comes from a passage toward the play’s end, wraps up Sugar’s philosophy this way: See beauty where you least expect it and embrace life even when life hurls lemons at your heart and soul. And while it takes a long 80 minutes getting there, it’s satisfying to hear nonetheless.