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Back in simpler times, what seems like decades ago, during a global pandemic, I remember watching an NPR Tiny Desk Concert featuring the Broadway cast of Little Shop of Horrors. In the middle of the string of incredible songs from the show, the songs’ composer Alan Menken sat down at the piano and, before playing it, discussed how “Somewhere That’s Green” was a classic “I Want” song, one that enlists us, the audience, on a journey to fulfill a dream.

“Somewhere That’s Green.” “Part of Your World.” “Sante Fe.” Some of my favorite songs, all written by Menken and Howard Ashman. All of them, the spunky upstart in a big, bad world dreaming that the sun’ll come out tomorrow. That things’ll get better. The sort of dreamy songs and dreaming characters and dreamed up worlds that are the reason we go to the theater—the sort of theater that the Marriott Theatre always does right and certainly does in their current production of Little Shop of Horrors.

That dreaming—sweet, delusional, stubbornly human—sits at the heart of this production, anchored beautifully by Jackson Evans’ Seymour. Evans plays Seymour as a cartoonish nerd, yes, but also as an everyman in the truest sense: gentle, unsure, but never empty. His Seymour is the kind of guy you root for, because Evans lets us see the decency beneath the desperation. Even as the body count rises and the moral compromises pile up, there’s something achingly recognizable about his Seymour. He’s all of us.

Opposite him, Maya Rowe delivers a quietly devastating Audrey. “Somewhere That’s Green” lands here not as a kitschy parody of 1950s domestic fantasies, but as a heartbreakingly sincere confession—and at the end it felt and looked like she was singing it right to me. Rowe resists the temptation to overplay Audrey’s quirks, instead grounding her in a bruised realism that makes her longing feel earned. When she dreams of a life that includes frozen dinners and a plastic sofa, Rowe is reminding us that while Little Shop of Horrors may be funny and absurd, it’s also a story about people like each of us, people dreaming of something better. (Side note: A chance encounter in a theater hallway post-show found Rowe’s actual persona as sweet as her onstage Audrey—taking a moment to take a photo with my young daughter and offering words of encouragement to her about her own theatrical dreams.)

Seymour and Audrey’s grounding make the production’s comedic turns all the more effective, particularly when longtime Marriott favorites Andrew Mueller and Mark David Kaplan enter the fray. Mueller brings infectious energy and sharp comic timing—not only to Orin, the biker/dentist/villain whose portrayal by Steve Martin delighted me as a kid), but to a slew of other characters, while Kaplan once again delights with his own comedic and vocal talents. Their work fills out the Skid Row world that we inhabit for a couple of hours without ever pulling focus from its emotional center.

And then, of course, there’s Audrey II, the most iconic carnivorous plant in musical theatre history. The combination of Lorenzo Rush’s velvety, menacing voice work and the precision of the puppet operation is nothing short of thrilling. The puppeteers both sink into the background and provide their own characterizations as leafy parts of Audrey II’s anatomy. The plant feels alive in an unsettling way, its charisma as seductive as its hunger is terrifying. Rush’s performance finds the perfect balance between playful swagger and genuine menace - the audience enjoying the sound of the voice even as we recoil from what it represents. (Although Audrey II’s hilarious pre-show no-phones-or-posting warning seemed to have been unheeded by several oblivious influencers on opening night.)

Still, the beating heart of this Little Shop belongs to the trio of Crystal, Ronnette, and Chiffon. Lydia Burke, Daryn Whitney Harrell, and Miciah Lathan deliver a masterclass in ensemble performance, functioning as Greek chorus, Motown girl group, and omniscient narrators all at once. Their 60s-period-correct harmonies are immaculate, their energy is electric, and each of their vocals are utterly commanding.

All of this talent is corralled and focused by Tommy Rapley’s direction and choreography, which keep the production moving, with the intimacy and magic unique to the Marriott’s in-the-round design. The set design creates a mid-century Skid Row that’s a world where our heroes live. And all of the characters - heroes or villains - are beautifully costumed by Amanda Vander Byl, with amazing wigs and makeup by Miguel A. Armstrong being especially delightful. Meanwhile, the orchestra - so often an unsung hero at the Marriott - delivers Menken’s score with precision, swelling where it should and pulling back when restraint serves the story better.

What ultimately makes this production of Little Shop of Horrors resonate is its refusal to treat the show as a novelty. Yes, it’s funny. Yes, it’s outrageous. Yes, it involves a singing plant from outer space. And yes, the stage ending’s a bit different than the one I remember at the movie theater from my own childhood. But Marriott’s production understands that behind all of this, Little Shop of Horrors does what all great musical theater should do - take its audience on a beautiful journey through a world populated by talented artists whose dreams and desires aren’t that different from our own. Come journey with Marriott Theatre to somewhere that’s green, as Little Shop of Horrors runs now through March 15.