Musical

“Heartwarming” is a cliche of theater reviewing that I have studiously tried to avoid, but I’m tempted to use the word in my review of “Begin Again,” the new musical based on the 2013 John Carney romantic comedy about two dreamers trying to rekindle the love of making music that the industry nearly destroyed.

The show, which is having its world premiere at the Old Globe’s Donald and Darlene Shiley Stage, is just so damn heartwarming that I can’t help but resort to the language of blurbs. But let the ticket buyer beware: Heartwarming is a feeling, not a complete verdict.

Featuring a book by Jenna Clark Embrey and Molly Beach Murphy and a score by Pat Monahan and his bandmates from Train (Jerry Becker and Matt Musty), “Begin Again” does a pretty good job of distilling and updating the movie. Carney’s film, notable mostly for the vibrantly gritty New York setting, the Oscar-nominated song “Lost Stars” and the lived-in performance of Mark Ruffalo, couldn’t help languishing in the shadow of the filmmaker’s breakout hit “Once,” which later became a Tony-winning musical.

“Begin Again” the musical is likely to suffer a similar fate. It lacks the quirky originality that made “Once” an unexpected Broadway juggernaut. But the new show, directed by Lorin Latarro and choreographed by David Neumann, has heart — there I go with that overused word again!

I succumbed to the show’s charms despite being aware that the comedy isn’t as freshly articulated as it should be and the music, while exuberant, doesn’t seem to emanate from the soul of Gretta, a reworked American version of the singer-songwriter character indifferently played by Keira Knightley in the movie.

Emma Busse as Gretta, center left, and Kevin William Paul as Max with the cast of “Begin Again.”

(Jeff Lorch)

Gretta relates to her songs as though she were the next Joni Mitchell, but the new material she’s composing on the fly with her new friends doesn’t seem particularly intimate or revealing. I liked the indie rock sound, but mostly for the collaborative liftoff. Lyrically, I wasn’t drawn in. But who could resist the ecstatic momentum of her ad hoc band members buying into her grassroots dream?

Gretta, played with folksy innocence by Emma Busse, has traveled to New York from Pennsylvania with her boyfriend Max (Kevin William Paul). A musician with frontman good looks, he’s about to be packaged into a rock star. Gretta’s songwriting has paved the way for this opportunity, but Max is told that he’s being signed as a singer-songwriter and sharing credit is a deal-breaker.

Selfless, naive Gretta gives Max her blessing and her rights, and almost immediately he betrays her with another woman. Perhaps even more disloyally, he allows his producers to run her song “Don’t Let Go” through a pop blender that drains it of all its personal meaning and artistic integrity.

Alone in the big city, she takes refuge at the Queens apartment of college friend Stevie (Casey Whyland), formerly Steve in the movie, the comic sidekick role played by James Corden. Stevie, conveniently, is a sound engineer with an analog heart. She’s not only how Dan (an electric Patrick Heusinger), a washed-up music executive with a broken marriage and a drinking problem, discovers Gretta. But without Stevie’s technical ingeniousness, the prospect of recording an album in outdoor New York locations would never have been possible.

The professional meet-cute between Gretta and Dan happens at an open-mic night at a dive. Stevie calls a heartbroken Gretta to the stage to perform, and she reluctantly complies before giving up in embarrassment. She thinks she’s bombed, but Dan, who has “magic ears,” hears what the song could be.

Patrick Heusinger as Dan, left, and Adrienne Walker as Miriam with the cast of “Begin Again.”

(Jeff Lorch)

Just as Dan glimpses Gretta’s raw potential, she sees his lost purpose, and the two launch a mutual rescue mission. He brings Gretta to meet Saul (Nik Walker), who co-founded Distressed Records with him and just fired him for his erratic behavior. Saul doesn’t have Dan’s ability to spot future talent, but he agrees to give the singer a listen if they cut a demo. And so off Dan and Gretta go, with no budget, to make memorable music together.

Friends are their main resource — and that proves an inexhaustible boon. “Begin Again” really comes alive as Gretta, Dan and their expanding, can-do music network starts pooling its expertise.

You can hear the songs germinating from lonely inspiration to group transformation — and the sound is exhilarating. The process of songwriting, rather than being a solitary slog, is a collective joy, rapturously captured in the number “Write a Way.” And “Twilight Summer Sky,” the number performed on the rooftop of Stevie’s apartment building in Queens, represents perhaps the fruit of all the group’s effort.

“Begin Again” is a musical fantasy, not a work of realism. Gretta and Dan are seemingly brought together by fate to heal one another. As they separately go about their business in New York before they’re introduced, they continually pass like ships in the night in a New York that scenic designer Derek McLane summons in a shifting comic-strip landscape of high-rises that gives the city an industrial quaintness.

The action rewinds from Gretta and Dan’s initial meeting at the bar, and later fast–forwards to speed up some of the more boring bits of the album-writing process. The ensemble moves backward and forward with these narrative jump-cuts.

This literalness can seem overly cute. (I prefer the idiosyncratic yet fully integrated movement direction Steven Hoggett brought to John Tiffany’s Broadway production of “Once.”) But Latarro’s staging and Neumann’s choreography keep the storytelling moving at a pleasantly brisk clip. And Skylar Fox’s illusion design adds an element of visual sorcery.

The cast of “Begin Again.”

(Jeff Lorch)

It’s the actors, however, who elevate the material, supplying a depth of feeling where the writing offers something more general. Heusinger makes it possible to leave Ruffalo’s fine portrayal behind. This is a different and more dynamic Dan, at least in terms of the musical demands placed on the character. Paul’s Max is every bit a rock star, but Dan is convincing as both a burned-out music mogul with a self-sabotaging streak and a gifted artist in his own right who just needs someone to believe in his producing instincts again.

Adrienne Walker, who plays Miriam, Dan’s estranged wife, and Charlotte MacLeod, who plays Violet, Dan’s disaffected daughter, endow their characters with more lineaments than the book provides. Walker’s Saul doesn’t do what Yasiin Bey managed in the movie — make Distressed Records seem like a real New York record company — but his singing compensates for some of the clumsier aspects of his reduced role.

Whyland’s Stevie, serving as emcee when the occasion calls for one, combines genuine camaraderie with comic relief. The gender switch makes sense, and Whyland embodies the spirit of artistic cooperation that makes “Begin Again” such an invigorating experience.

I wish that the musical didn’t amplify Gretta’s artistic insecurities and distress over the breakup with Max. The character seems less self-assured and more wounded than she did in the movie, making her fervently held idealistic beliefs about creative independence seem borrowed from another character. But Busse brings an American innocence to the role, and her ardor about music and community seems genuine.

“Begin Again” transcends its limitations through the kinetic connection of the cast. When all the elements of the music come together, a triumphant feeling — call it uplift — charges the air.

With a boisterous laugh, Giselle Bonilla recalls her introduction to Hollywood at the age of 12: on the set of “Freedom Writers,” the 2007 drama about at-risk high school students in Long Beach. She played a young version of Eva, one of the film’s main characters.

“I remember the first thing we shot was an initiation scene where I get the s— beat out of me,” she tells De Los, sitting at a coffee shop in Silver Lake on Sept. 11 (more on this date later). “They put this candy blood in my mouth, and I thought it was so fun.”

In retrospect, Bonilla, 31, finds great irony in how that initial foray into professional acting fictionally materialized her Mexican immigrant parents’ worst nightmare.

“We don’t come from money. They hustled all their lives and put my sister and I in private education, because they had this irrational fear that I would join a gang … then the first thing I ended up booking as an actor was getting initiated into a gang,” she says grinning.

Since that unique formative experience, Bonilla has traveled a winding path in and out of the industry, which ultimately led her to direct her first feature: the dark comedy “The Musical,” in theaters Friday.

The movie’s antihero, Doug (Will Brill), is a middle school theater teacher plotting his revenge against his ex-girlfriend Abigail (Gillian Jacobs), also a teacher — and her new boyfriend, the more charming Principal Brady (Rob Lowe).

Doug’s plan? To secretly persuade his young students to put on a musical about the horrors of 9/11 and its aftermath that’s certain to cause controversy and get the principal in trouble.

“I feel like you can be more honest with comedy,” says Bonilla about why this genre appeals to her. “You can get away with everything that you’re angry about and want to yell about. If you make them laugh first, people tend to listen.”

Left to right, back row: Alex Heller (screenwriter), Will Brill (center row) Gillian Jacobs, Giselle Bonilla (director) and Rob Lowe (on the floor) from “The Musical” at the Los Angeles Times 2026 Sundance Film Festival studio presented by Chase Sapphire in Park City, Utah on Jan. 24.

(Christina House / Los Angeles Times)

Though the actual show is only a small element of the narrative, it turned off distributors, who argued they wouldn’t be able to market a comedy that involved such a delicate subject.

Still, “The Musical” is making it to the big screen as a self-released title thanks to its executive producers, who believed in the film enough to put in more money for a release.

“I’m going to make sure people watch it regardless,” Bonilla says about being very involved in the marketing. “Even though it didn’t sell at Sundance, we still found a way, which is how we made the whole movie. It was nonstop fighting against the universe just to make a comedy.”

Less than a week before production started, Bonilla lost the actors who were originally playing Principal Brady and Abigail. As her film fell apart, she reached out to the industry contacts she had made after working as an assistant for a few years. Miraculously, the screenplay piqued Lowe’s interest. He came on board, essentially saving the project.

Will Brill and Rob Lowe star in “The Musical.”

(Blue Harbor Entertainment)

As a student at the AFI Conservatory, Bonilla had directed a short film version of “The Musical” that writer Alexander Heller, aware of her affinity for comedy, had conceived for Bonilla to direct. The core group of artists who made the short also worked on the feature.

And though she has always pushed for diversity on screen — including in her short films “Virgencita” and “Bullfighter” — for “The Musical,” Bonilla believed the adults had to be white.

“It would be way more damaging if I had pinned a brown person to be behind the staging of a musical about 9/11,” she explains. “It was very clear to me that this was a comedy about white liberalism and how people weaponize tragedy for their own agenda.”

When it came to the kids in Doug’s class, Bonilla wanted to reflect the multicultural mosaic that is the Los Angeles Unified School District. To be able to see herself in “The Musical,” Bonilla wanted a Latina girl as the child with the most ambition to succeed in the arts. That character became Lata: played in the feature by Melanie Herrera in her first acting credit.

“She’s a dancer. But she’s very precocious and has a really confident, type-A personality,” Bonilla says of the young actor. “Melanie gives Reese Witherspoon in ‘Election,’ like, ‘I will do whatever I have to do for the part,’ and I recognized that in myself as a kid.”

Filmmaker Giselle Bonilla on the set of “The Musical.”

(Peter McCollough)

An L.A. native raised in North Hollywood, Bonilla started doing improv at a young age encouraged by her father, Art Bonilla, who grew up in Tijuana and has worked as an actor in the U.S. for over 40 years.

Her mother, originally from Sinaloa, does workers’ compensation insurance, which provided a stable income and allowed her partner to pursue acting.

“It was tough seeing him struggle and not have any agency over work,” Bonilla says of her father. “He’s such a great actor and he’s really funny, but he’s always getting cast in these very small bit parts as a gardener or an immigrant crossing on the border.”

Unsurprisingly, when Bonilla began auditioning for roles as a teenager, similarly one-dimensional and stereotypical characters from a “troubling perspective” came her way.

“They always make the main character in those stories a white person,” she says. “And then we’re painted as these puppies that just keep getting beat up. I didn’t want to contribute to that.”

Bonilla’s interest in being on the other side of the camera solidified after playing an illiterate South Central high school student in the Byron Allen sitcom “Mr. Box Office.” She attended Pasadena City College, where she studied film production, then used the residuals from the show to help pay for her tuition at NYU Tisch School of the Arts.

Attending film school on the East Coast was, as she puts it, a necessary experience, because she grew up rather sheltered.

“I’m a first-gen Mexican American woman and I was supposed to live at home until I get married,” she explains; but it also exposed her to the concept of impostor syndrome.

“I always had this impostor syndrome at NYU, because that was where I first really confronted wealthy people,” she explains. “I had never been in a predominantly white institution before. And that was really eye-opening.”

It was only when COVID restrictions were lifted that Bonilla decided to apply to the AFI Conservatory, where she regained her confidence and met her now close collaborators.

She has, however, never forgotten her biggest and earliest supporters. Since she started directing, Bonilla has cast her father in many of her short films. And in “The Musical,” you can see both of her parents in the audience during the culminating school show.

“My dad is the one that yells at Rob Lowe at the end in slow motion. He’s pissed that I cut his line, but it was a union film, and we couldn’t afford to give my dad a line,” she says. “But he will be the first one to tell you that he’s not an extra. He did a ‘cameo!’”

“The Musical” director Gisella Bonilla poses at the Los Angeles Times 2026 Sundance Film Festival studio presented by Chase Sapphire in Park City, Utah, on Jan. 24.

(Christina House / Los Angeles Times)

Bonilla’s next project takes inspiration from her memories attending a Catholic school run by nuns in Sun Valley, where a teacher was discovered to be a pedophile. She describes it as “an erotic thriller told from the perspective of virgins.”

Once again, she’ll tackle an unsavory topic and figure out how to bring it to fruition; then distribute it come what may, because she refuses to be boxed in by the industry’s expectations.

“Identity stories are very important. If someone wants to do that, they should be able to do that,” Bonilla says. “But I don’t think our opportunity as Latinos should be limited to painting ourselves as victims against the supremacists.”