'Girl from the North Country': How does it feel when the downtrodden sing Dylan songs? Captivating

Somewhere in between an ensemble Eugene O’Neill drama and a jukebox musical lives “Girl from the North Country,” an unusual, mesmerizingly melancholic show from playwright/director Conor McPherson that incorporates a collection of classic songs from Bob Dylan such as “Slow Train,” “I Want You,” “All Along the Watchtower” and “Forever Young.”

The Irish McPherson is among the most prominent of contemporary playwrights. His work was nearly ubiquitous at major Chicago institutions in the 2000s and early 2010s, with “The Weir,” “Dublin Carol,” “The Seafarer,” and “The Night Alive” at Steppenwolf, “Shining City” at Goodman, “Port Authority” and his adaptation of Strindberg’s “Dance of Death” at Writers Theatre.

Yet he’s hardly a household name, a classification to which Mr. Dylan certainly belongs. You know, he’s that guy who wrote many of the greatest songs of all time, transitioned folk music to electric, and won the Nobel Prize for literature for the poetry of his work.

So the first thing to know about “Girl from the North Country” is that Dylan’s music is put to McPherson’s purposes. In some cases, you might not even immediately recognize the songs, as they’re significantly re-orchestrated and arranged by Simon Hale. You will never hear a “Like a Rolling Stone” like this one, a plaintive, lonely plea for understanding, with the question “How does it feel?” ringing out as if it were the title.

It feels deeply sorrowful, is the answer.

McPherson’s play with music is set in Duluth, Minnesota — Dylan’s birthplace — in 1934 (seven years before he was born). It’s the Great Depression, and the Lane family, led by patriarch Nick (John Schiappa), runs a low-end boarding house that’s on the verge of being foreclosed on. The characters who seek refuge here each have a similar story of desperation, although some work hard at the start to hide it. There’s a couple (David Benoit, Jill Van Velzer, both particularly great) with a mentally challenged son (Aidan Wharton) who’ve hit hard times, a smarmy bible salesman (Jeremy Webb), a determined boxer (Matt Manuel) recently released from prison for a crime he didn’t commit, and more.

Then there are daily visitors, seeking a cure for their loneliness, including a doctor (Alan Ariano) who serves as an “Our Town”-like narrator, and an elderly shoe shop owner (a standout acting performance amid an awful lot of good ones from Jay Russell), encouraged by Nick to woo his pregnant, adopted daughter (Sharaé Moultrie).

Each character has a personal story, small in the grand scheme of things, sometimes intertwining with others’. Nick tries to ensure his kids’ future post-foreclosure, the boxer seeks new opportunities and perhaps new love, the salesman tries to take advantage of another’s secret, and more.

McPherson uses the songs not to advance plot, but to deepen the characters, to give voice to their inner beings. They sing not so much to other characters as to themselves, and sometimes it switches the traditional interpretation of the lyrics. Among the most poignant of these is when Van Velzer sings “Sweetheart Like You,” as an inner monologue: “There’s only one step down from here, baby/It’s called the land of permanent bliss/What’s a sweetheart like you doing in a dump like this?”

She’s also playing the drums while she sings that, even though there’s an upstage four-member band that generally handles the music.

Evan Zimmerman for MurphyMade

It’s that type of odd choice that reminds us McPherson, as both writer and director, has a knack for the stylized and offbeat. He’s the type of writer whose work is as much about mood as story. There’s mystery and anguish and uniquely Irish bleak humor that seems to emanate from his characters and language. There are few writers who can leave you with as specific and yet complex a feeling — a longing sadness mixed with a sense of poetic beauty.

It turns out that can be a darn good description of the effect of Dylan’s canon too. He came through town in October with his low-key, gratifying “Rough and Rowdy Ways” tour, and I left feeling similarly affected.

There’s a gnawing flaw here that kept pulling me out of the world, which is lovingly rendered by set and costume designer Rae Smith. One of the main characters, Elizabeth Lane, played and sung powerfully by Jennifer Blood, has a mental illness that comes across as a convenience. Amid many hyper-real characters, she stands out as a theatrical cliché, putting a limit on the potency of the ending.

Still, this is a captivating piece that I can imagine living on in regional theaters for years to come if they can manage the ensemble size. It’s had a rough ride, opening and closing on Broadway at the onset of the pandemic and proceeding forward in fits and starts after.

“Girl from the North Country” requires setting aside some expectations, but it’s uncommon and uncommonly good.