I saw Fun Home at the Huntington Theatre, a production marked by its restraint. The show unfolds with no exaggeration and no decorative emotion, relying instead on clear writing and a matter-of-fact, almost documentary tone. Although modest in scale, the work is built with remarkable precision. Fun Home won Best Musical and Best Book of a Musical at the 2015 Tony Awards, and was also a Pulitzer Prize finalist for Drama in 2014 — accolades that reflect its careful construction and quiet impact. The musical is based on Alison Bechdel’s acclaimed graphic memoir.

“Fun Home” is a shortened, ironic nickname for the family’s funeral home, which Alison’s father Bruce Bechdel operated. The story begins after his death. Adult Alison searches through her memories like a detective examining clues, trying to understand her upbringing and the atmosphere of her childhood home. She is portrayed onstage in three versions — small Alison, medium Alison, and adult Alison — with adult Alison observing the scenes of her past without ever leaving the stage. At times she reacts, regrets, or quietly rejoices, creating a layered narrative structure that feels both intimate and sharply honest.

The staging intentionally exposes its mechanics. Actors roll in even the larger set pieces and rotate them directly onstage; adult Alison, in particular, performs a visible amount of physical labor. Transitions occur in full view, including a moment when two actors use blankets to sweep the stage clean in one efficient motion, drawing laughter for its practicality. The musicians are placed in a recessed loft high on the upstage wall, at roughly a second- or third-story height, with the entire band — including drums — kept visible for the entire performance. Boston’s strong musicianship supports this open staging with confidence.

Vocally, the show favors transparency over power. Small Alison (Maren Phifer, the day I attended) sang with notable clarity, especially in the scenes where her character struggles under her father’s strict expectations. Medium Alison (Maya Jacobson) carries much of the emotional and narrative weight, expressing the purity, hesitation, and exhilaration of first discoveries with clear diction and bright resonance. Her performance of “Changing My Major” drew laughter and, by the end, a brief standing ovation. The father’s music compresses into tightly controlled emotional bursts, while the mother sings sparingly and often appears at the piano. The siblings provide small but grounding moments that keep the story from drifting into abstraction. One particularly striking transition occurs when Bruce asks medium Alison to go for a drive; adult Alison steps into the scene instead, signaling a moment of irreversible self-awareness.

Throughout, the production maintains a dry, observational tone. Events are stated rather than interpreted, and the musical avoids emotional surplus. This reserve aligns with the atmosphere of the Huntington Theatre itself. After the show, small groups gathered outside the stage door with flower bouquets — likely family or close acquaintances — giving the evening a sense of community warmth rather than commercial spectacle.

On my way to the performance, a road closure required me to walk around the block. Turning the corner, I saw young musicians carrying violins and horns into a nearby building; to my surprise, it was one of the New England Conservatory buildings adjacent to the Huntington. For Korean readers, this detail will resonate immediately as the school attended by pianist Yunchan Lim. The proximity gave the outing an unexpectedly personal dimension.

Watching a musical in Boston feels different from watching one in New York. About ten years ago, I attended a local production in the Boston Theater District featuring three generations of women reflecting on life changes through well-known songs — and this was my second Boston musical. In both visits, groups chatted comfortably in the lobby, familiar with the space and the people in it, creating a warm sense of proximity between audience and production. That atmosphere felt like an additional gift alongside the excellence of Fun Home itself.

Fun Home is a musical of restraint, clarity, and self-examination. It presents its story without embellishment, trusting the audience to fill in the emotional spaces on their own. In its honesty — and its refusal to overstate — the production reveals the quiet power that earned it some of the highest recognitions in American theater.