In ‘The Notebook,’ the smallest moments of recognition hit hardest
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Alzheimer’s may be, as Nicholas Sparks wrote, a “thief of hearts,” but in the Ordway's presentation of "The Notebook," what lingers isn’t the disease — it’s the fierce, stubborn hope the actors bring to their characters’ final chapter.
The musical, based on Sparks’ bestselling novel, keeps the familiar framework: Noah reads from a notebook to help his wife, Allie, remember the life they built together. However, it isn’t a linear timeline that gives the show its structure. Rather, it plays with memory, jumping between moments of the past and present.
Scenes from their courtship surface and dissolve as an older Allie — played by Sharon Catherine Brown — tries to grasp who Noah is and why he feels so important.
Brown’s portrayal is a powerful and respectful take on someone who can’t remember where or who they are. In quiet moments of listening to Noah’s story, Brown’s subtle hand-wringing and smiles clue us into her happiness as she remembers something. They also reveal her frustration when that connection evaporates.
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Near the end of Act One, she drifts into a dance with Noah, her face opening as if something has finally clicked. For a breath or two, she seems entirely present.
But just as quickly as we see that light, the moment shifts; she becomes scared and screams to get “this old man” away from her. It’s a heartbreaking moment, heightened by Beau Gravitte’s Noah, who pushes past his own health issues for even the smallest hope of recognition from his wife.
That flicker — Allie returning for just a moment — was deeply familiar. Growing up, I would visit my granddad sporadically. By the time I got to know him, he was already in the throes of dementia.
When we would visit, he would recognize my mother but struggled to place how he knew me. He’d comment on my thick, black hair and call me handsome, but it wasn’t certain that he knew who I was.
Then, every time without fail, a little while into our visit, he would walk over to a photo on his wall, point to it, and then point to me, finally realizing that while we looked very different, I was his grandson.
So when Brown and Gravitte played those moments, it struck me. I know what it is to feel like a stranger, nodding along to keep things calm while wondering if you’ll get a second of recognition. Their joy in those brief returns made me hope my granddad had moments like that too.
The sets by David Zinn and Brett J. Banakis and lights by Ben Stanton sharpen the story’s focus on memory — creating a fragmented, almost liminal space where moments surface and slip away.
But it’s Brown and Gravitte’s work as the older Allie and Noah that stays with me — a reminder of how rarely actors their age get roles this rich.
As their moments move between connection and confusion, Brown and Gravitte give audiences a portrayal of loving someone, even when they can’t remember who you are.
