[1] Dis with a dash because historically people with disabilities have been shunned by society when indeed their condition(s) show us what we lack. That is this writer’s sole opinion.
Let me first commemorate Ground Floor Theatre, where Amy and the Orphans, a diamond of a production, premiered in Austin. For ten years, Lisa Scheps has brought underrated communities to the stage. The pay-as-you-go model of theatre is bold and challenging, yet it persists. And we are grateful. I speak for the theatre-going public.
Maryanna Tollemache, an Austin native (and classmate of my son at McCallum), who lives in NYC, directed this winner of a show. She identifies as disabled, and this show was her directorial debut with a story that highlights Down’s Syndrome. What a debut it was! Originally produced by the Roundabout Theatre Company in NYC and written by Lindsey Ferrentino, the play is witty, poignant, and historically rich, weaving film and social history of the 1970s—an era when I myself grew up and remembered every reference.
The play takes place in New York, shifting timelines from present to past and back again, each vignette an independent snapshot. The background screens flashed old advertisements, movie clips, cityscapes, and chilling real-life footage of Willowbrook—the notorious Staten Island institution where children with disabilities were warehoused. There were also gas lines, TV commercials, and cultural relics that brought the era alive.
Six characters intertwine their lives. Amy, played with brilliance by Sydney Weigand, is the radiant center. She is not only an accomplished actress but also a Special Olympian, and her performance is breathtaking. At one point she launches into acting out classic lines from films—“I could’ve been a contender” among them—delivering each with pitch-perfect timing and comic precision. It is nothing short of amazing to watch her hold the stage with such authenticity and joy. The cast includes Sarah (Meredith O’Brien) and Bobby (Justin Smith), Amy’s parents, who we meet in flashbacks. Because of her disability, Amy has lived apart from her siblings: Maggie (Cathie Sheridan) and Jacob (Adam Donmoyer). They visit Amy, who is in a home on Long Island, to break the news of their father’s death. At the home we encounter Kathy (Giselle de la Rosa), a dyed-in-the-wool Long Island Italian-American nurse guardian. I thought Giselle de la Rosa was excellent as she embodied the stereotype familiar to anyone from that region: slightly rough-edged, cursing, smoking, but also pragmatically empathetic and fiercely protective of Amy. Her character brought both humor and grit to the production.
For those not familiar with the nuances of the boroughs of New York City and surrounding regions, its language, slang, and references to institutions, the show may not have landed as intensely.
At its heart, Amy and the Orphans is about family reckoning. Estranged siblings Maggie and Jacob spar endlessly as they make their way through grief. Jacob, who has embraced Christianity, infuriates his Jewish sister. Maggie, neurotic, lonely, and controlling, insists she was a “good sister” for visiting Amy once a year, painting herself as the martyr of the family. Their verbal jousts had the audience roaring with laughter. I nearly doubled over when Maggie moaned, “I’d commit suicide before moving back to Long Island!” or when Jacob deadpanned, “We’re not orphans, Maggie—our parents are just dead.”
Amy, meanwhile, cuts through their nonsense with razor-sharp humor. Her lines, delivered with perfect comedic timing, are both hilarious and revealing. When her siblings try to bond by role-playing—“I am your father,” “I am your sister”—Amy skewers them without missing a beat: “You’re a very old lady.” These moments remind us that she, more than anyone, speaks truth without artifice.
But the laughter is layered over something darker. The siblings’ “hippie” parents—idealistic on the surface—made a devastating choice: they placed Amy in Willowbrook. This revelation hits hard, exposing the cruelty of an era when children with disabilities could be discarded, their humanity denied.
For me, this wasn’t just theatre—it was personal. My father’s brother had epilepsy and was born in the 1930s. Because of his condition, people treated my father’s family like lepers. The stigma surrounding my uncle’s disability, rather than the disability itself, diminished his life; people ostracized and hid him away. It wasn’t until the 1980s, when effective medications became available, that he could finally live independently and work. Sitting in the theatre, I felt the weight of that history pressing against the story onstage. Amy and the Orphans touched me in more than one way: it is a mirror of how far we’ve come, and how far we still have to go.
In the end, this play is more than a family drama—it is a cultural reckoning and a celebration of resilience. It dares us to laugh at dysfunction, cry at injustice, and confront our collective past. It exposes the cruelty of institutions like Willowbrook while elevating the dignity, humor, and vitality of this society once sought to silence. Amy’s bold, funny, and true voice reminds us that love means seeing one another fully, not denying or pitying. For all its humor and heartbreak, Amy, and the Orphans leaves us with a necessary call: to honor, protect, and celebrate those whose light shines in ways we must learn to cherish.
The show runs until August 30, 2025.
For information and tickets contact groundfloortheatre.org/2025season
To help fund this show please show your support of the production via PayPal to lisa@groundfloortheatre.org