CRUSH by Daniel J. Meyer

SHORT SYNOPSIS

There is a moment of silence that exists just before everything changes, but no one remembers it until it has already passed.

A moment called CRUSH.

Eva is a neuroscientist. Marc is a musician. They’ve been together four years; they want to become parents—a project so simple to name and so hard to live—and tonight they celebrate their anniversary with many things to share and just as many to leave unsaid.

Tonight there is a moment that stops the clock.

CRUSH—read differently, it could also be CRASH—is a musical with original music by Mireia Morera and text by Daniel J. Meyer. A theatre piece where what is said, what is sung, and two bodies seek to fill the void of that moment… of that silence, which is the most honest way they have ever loved each other.

FULL SYNOPSIS

There is a moment of silence that exists just before everything changes, but no one remembers it until it has already passed.

A moment called CRUSH.

Eva is thirty-something and works as a neuroscientist: she needs clear boundaries, well-defined timelines. Marc is thirty and doesn’t usually work, but he’s a musician: he needs respected silences, room for the improvised and unexpected.

Opposites and complements, independent but with a shared dream: they want to become parents—a project so simple to name and so difficult to live. IVF? Adoption? Neither path is simple, and time won’t wait.

Even so, tonight they celebrate four years together: dinner, gin, music, memories, and so many things to share—and just as many to leave unsaid. Because how long can a CRUSH last?

Tonight there is a moment that stops the clock: the dream of becoming parents? The relationship? Or simply time passing without anyone noticing?

CRUSH—read differently, it could also be CRASH—is a musical with original music by Mireia Morera and text by Daniel J. Meyer. A theatre piece where what is said, what is sung, and two bodies seek to fill the void of that moment… of that silence, which is the most honest way they have ever loved each other.

AUTHOR’S WORDS

CRUSH came about by chance (or maybe not): Mireia and I didn’t know each other.

We got together at a bar, to talk and discover each other, and out of a conversation between us —about the Beatles, about Once, about the idea that a musical can be as honest as a play, if the music grows out of the dramaturgy itself and out of what truly drives the characters…— it all began.

That same day, we talked about how the pace of life —more and more— seems to get the better of us; about the need to be able to stop —as a privilege— to laugh or cry, or at least to appreciate what we’ve lived and what we still want to live. And with certain shared premises, I sat down to write non-stop —as I always do— with one question on a loop in the background: why —knowing full well that time is finite— do we not allow ourselves more room to enjoy it? And what happens when we stop, or when life stops us?

CRUSH is about many things: fertility, parenthood (the difficulties, the longing, and the many different paths to get there —or not—), the rush of life and the emptiness that comes when we pause for just a moment… just one moment…

there is silence…

But, whether we want it or not, an entire system —an entire society— pushes us to keep moving forward: to decide, to produce, to move on to the next chapter and consume the next moment before we’ve even lived the one we’re in; to keep going and not look back, even when something inside us has said STOP.

I have never wanted to give answers —neither as an author nor as a director—; only to raise questions: how much of what we’re living in the present is built on what we really want right now? Or is it simply carried over from past illusions? And how much of what we think we want for the future is just an excuse to avoid truly enjoying —or suffering— the present?

CRUSH is the result of these personal dilemmas, of many more conversations with Mireia, and of sharing these doubts with an artistically gifted and deeply human team.

Because if a CRUSH is nothing more than a moment, let it at least be a moment we don’t face alone.

Daniel J. Meyer