The premise sounds almost too heavy for a night at the theater. 38 planes. 7,000 stranded passengers. A tiny town in Newfoundland. And it all happens on the darkest day in modern American history: September 11, 2001. Honestly, if you just heard the "what is the play Come From Away about" pitch in a boardroom, you might think it’s a tragedy. But it isn't. Not really. It’s actually a fast-paced, foot-stomping, surprisingly funny celebration of what happens when the worst of humanity brings out the absolute best in a bunch of strangers.
It’s loud. It’s chaotic.
The show doesn’t have a traditional lead character. Instead, you get this "ensemble" of twelve actors who switch hats—literally—to play both the locals of Gander and the "plane people" who landed there. One second, an actress is a tough-as-nails American Airlines pilot; the next, she’s a local teacher prepping enough sandwiches to feed a small army.
The True Story of Gander, Newfoundland
To understand what is the play Come From Away about, you have to look at the map. Gander International Airport used to be a massive refueling hub back when planes couldn't make it across the Atlantic in one go. By 2001, it was mostly a quiet relic. Then, the U.S. airspace closed. Operation Yellow Ribbon kicked in. Suddenly, this town of 9,000 people was told to expect nearly 7,000 "come from aways"—the local term for anyone not born on the island.
The logistical nightmare was real. These people were stuck on the tarmac for over 24 hours without knowing why. No cell phones. No internet. Just rumors and fear.
When they finally let them off the planes, the townspeople didn't just open the schools and community centers. They opened their homes. They offered their showers. They offered their beds. One local pharmacist, Kevin Tuerff (who is a real person and a main character in the show), was stunned when people just handed him their car keys so he could get around. That's just how they do things in Newfoundland.
Characters Based on Real Humans
The writers, Irene Sankoff and David Hein, spent weeks in Gander during the tenth anniversary of 9/11. They recorded hundreds of hours of interviews. Because of that, almost every weird little detail in the show is 100% true.
Take Beverly Bass. She was the first female captain at American Airlines. Her song, "Me and the Sky," is basically a musical biography of her career, charting her rise from a young girl who loved to fly to the moment she had to land her Boeing 777 in the middle of nowhere because of a terrorist attack. It’s the emotional anchor of the show.
Then there’s the "two Kevins." They were a gay couple from Los Angeles who were terrified about how they’d be treated in a rural fishing province. Their story arc is basically a masterclass in how stress can either bond people or tear them apart. And then you have Nick and Diane. He’s a reserved British oil executive; she’s a bubbly Texan. They met in a crowded shelter, fell in love over plastic cups of whiskey, and eventually got married in real life.
It’s these specific, messy human connections that stop the show from feeling like a history lesson.
The Sound of the Rock
You won't find a 40-piece orchestra in the pit for this one. Instead, the band is right there on stage with the actors. They use traditional Newfoundland instruments: the bodhrán (an Irish drum), the fiddle, and the "ugly stick."
The music is Celtic-rock. It’s high-energy. It’s the kind of music that makes you want to grab a beer and start dancing on a table, which is actually what happens during the "Screech-In" scene.
For the uninitiated, a Screech-In is a real Newfoundland tradition where visitors kiss a codfish and take a shot of cheap rum to become honorary Newfoundlanders. In the play, this scene serves as a breaking point where the tension of the week finally snaps, and the "plane people" start to let go of their fear. It’s loud, it’s sweaty, and it’s arguably the most fun you’ll ever have watching a play about a global crisis.
Dealing with the Darker Side of the Story
It would be a lie to say the show is all sunshine and fiddle music. It isn't.
One of the most poignant storylines involves Hannah O'Rourke. She’s a mother waiting for news about her son, a firefighter in New York City. Her frantic calls to the Red Cross and her growing friendship with Beulah, a Gander local whose son is also a firefighter, represent the agony of everyone watching the news from afar.
The play also doesn't shy away from the immediate shift in the world's vibe. Ali, an Egyptian passenger, suddenly finds himself the target of suspicion and invasive searches. It’s a gut-punch. It reminds the audience that while Gander was a bubble of kindness, the rest of the world was turning toward a very different path. The show balances this expertly. It doesn't lecture you; it just shows you how the air in the room changed.
Why It Still Works Decades Later
You might think a story about 9/11 would feel dated by now. We’ve had a million documentaries. We’ve had the movies.
But what is the play Come From Away about at its core? It’s about the fact that we are all "come from aways" at some point. It’s about the moment you realize that a stranger is just a friend you haven't shared a crisis with yet.
The staging is minimalist—just twelve chairs and a couple of tables. The actors never leave the stage. They just move the chairs to become a bus, then an airplane, then a bar. This simplicity forces you to focus on the storytelling. It’s a testament to the power of "the folk tale."
Critics often point out that the show’s runtime—a crisp 100 minutes with no intermission—contributes to its impact. You get hit with the energy and you don't get a break until the final bow. It mimics the breathless, "what-is-happening" pace of those five days in September.
Common Misconceptions About the Show
- It’s a "9/11 Musical": Technically, yes. But it’s not about the towers falling. It’s about the 7,000 people who were safe, but lost, and the town that found them.
- It’s Depressing: Surprisingly, it’s one of the most uplifting shows on Broadway or the West End. You’ll laugh way more than you’ll cry.
- It’s Only for Americans: The show started in Canada, became a hit in San Diego, and has played everywhere from Melbourne to London. The themes of hospitality and community are universal.
Practical Insights for Seeing the Show
If you're planning to catch a production—whether it's on tour, in a regional theater, or via the pro-shot version on Apple TV+—there are a few things to keep in mind to get the most out of it.
First, pay attention to the chairs. The way the cast manipulates the furniture is legendary in the theater world. It’s choreographed as tightly as a ballet. Second, listen for the accents. The Newfoundland dialect is a weird, beautiful mix of Irish, Scottish, and West Country English. It’s thick, and it’s authentic.
Most importantly, don't rush out during the exit music. The band (The "Gander Wolfpack") usually does a blow-out jam session after the actors leave the stage. It’s often the best part of the night.
How to experience the story today:
- Watch the Pro-Shot: If you can’t get to a theater, the filmed version on Apple TV+ features the original Broadway cast and captures the intimacy perfectly.
- Listen to the Cast Recording: The lyrics are incredibly dense with information. Listening to "28 Hours / Wherever We Are" helps you catch the small jokes you might miss in the theater.
- Read "The Day the World Came to Town": This book by Jim DeFede is the non-fiction account of the same events. It provides even more granular detail on the real-life people who inspired the characters.
Ultimately, the show reminds us that even when the world feels like it's breaking, people are generally good. They’ll make you a sandwich. They’ll let you use their phone. They’ll even let you kiss a fish if it makes you feel better.