Last week, SunBreak Editor MvB and I took in Matt Smith’s solo show, All My Children, part of SPF #5 at the TheatreOff Jackson (tickets available for May 3 and 5 performances). Mike had seen the show last year at Hugo House and reviewed it, so it gave us an opportunity to see how the show has changed over the past year. [MvB: Matt knows the names of his “kids” better, but what struck me most was how the story deepens on the second viewing.]

In the engaging and hilarious 90-minute solo piece, Smith tells his story as Max Poth, a classic Seattle guy right who’s about Smith’s age—that age when we start thinking about legacy. Like many of us, (come on, you know you’ve done it) Max starts looking up his old flames on the Web. Turns out that each of them got married relatively soon after dumping him, and each of them had only one child. With apparently nothing better to do, Max tracks down these kids, who range in age from 13 to 30, with a singular, twisted purpose: to tell them he is their real father.

Is he? No. Does he know that? Sure. He just wants to see what happens. And it seems to give him a much-needed mission in life. With the first few encounters with these ersatz offspring, it was hard not to think of Matt as just a jerk messing with the lives of people just because he can. But then he starts inserting himself in their lives, filling a void for some, being a tolerant presence for others. Over time, you start to see that Max is building a family, knitting these random, unconnected people together in a way that actually seems to make sense. What initially seems like a complete act of selfishness ultimately becomes a gift.

Smith has such an easy, conversational style that it’s hard to believe that he holds your attention for the full hour and a half with just the power of effective storytelling. Many know Smith from his improv workshops and training, and you can easily see how some of this piece could have come from his work there.

You see this particularly in the section where he’s coercing one of his “daughters” to rub noses with him in a restaurant and make goofball lovey-dovey sounds with him in exchange for $100, which she (an addict) will use for her next score. You can easily see how the basis for scene this could have come from an improv exercise (“Get in his face…”). Yet this moment is one of the kick-you-in-the-gut, emotional high points of the show. I know it sounds creepy and irresponsible, but in the context of the story, it’s not sexual. It’s not enabling. It’s oddly parental and loving. Only an artist with chops like Smith could really pull that off. See this show and Matt Smith’s mad-crazy story telling skillz while you can.