I’ve seen Mr. Saturday Night, Mister Roberts and now Mister Romantic, John C. Reilly’s one-man show, if you don’t count the four musicians, but you should, because they’re great.

The evening started when said musicians marched down an aisle to the stage, playing a New Orleans-type walking song. What most caught my attention was the performer who was playing the coronet with one hand, while simultaneously playing the accordion with the other. I later prided myself for this mental note when Reilly, at the end of the show, acknowledged that same skill for the audience.

Reilly, at first, was nowhere to be seen, but suspicions grew when the quartet, after reaching their destination, pulled a steamer trunk, with the words Mister Romantic on it, from stage left. Sure enough, a vaudevillian-like-appearing Reilly arose from the luggage to greet the crowd and announce that he had no memory, other than that he had to find someone who would love him forever in order to be freed from the box.

What followed was Reilly beautifully singing classics such as Dream, What’ll I Do and You Don’t Know Me, accompanied by the musicians he claimed not to know (but was pleased that they knew the same songs he did), and augmented by a lot of amusing schtick, including a fair amount of miming and interaction with the audience, with the hope of finding eternal love and never having to return to his portable home.

He added a little extra spice to the show with a rendition of Earl Okin’s “My Room,” before which he suggested that any children head to the lobby for popcorn.

His quest was not gender specific, as he walked into the audience to engage, rather closely (after asking consent), for a few minutes each, two women and two men, one of whom was me. If I were a rabid fan, I would never wash my eyebrows again.