It is a weird feeling. You walk into a dark theater in the middle of Texas, maybe a little sweaty from the humid Austin air, and suddenly you are transported to a tiny town in Newfoundland called Gander. Most people heading to see Come From Away Austin expect a typical Broadway musical. They expect flashy costumes or maybe a giant chandelier. Instead, they get twelve actors, a few mismatched chairs, and a story that basically forces you to believe in humanity again. It sounds cheesy. It kind of is. But it works because it is all true.
On September 11, 2001, the world stopped. We all know that part. What many people forgot—or never knew—was that 38 planes were forced to land in a town with a population of just about 9,000 people. Suddenly, there were nearly 7,000 "come from aways" (the local term for outsiders) stranded in a place where the air smells like salt and the accents are thick enough to cut with a knife. This musical isn't about the tragedy in New York; it is about the radical kindness that happened in the aftermath. It’s about the people who cooked thousands of burgers, filled their pharmacies with donated medicine, and opened their homes to strangers without asking for a dime.
Why Austin specifically loves this show
Austin has a certain vibe. It’s a city that prides itself on being a bit different, a bit more welcoming than your average metropolis. When a tour like this hits Bass Concert Hall or the Long Center, the energy in the room shifts. There is a specific kind of resonance here. Maybe it is because Austin also knows what it feels like to be a "small town" that suddenly grew too fast, or maybe it’s just that we appreciate a good fiddle solo.
The music in Come From Away Austin isn't your standard show tunes. It’s "Stomp" meets Celtic folk. It is loud, rhythmic, and visceral. You’ll see the band on stage, not hidden in a pit. They use traditional instruments like the bodhrán and the uilleann pipes. It feels more like a kitchen party than a formal performance. Honestly, by the time the "Screech In" scene happens, you’ll probably want to jump on stage and join them.
The real people behind the characters
One thing that confuses people is how the actors keep track of who they are. Each performer plays multiple roles. One minute they are an airline pilot, the next they are a local townsperson. It’s fast. If you blink, you might miss a hat change or a jacket swap that signals a totally different person.
- Beverley Bass: She was the first female captain for American Airlines. Her real-life story is the backbone of the song "Me and the Sky." She has actually attended the show hundreds of times.
- Kevin J and Kevin T: A gay couple who fears how they will be received in a rural town, only to find that the locals couldn't care less about their orientation—they just want to know if they’re hungry.
- Claude: The mayor of Gander. He’s the guy trying to coordinate the chaos with a mix of dry humor and sheer willpower.
- Hannah: A mother waiting for news about her firefighter son in New York. Her storyline is the emotional anchor that keeps the show from becoming too lighthearted.
These aren't archetypes. They are real humans. The writers, Irene Sankoff and David Hein, actually went to Gander on the tenth anniversary of 9/11 and interviewed the locals and the returning passengers. They took those transcripts and turned them into lyrics. That is why the dialogue feels so authentic. It isn't polished "theater speak." It’s messy and frantic.
Understanding the Bass Concert Hall experience
If you are seeing the show at Bass Concert Hall, you need to plan. Parking at UT Austin is notoriously a nightmare. Seriously. Don't try to wing it. If you haven't pre-paid for a spot in the San Jacinto Garage, you might end up walking half a mile in boots that weren't made for hiking.
The acoustics in Bass are great for big orchestras, but for a fast-talking show like this, you want to be as close to the center as possible. The Newfoundland accent is part of the charm, but it can be hard to catch every joke if you're tucked way up in the balcony. Most people who see Come From Away Austin leave humming "Welcome to the Rock," but the real gems are the quiet moments. Keep an ear out for the scene in the animal shelter. Yes, they even took care of the animals on the planes—including two rare Bonobo apes.
What most people get wrong about the story
There is a misconception that this is a "9/11 musical." That label scares people off. They think it will be depressing or exploitative. It really isn't. It’s a 100-minute show (with no intermission, so use the restroom before it starts!) that focuses almost entirely on the best parts of human nature.
It handles the tension of the time—the fear, the rising Islamophobia, the uncertainty—without being preachy. It shows the friction that happens when you cram thousands of tired, scared people into a gymnasium. It isn't all sunshine. People lose their tempers. They get suspicious. But the overwhelming theme is that when the chips are down, most people will choose to be good to one another.
How to get tickets without getting ripped off
Look, the secondary market for Broadway tours in Austin is brutal. You’ll see tickets on random sites for triple the face value. Don't do that. Always start at the official venue website or Texas Performing Arts.
- Check for student rushes: If you’re a UT student, you can often snag crazy cheap tickets last minute.
- The "Lobby" trick: Sometimes, single seats open up 48 hours before the show. If you are going alone, you can get a premium seat for a fraction of the cost.
- Matinees: Everyone wants the Friday night glitz. If you go on a Sunday afternoon, the crowd is a bit more relaxed, and the tickets are occasionally easier to find.
The impact of the "Islanders"
When the show ends, the band doesn't stop playing. Most of the audience stays in their seats for a solid five minutes just to clap along to the exit music. It’s a "Kitchen Party" vibe. It’s rare to see an Austin audience stay put after the lights go up—usually, everyone is racing to the exits to beat the traffic on I-35. But this show makes you want to linger.
It makes you think about your own neighbors. It makes you wonder if you’d open your guest room to a stranger if the world went sideways. That is the "Austin" part of the experience. We like to think we would.
Actionable steps for your night at the theater
First, do a quick Google search for "Gander Newfoundland 9/11" before you go. Seeing the actual photos of the planes lined up on the tarmac adds a layer of reality that makes the stage production even more impressive. You’ll realize the "set" of chairs isn't just a stylistic choice; it's a representation of how the town had to improvise with whatever they had.
Second, check the bag policy for the venue. Most Austin theaters have moved to clear bags or very small clutches. Don't be the person arguing with security while the opening number starts.
Third, eat beforehand. There is no intermission. Once you sit down, you are in Gander for the duration. If you’re looking for a spot nearby, hit up some of the spots on Manor Road or the campus-adjacent eateries. Just give yourself at least ninety minutes.
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Finally, pay attention to the character of Ali. His story is one of the most poignant, reflecting the immediate shift in how Muslim travelers were treated. It’s a necessary, uncomfortable mirror to the kindness shown elsewhere, and the show handles it with significant grace.
When you leave the theater and head back out into the Austin night, you’ll probably feel a little lighter. It’s an infectious kind of show. You might find yourself being a little more patient in traffic or actually nodding hello to a stranger on the sidewalk. That’s the real "Come From Away" effect. It’s not just a play; it’s a reminder that we’re all part of the same island, even if we’re just passing through.