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The song is despondent yet strangely cheerful, in a haimish, middle-aged way.

Grounded in shared sobriety and a wry take on fame, the couple tease each other but project a haimish domesticity.

Cherry-print wallpaper, sunny yellows, lush houseplants, decorations approaching kitsch without succumbing to it—everything conveys haimish order and care.

I happen to despise Bernie Taupin’s habit of lyrically referencing the song you’re listening to—it feels like a lack of effort, frankly—but this catchy and haimish number, from 1973, which begins “Welcome to my Christmas song,” moves beyond that somewhat mercenary greeting into a realm of communal pleasures.

David Zinn’s terrific scenic design embraces the play’s dual impulses: nostalgic romanticism and haimish realism.