We are not supposed to like ; we’re supposed to hate him because he assassinated the great American president who wanted to “bind up the nation’s wounds” after the Civil War in a way that might have left us in a better place than we find ourselves today.

Booth shot Abraham Lincoln on April 14, 1865. We learned all about the assassin in school: Booth was a drunk, a mediocre actor, Southern sympathizer and white supremacist. At age 26, he thought he would be a hero but, instead, died himself a violent death, having gained eternal scorn and infamy.

So when , an excellent actor of 28 years, first appeared on stage this week, portraying Booth as a charming, clever and humorous fellow, I felt instantly conflicted. Even in the dark of the theater, I refrained from smiling at Ahler’s panache or laughing at his levity. Disarmed by this portrayal of the villain, I had to remind myself: There should be nothing funny about the man who murdered Lincoln. Guilt suppressed laughter.

The play, is having its world-premier run at , the city where Booth had his acting debut and where he’s buried. The play is a first-rate historical psychodrama and conceptually a masterpiece: Booth produces and directs, before our eyes, a play about his life, leading to what he fiendishly calls “the most exciting thing to ever happen in American theater!”

Directed smartly by, the play was written by , the Emmy-winning creator of “Mad Men,” who has said in interviews that he’s fascinated by people who do horrible things.

I suppose that’s why we watch movies about serial killers or documentaries about corrupt politicians. To be sure, some are more interesting than others.

But J. W. Booth? I was not sure there was more to know than what we had learned about him years ago: The son of Junius and brother of Edwin, more accomplished actors, “Jack” Booth was a fame-hungry thespian and supporter of the Confederacy who saw Lincoln as a tyrant. He shot the president as he watched a play in Ford’s Theater in Washington, fled after the assassination to Southern Maryland, was shot by a Union soldier and uttered the words, “Useless, useless,” as he died.

One can go through life being perfectly satisfied with that summation, with no desire to hear much more of John Wilkes Booth. You might feel the same way about or any of the sick, racist perpetrators of mass shootings and hate crimes.

In the time of Trump, leaning away from anything that might glorify villainy or violence — hailing the January 6th rioters as patriots, for instance — and, instead, leaning toward stories that inspire or give hope is understandable and therapeutically wise. (“Lincoln,” the Spielberg film starring Daniel Day-Lewis, has become one of my favorite movies; I watch it at least once a year.)

But I recommend “John Wilkes Booth: One Night Only!” far and wide because it’s great theater. The 19th Century dialogue is remarkably authentic, the flow of scenes and changing of sets flawless. The energetic performances of the supporting cast of five actors — Jordan Boatman, Robbie Tann, Adrienne C. Moore, Sam Huntsman and Ked Merwin — were thoroughly convincing in each of their multiple roles.

And Ben Ahlers is a genuine star.

On top of the disarming quality of Booth’s monologue at the outset, Weiner’s script delivers a full, tense climax and, with it, a gut punch of timely relevance.

“Mr. Booth,” asks Merwin in the roles of Booth’s offstage prompter and his accomplice. “Why did you wait until the war was over?”

It’s a good question: Why did JWB wait until after Lee’s surrender at Appomattox Court House to fire his pistol and kill the great man who wanted to begin the reunification and healing of a divided nation?

“This is my gift,” Ahler as Booth responds. “One hundred years from now. Two hundred years from now — now the war will never be over.”