Venue: Austin Gardens (167 Forest Ave Oak Park, IL)
“May that man die derided and accursed that will not follow where a woman leads.” So says a soldier of fortune in thrall to the fair maid of the west, known in taverns and back alleys simply as Bess, though her theatrical adventures grant her a swashbuckling reputation and the admiration of any she meets. The Oak Park Festival Theatre audience at “The Fair Maid of the West” certainly hooted in agreement on the night I attended. Brought to glorious life by Amanda Forman and a cast of hilarious and game fighters, this sixteenth century drama is a rollicking good time, a treasure that has been luckily saved from the history bin by director and adapter Kevin Theis.
Bess Bridges is a simple tavern wench who finds herself swept up in international intrigue when Spencer (Zach Livingston), a nobleman and the love of her life, is banished from England for murdering a man in self-defense. His man Friday, a captain by the name of Goodlack (Debo Balogun), alternately betrays and assists his friend, and a braggart by the name of Roughman (Aaron Christensen) pledges fidelity to Bess after she tricks him into admitting his cowardice outside the tavern. When the two lovers are separated, Bess chooses to pursue her partner across oceans — war with Spain and encounters with indecent sailors be damned.
Theis has crafted a sprightly script to suit his strong actors. His take on Thomas Heywood’s swashbuckler is fresh and immediate, with actors using asides to wink at the audience with contemporary flourishes. As the action moves from England to the sea to Fez, Theis keeps the shenanigans moving at a quick pace, and embraces all the devices of Shakespeare’s day, up to quick-turn redemptions, and even including the infamous “bed trick.”
Forman and the ensemble are clearly having a hell of a time onstage. She imbues her heroine with a confident center and a surprising sense of humor. Livingston is a great match for Forman, and his true blue love for her shines through, even when he is choosing honor above his personal attachments. Christensen steals the show in the coward soldier role, flexing his muscles and passionately screaming to the heavens once his plans go awry. Clem (Bobby Bowman), Bess’ assistant, gamely plays the clown, spouting truths to the audience that his fellow adventurers will not hear.
Fight choreographer Geoff Coates take special care with each sword fight, creating dramatic storylines to each battle. Spencer’s final attempts to reach Bess was particularly impressive, as it involved the entire cast attacking, twice. Also fun were the localized bouts between ensemble members. Each fight made a statement about the characters, their skills, and where they were at emotionally within the performance. It is not easy to tell a story through violence, but Coates makes it spectacular and important to the audience.
Michael Lasswell’s set design encompasses a ship, several taverns, and one royal palace, with rooms popping up out of nowhere — proving that the humblest of settings can still birth great things. Julie Mack’s light design highlights the romantic moments onstage, and the rousing music provided by Christopher Kriz set the epic tone needed for the play.
“The Fair Maid of the West” should entertain and delight audiences throughout the Chicago area. Its every detail is full of joy and innovation. Look no further for a lovely summer treat.
TEN WORD SUMMARY: A rollicking adventure awaits the audience, along with killer fights.
How well can we know our parents? Playwright Richard Greenberg is a student of the dysfunctional American family, and many of his plays examine the tantalizing and painful secrets held by mothers and fathers, none more theatrically than “Three Days of Rain,” now running in an excellent production mounted by BoHo Theatre. In his three-hander drama, the audience sees the end and then the beginning of a parent-child history, with the timeline shake-up only provoking more and more questions about the tentative bonds between family members.
Walker (Kyle Curry) is the unstable son of genius architect Ned (also played by Curry, but we’ll get to that). After his father’s death, he calls together his sister Nan (Kate Black-Spence) and childhood best friend Pip (Niko Kourtis), to alternately antagonize those who love him most, and get to the bottom of his father’s journal, recently discovered in the ramshackle building in which Ned is squatting. It turns out that this rundown two-room was the apartment shared by Ned and his fellow architect Theo (played by Kourtis) in their hungry days, as they cooked up the first design that won them accolades and fame in 1960’s New York. Walker wants nothing more than to understand his distant and silent father, but the journal yields few answers. After deciding to view his parents in a certain light, the play shifts perspectives, with the second act detailing how Ned came to fall in love with Walker and Nan’s mother Lina (played by Black-Spence). How the two come together is beyond the grasp of their children, just as the pair’s dreams for their children do not match up to the reality of raising them.
Greenberg rewards the audience and the actors with this second act flashback. Not only do offhand references from the first half gain deeper meaning, as with the play’s title, but the performers play in opposition to their roles in the first act. Whereas Walker is bombastic and motor-mouthed, Ned is shy and sympathetic. While Pip is extraordinarily genial and kind, Theo is bullying and egotistical. And though Nan is dependable and focused to a fault, her mother Lina always seems on the edge of an emotional breakdown. I imagine it is a treat for the actors to swap tones; it is certainly a treat to watch as they transform with detailed adjustments. By asking Curry and Black-Spence to play their own parents, Greenberg highlights the irony of how close we actually are to our own blood, even when we fail to see them properly. The audience gets to evaluate both sides of the same coin, and likely still leave the play wondering how much can be understood about the past.
Director Derek Van Barham (recently of American Folk Theatre’s dark “Trash”) uses space elegantly in both halves of the play. The combative nature of the present day scenes allows for sharp triangulation between the actors; based on who is the center of the triangle, one understands whose allegiance is being fought for. There is more furniture and less empty space in the play’s second act, but that makes every move matter more. As Curry and Black-Spence circle one another, edging closer and closer to a connection, tension fills the room. When Kourtis backs Curry into a literal corner, one’s sympathy aligns quickly and permanently with the quiet Ned.
Curry and Black-Spence share a lived-in brother-sister quality, but their chemistry comes alive in the play’s second act, with unspoken longings hovering between them and threatening to break them apart at any minute. Black-Spence does a particularly fine job highlighting Lina’s vulnerability. Lina is profoundly unstable in her children’s recollections, but Black-Spence centers her portrayal on the young woman’s efforts to keep her wits in the face of overwhelming criticism and misunderstanding. Her handling of a speech about Theo’s surface impressions of her really resonated on the night I sat in the audience.
G. “Max” Maxin IV’s lights buoy the direct address that occurs throughout the first act. His pink and blue hues give the speeches a dreamlike quality, as if the carefully constructed stories delivered by Curry, Black-Spence, and Kourtis are vital to understanding the children in the present. Kallie Rolison’s sound design transitions us from the present to the 1960’s with a few deft song choices, and Patrick Ham’s set transforms with only small touches that reveal how lived in this apartment was, for all parties.
When all is said and done, little objective truth is available in “Three Days of Rain.” Do the parents expect to scar their children so deeply? Do the children appreciate the sacrifices they dream up from their parents? BoHo’s fine production provides few answers, but the deep mysteries at work in something as simple as a few words haunt long after the audience exits the theater.
RATING: d20 – “One of the Best”
TEN WORD SUMMARY: Elegant staging and transformative performances mark this excellent, haunting production.
There are certain things that one looks for in a major Broadway musical or a show at the Goodman that one doesn’t expect from a small theatre in a tiny black box setting. In fact, the storefront theatre scene creates a very different hunk of art than does the loop theatre district. This isn’t really a headline of any sort. Anyone who has taken in a show or two in Chicago knows how it is. But, if you don’t take in storefront musicals often, perhaps you’ll allow me to take a moment to contemplate what makes the perfect storefront musical experience…
For me, a perfect storefront musical must begin with an admission to oneself that expectations are not high. I see 10 to 20 new musicals a year and most of them are in tiny venues by people who are earnest, but not experienced makers of musical art. And, because of this, I know that in most instances I’m going to leave in what amounts to a listener’s walk of shame, head slung low wondering how I’ll forget what just came to pass (and normally, once I’ve written my review of said show, it does leave my brain quickly). However, there are a few shows that were so remarkably bad that the damage sticks with me years later. So, when the music starts and the first number gets rolling, there has to be that moment when a singer hits a sour note, or an errant step makes the choreography look wrong. That single moment is the set-up for the perfect storefront musical. That flaw allows the reviewer/audience to think that they are once again in for a stinker, only to then have the whole ship righted and the production to rise well above their anticipated quality.
In “Musical Therapy”, Death & Pretzels presents an evening that isn’t perfect, but which does offer up the perfect storefront musical theatre experience. The harmonies in composer Joey Katsiroubas’s first number are a little roughly rendered by the five actors who first grace the stage. Dan Hass’s book staggers into the first spoken scene like a timid and gawky teen. Awkwardness abounds. Then, after about five minutes, the show hits its stride and its comfort zone, and it never looks back. Hass’s script is funny, and intelligent. Karsiroubas’s songs are memorable to the point that I’ve currently got one of them stuck in my head as I write this. The show’s structure is familiar, but quirky in a way that both reinforces what we want in a musical, but also pokes fun at what can be a a too tired trope at times. It is refreshingly tongue-in-cheek while simultaneously honest and true to itself.
At the heart of this production is a tale about a couples therapist, Theresa (Haley Mozer), who is unlucky in love herself. She is in lust with the guy (Ethan Peterson) who’s just moved into the office next door to hers. And she longs to get with him. Most of the show takes place in Theresa’s therapy sessions with two couples. Ryder (Matt Lamson) and Liz (Emma Palizza) suffer from a lack of sexual chemistry (largely because she’s secretly a lesbian). Timothy (Sean Cameron) and Darcie (Erika Hakmiller) are addressing some control issues (hers over him). Each session contains a catchy number in which the relationship is explained, and then a time buzzes and the session is over. Theresa discovers that Will (Peterson) has a girlfriend, and she schemes to use her practice to tear them apart, while also reshuffling the romantic deck for all of her clients. Hilarity ensues.
Director Madison Smith guides the cast through what could be cliche situations with a deft sense of comedy, elevating the show’s potentially silly moments to something better. Smith’s efforts are helped along by the choreography of Brian Boller. None of the dancing is too technically demanding, but it fits the mood of the piece perfectly, and establishes that the show’s laughs will come from physical sources as well as script-based chuckles.
My one gripe with the show is that there is only a 5-minute intermission. In this day and age of short shows with no intermission, I wouldn’t have minded if the break were outright eliminated, but if it is necessary, a slightly longer lull in the action would be good so that drinks may be procured and bathrooms visited. I understand that Gorilla Tango runs a tight ship when it comes to scheduling multiple shows on the same stage each night, but the 5-minute interlude doesn’t serve a positive purpose for anyone.
Gorilla Tango can be a very limiting space in which to put up a production, and it’s probably the last place I would think to put up a musical, but I can safely say that “Musical Therapy” is worth casting aside any trepidation or otherwise negative expectations regarding the venue and/or storefront musicals in general. It is a good evening well spent, a fun time, and a show that fits its environs perfectly, treating its topic both viciously and lovingly. Death & Pretzels has created a show that succeeds at being exactly what is and what it should be.
TEN WORD SUMMARY:Sock puppets and sex and singing and dancing and wow.
Let me begin by saying that this show is the best production that I’ve seen so far in 2017. It’s scope and scale are epic, and though Charles Smith’s “Objects in the Mirror” addresses the struggles of one family unit, the story told is so much bigger than that of just a handful of people. This production, directed by Chuck Smith (not the same guy as the aforementioned Charles, nor of any relation), only has five actors who often seem dwarfed by the massive, yet simple scenery (designed by Riccardo Hernandez). As I continue to digest what I saw on the Goodman’s stage, I keep returning to the set and how it informed the action of the play. The set itself was simple in that it included very few elements and there were no raised platforms or intricately built pieces, or ornate decorations. Yet, every piece was immense. A large and imposing ceiling/roof loom large over segments of the play that take place in the present (much of the show is in flashback). A massive, retractable rear wall facilitates projections, as well as a border that rises up from ground level to the infinite heavens. Often a bare stage creates a sense of vastness that is difficult to overcome because a lone actor in that gaping space seems ever so small; a tiny force against insurmountable odds.
Shedrick Kennedy Yarkpai (Daniel Kyri) is the individual most often confronted by the outward forces in this story. After all, he is the tale’s protagonist. We meet him as a survivor of a decade-long struggle to be free of the violence and oppression that has torn many western African nations apart. He now resides in Australia. He is on a search for meaning in his life and for who he really is. As part of that, he revisits his life story up to that point. In flashback we meet his crafty trickster uncle (Allen Gilmore), his mother (Lily Mojekwu), and his cousin (Breon Arzell). These are the people who share Shedrick’s world. And they are the ones who make it possible for him to escape the dangers of a country that kills off its young men by fighting civil wars with child armies.
Charles Smith has written a piece that makes the reality of war ever-present and imposing. Shedrick is never sure of who he can trust, and in all likelihood, his uncle’s advice to trust no one is best applied. And yet, one wants to trust the people nearest to them. And the internal struggle of who to trust and how much is at the heart of this play. The narrative struggle of the journey toward freedom is matched in intensity by the personal journey taken by Shedrick as he struggles with self-identity and conscience. Can Shedrick trust his uncle? Can he trust his own mother? Can he trust himself? For that matter, can anyone trust anyone else ever?
Chuck Smith’s powerfully simple staging gives the more dynamic and complex moments of the play a gigantic blank canvas upon which to create an overall picture that is both brilliant and dark. The cast rises to the task of telling a gripping and meaningful tale, always surrounded by the spirit that they are just a small part of something so much larger, but never being defeated by the overall massiveness of their troubles. This is a piece that must be seen.
TEN WORD SUMMARY: Trust in this one thing: You should see this play.
This is a deceptively simple declaration, appropriate for wedding ceremonies and vocational commitments. In “The Christians,” the words are spoken by a disenchanted minister’s wife. She fears she will not be able to spend eternity with her husband Paul, because he has publicly stated that he no longer believes in hell, and neither should his parishioners. For his wife, who still believes in Satan and the fires of damnation, their difference of opinion severs both their earthly and eternal bonds. The radical act at the heart of Lucas Hnath’s “The Christians” is that the playwright takes her concern seriously. Hell is not a concept in this eighty-minute meditation on belief and communion. It is a very real threat to relationships built up over years within a faith, where separation and division become torment.
Pastor Paul (Tom Irwin) wants to relieve his evangelical congregation of their doubts and fears surrounding the afterlife. The community has just paid off its debts in building a new mega-church, and he wants their sanctuary to be a welcoming haven for outsiders. His associate pastor Joshua (Glenn Davis) is more inclined to use Bible verses about hell to shore up others’ faith. When Paul preaches a sermon giving up on hell, he expects his congregants to fall in line. Pastor Joshua refuses, and takes some of followers out of the church. Over the following days and weeks, Paul must contend with his wife’s worries (Shannon Cochran), the challenging questions posed by members of his flock (specifically Jenny, played with heart by Jacqueline Williams), and the demands of church elders, represented by the badgering Jay (Robert Brueler). As his family and friends fall away, Paul begins to question what led him to this new belief, and whether he has the right to be so certain, especially if it leaves him standing alone.
Hnath grew up in a Bible-first church much like Paul’s, and his intimate knowledge shines through in every conversation between pastor and parishioner. He structures the scenes via a continuous contemporary worship service, interspersing private dialogues with public displays of prayer, preaching, and personal testimony. Paul shuffles us between moments in his office and home with a bit of direct address, but he rarely puts down the microphone he uses during services, and there’s very little change in his manner when he talks to a struggling Jenny or when he disagrees with his wife; they speak into microphones, too. Hnath zeroes in on the fundamental fact of a pastor’s life: his public and his private life are rarely, if ever, separate. He must lead by example, and he must be ready at a moment’s notice to soothe fear or confront doubts. He cannot appear uncertain. Because the audience lives in the church service with our protagonist, we must work to see past Pastor Paul’s performance of his duties; at times we wind up just as frustrated and mistrusting as his followers.
I am a minister’s daughter, so I had a vested interest in Hnath’s examination of this conflicted community. I spent much of the play on the edge of my seat, worrying that he would simplify the philosophical and practical issues raised by Paul’s actions. I am happy to say that he draws characters with warmth and understanding, allowing them to debate the minister about how spiritual quandaries affect their everyday lives. When asking about the shift in doctrine, Jenny first lays out what the church means to her; it became her community after escaping an abusive relationship, and the church’s support has provided friends and opportunities for Jenny and her son. So why does Paul seek to divide them all, and drive some of her friends away by denying hell? It is a fair question, and Jenny only stymies the reverend further when she demands why Paul announced his change of heart once the church was past its financial woes, and not before. Hnath never lets Paul rest, and even allows a note of humor to enter the proceedings, when he is asked whether Hitler lives in heaven.
Irwin gives a delicate performance here. He is dutiful and passionate about his work and beliefs, but he keeps a formal remove from the other characters, acknowledging their distress without understanding how to end it. He becomes most humane and human when he cannot answer questions with scholarship or philosophy. Cochran is similarly polite as the smiling minister’s wife, but Hnath does not give her much space to ramp up to rejecting her husband’s point of view. She is hemmed in by this patriarchal world, so it may be purposeful that she does not speak in the worship services, but Hnath gives her the least specific motivation, when her pleading is supposed to hit hardest. It is not a good sign that I cannot remember the character’s first name, but to Cochran’s credit, I heard her desperation all the same.
Davis delivers a fiery, haunting performance as the seeking Joshua. After rebuking Paul and leaving the church, Joshua returns to discuss matters of life and death. In a relentless monologue, he describes his attempts to bring his mother to Jesus in her final moments. Davis owns this piece of theatre, and he imbues the associate pastor’s words with monumental grief and torture at the thought of being forever cut off from his mother. Whether one believes in the afterlife or not, Davis proves how real the outcomes are for the faithful.
Likewise, director K. Todd Freeman takes these men and women at their word. He never allows the actors to slip into caricatures of Christianity. He embraces the script’s debate about whether it is better to be secure in one’s beliefs and exist alone, or stay with a fractured community made up of doubters and those who disagree. He masterfully controls our perceptions of the worship service, and works with lighting designer Scott Zielinski to make viewers part of the congregation. The play begins during pre-show, with the house lights fully up, and the praise band singing boisterous and wonderful contemporary worship songs. On the night I attended, many in the audience seemed uncomfortable with the sincerity and emotions on display, especially because there was nowhere to hide when Irwin entered and began his sermon. But others near me bowed their heads when called to pray, and clapped along to the rip-roaring music during the pre-show. As Paul drifts further from family and friends, the house lights dimmed, and we became remote listeners, separate from him. It is a masterful and subtle choice, and one that could only be pulled off in the theatre.
The attention to detail does not end with the lights. I was shocked at how well the Steppenwolf stage served as a mega-church sanctuary. Set designer Walter Spangler wisely lines the floor with purple carpet, the color of royalty, a color often associated with Jesus. A giant cross gleams over the heads of the actors, and two projection screens spit out lyrics for the worship songs. Major kudos to projection designer Joseph A. Burke for nailing the hokey natural world scenes that are often displayed at such worship services. And it should be mentioned that costume designer Nan Cibula-Jenkins gets the Sunday suits and dresses exactly right. Not even the choir wears robes, right in line with the custom of contemporary worship.
“I want to stay with you forever.” Despite the depth and breadth and seriousness given to every part of this production, I keep coming back to that one line in the play. The weight of it. The sadness. The impossible desire. None of us wants to be alone. None of us wants to be separated from those we love. Belief can do that. But “The Christians” asks: does it have to? Is it necessary to divide ourselves? Or is there a way to bridge the gap, to stay with those who oppose you? If you recognize the struggles of others, and accept your detractors for who they are and what they believe, isn’t that all that really matters? Isn’t that faith?
TEN WORD SUMMARY: Memorable performances and design provide an astounding production about belief.
Company: Nothing Without A Company & The Living Canvas
Venue: Collaboraction Studios
Every once in a while I see a show that redefines a part of the art of theatre. Once in a great while. Over the years I’ve pretty much solidified what I see as a good show. And the guideposts that have been set along the way are the ideals that I use when writing for this outlet or any other about what I’ve seen. But, then something like “[Trans]formation” comes along. The show, which is now playing at Collaboraction Studios under the dual flag of Nothing Without a Company and The Living Canvas, takes on the heavy task of redefining language and interpersonal relationships, self-identity and how we look at others.
This production has clearly been carefully crafted by director Gaby Labotka and her collaborators. It is a devised work that stems from a series of submissions from trans individuals from around the country. The source material is available in a zine that is offered up at the performance. I highly recommend getting a copy as part of the experience.
So, I’ve said that this thing shifted my idea of theatre. Why is that? Well, for one, the piece is essentially what I would have called performance art in the past. Much of the show has no plot, nor characters. Yet it is clearly theatrical. It is constructed around a theme and presented by way of images. Sometimes these are literal images projected upon a screen, but more often the images are created through a brilliant collage of stage-wide projected textures that are caught upon the myriad surfaces of the stage, and more importantly upon the varied shape of the bodies of the performers.
Part of any production by The Living Canvas involves the actors performing nude, and this is performance is no different. The images and their interplay upon the bodies of the actors is like a vibrant and vital painting that is constantly shifting before your eyes. Though the performers don no clothing, this is not a bit of gimmick for attracting more eyes and titillating the senses. This is a literal baring of one’s body and metaphorically the soul as well.
I have never been to a production of The Living Canvas before, so I can’t comment on how appropriate it seems in other productions, but with the topic of gender identity, the human body seems perfectly suited as the tool to tell tales. As I sat and watched the six performers on stage, there were often times that their nudity was completely lost among the rest of the presentation.
Through short monologues and songs, physical pieces and proclamations, this piece finds a way to speak to each viewer and touch them deeply. There are multiple levels of truth constantly being put forth and taken in. You’ll note that I don’t make special mention of any specific performer in this review. The reason for this is two-fold. First, I don’t believe that any one individual within this work can be held separate from the others. I’ve never seen another show in which the meaning of ensemble is better represented. Second, nothing I saw can be subject to the standard criticisms I might address in a review. I can’t honestly tell you if these performers are good actors when it comes to a regular play. But, I can tell you that they are perfect for this piece. The sum total of their work here is something brilliant and wonderful. It challenges the audience. It informs the audience. It changes the audience. That’s what this art is supposed to do, and they do it better than I’ve seen in a long, long time.
TEN WORD SUMMARY: Gender is not defined by genitalia despite actors being naked.
Every major metropolitan area has a suburb where the nouveau riche congregate. That suburb’s name is often then embraced as a code word for self-important, ostentatious, absurdly materialistic, terrible people. Making fun of the people from such a place is a safe bet in comedy, especially within the borders of their proximate urban center. Really, it’s comedic low-hanging fruit. So, it is with great pleasure that I can tell you that I was surprised that isn’t the tack taken by Mat Smart’s “Naperville”, currently playing at Theater Wit.
This is a play about people in a Caribou Coffee shop (remarkably well rendered by Joe Schermoly). It is a play about new beginnings in a place where one normally has to be established to fit in. But, where one man long ago decided to try for a new beginning of his own. For anyone who has spent any time in the Naperville area, the name of Joseph Naper is a familiar one. After all, the town is named for him. And his new beginning—shifting from life as a shipwright to that of a farmer, townsman—is held as an allegory for her own life by one of the show’s primary characters, Anne (Abby Pierce).
The play kicks off when Anne, a recently divorced woman recording a podcast, meets TC (Andrew Jessop) who is the new manager of the Caribou. TC is desperate to not lose this newly acquired job. Going through his day from one nervous twitch to the next, TC encounters Candice (Laura T. Fisher) and her son Howard (Mike Tepeli) who are dealing with the fact that Candice is newly blind and stubbornly refusing her son’s assistance. Charlie Strater plays the last of the five characters to enter the scene: an evangelical Christian named Roy whose life isn’t necessarily in a new place on his own, but who is newly a part of each of the lives of the others.
Director Jeremy Wechsler’s approach to the script is one that makes a light slice-of-life comedy one of the best shows I’ve seen this year. It is simple, direct, and completely truthful to the situation. The characters talk directly to one another, so the actors do just that. These are the people you would meet in a suburban coffee chain store. They aren’t on epic journeys. They are each dealing with the little troubles that life throws their way, or that they have brought upon themselves. Wechsler’s cast is extreme adept at capturing the quiet desperation in which they are all living.
I find it intriguing and worthwhile that Smart’s characters are all likeable, but only up to a point. His writing makes me care about Anne and Howard. But he strategically places some of their most glaring flaws out in the open as well. It is easily seen that they are not good people. None of the folks in this show are. Even Roy, who goes through most of the show as an inexplicably good version of a born-again Christian (lacking any of the hypocrisy that is often associated with those who adopt that label), eventually fails us as he is part of the force that ruins TC’s day/life with very little concern for the barista’s well being.
This is a play that creates hope in the heart of the viewer, only to dash it and then build it up into something better. That’s the way one begins anew. That is what this play is about. And the audience gets to go on that journey over and over again with this crew of five on a voyage of discovery into what makes real life so inherently dramatic. I cannot recommend this show enough. It is well-crafted in every aspect. The writing is really good. The design work is amazing. The directing and acting are the real deal. All the way around it’s tremendous.
TEN WORD SUMMARY: If Hell is other people, then so might be Heaven.
Some plays reflect the time in which they are written. With translated plays, they will often reflect the original time and culture, as well as the culture of the translator and the time at which the work was translated. So, this version of “The Good Person of Szechwan” by Bertolt Brecht and translated by Tony Kushner is a work that crosses times and cultures to address the question of what is it that makes a person good.
Director Ernie Nolan takes the act of translation a step further and crosses gender lines in his casting. From the moment lights come up it is clear that this production is both a reflection of our world and a altered version of it. Wang the Waterseller (Dawn Bless) takes the stage to tell us what life is like in this part of Szechwan. Wang is a street savvy huckster with a good heart, but isn’t the titular good person. No, that’s Shen Te (Will Von Vogt), the town’s notorious lady of the evening. When three gods come to town, she is the only one to take them in and give them a place to stay.
If one watches this play looking for answers as to what makes a good person, the answers found aren’t easy. Is it what is in your heart that makes you a good person? Somewhat. Are your deeds what make you good? Somewhat. But, throughout the story, neither option is really the end-all/be-all.
What does become apparent is how someone who is trying to be good can easily be taken advantage of. When the gods give Shen Te some funding as compensation for their lodging, she is able to buy herself a business and also provide charity to those in need.
This production is a thinker and a feeler. Days later I am still pondering everything I saw, and in the moments of the show I was hit with waves of empathy for Shen Te’s plight, as well as anger toward those who would disabuse her and the a sense of victory when her plans went well. The lighting and soundscape were integral parts of an immersive experience that dragged me into the world of the show despite some very Brechtian moments that pointed out that I was watching a play. Kudos to Claire Chrzan and Matt Reich for their respective designs.
The show has a large supporting cast, and across the board they were stellar. Most played multiple roles and every one was well defined and contributed strongly to the overall picture created by the tale.
I was solidly impressed by this work. It is what theatre ought to be: a piece that calls upon us to look at ourselves and the world around us; a piece that challenges us to be better; a piece that looks at the very essence of what it would mean to be better, in the first place. Well done, COR Theatre.
TEN WORD SUMMARY: Beaten down by the world, the good can rise again.
At the outset of Babes With Blades Theatre Company’s world premiere staging of Dustin Spence’s “The Promise of a Rose Garden”, a foursome of new recruits stand, ready to be tried by the military’s most notoriously difficult proving ground. Their commanding officers offer little solace, but assure, “The fact that you don’t have a dick between your legs makes you more aerodynamic.” With this, Babes With Blades offers up one of the most unique and thrilling productions I’ve seen in recent years.
In “The Promise of a Rose Garden”, Captain Josephine Rockford (Maureen Yasko) is training a squad of four officers on passing the notoriously brutal US Marine Infantry Officer course. It’s such an unforgiving course that only three women have ever passed it, Rockford herself, her commanding officer, Selmy (Kathrynne Wolf) and a third female officer, whose death casts a long shadow that still divides the two officers. The rookies, however, are indignant at any underestimating party who insinuates that they’d do anything less than pass the course with flying colors. Lieutenant “Sunny” Sharif (Arti Ishak) has defied her Muslim family’s wishes to be there, pragmatic Ruiz (Izis Mollinedo) is hoping to spin her success into a book deal, and whatever you do, don’t cross Nichols (Charlie Baker) a laid-back Southerner who will cold-cock you for looking the wrong way at her candy stash. Newest grunt Ferguson (Sam Long) may be the most gifted Marine among them, but must swear, spit and scrap for her honor from the bottom up.
What threatens this unit isn’t a distant enemy, but the very real haunt of disgrace. Unlike the men who try and fail this Infantry Officer course, or the men who rebound easily from mistakes made in uniform, these women face daunting, near insurmountable pressure. There is no room for error, but those that occur linger to haunt the next round of female recruits or stand to jeopardize their very inclusion. Reminders of Captain Rockford’s past failures are so potent to her, they appear as Deciding Angels (Catherine Dvorak and Aaron Wertheim) who taunt her from her bleak subconscious and threaten to expose her mania.
The cast is astoundingly sure-footed, brutish and graceful; take the Deciding Angels, played nimbly by Catherine Dvorak and Aaron Wertheim, who twist themselves into unsettling shapes that add to their nightmarish air. In amazingly rough-hewn turns, Sam Long, Izis Mollinedo and Charlie Baker breathe brute force and sweat into Ferguson, Ruiz and Nichols. The true stand outs of this production, however, are Arti Ishak as Lieutenant Sharif, who is so still and unfazed that her brief flashes of anger are potent and chilling, and Maureen Yasko as Captain Rockford. You can’t take your eyes away from Rockford as she descends into devastation; bounding nervously away from everyone who seeks to aid her, and recoiling at the deep wounds she inflicts.
The air is always alive and tense with radio chatter, bullets, Marine chants or the whispers of the Deciding Angels. Director Elyse Dawson and violence designer Rachel Flesher bring together an artful staging, cobbled from a bullet riddled blast zone, and paint stage images that are beautiful and ambiguous. It’s an incredible gift when you as an audience member are entrusted with puzzle pieces of a scene or a relationship unfolding in front of you, and all the more rewarding when those pieces begin to come together.
“Rose Garden” is visceral, hard-hitting, and it arrives on the Chicago theater scene like water to quench an unfortunate drought of substantive roles of women and actors of color. It’s an astoundingly timely choice, and as Elyse Dawson’s directing debut, it’s the knock out of the park that many directors work their entire careers to achieve.
TEN WORD SUMMARY: Female, armed and dangerous: Drop and give them 20, maggots.
Early on in the american vicarious’ “DOUGLASS,” one white abolitionist admonishes another: fine speeches about the illogical nature of slavery are well and good, but what about the lack of sentiment involved in such diatribes? More citizens would be won over to the anti-slavery movement if their hearts were engaged, as well as their heads. Has her friend, by chance, read “Uncle Tom’s Cabin?” He dismisses the popular novel (and eventual stage play) as melodramatic claptrap, but agrees that a man of color must speak to the experience of slavery, in order to horrify audiences into action. That man is Frederick Douglass.
Now revered for his amazing mind and oratorical skill, world premiere “DOUGLASS” focuses on Frederick (an excellent De’Lon Grant) at the start of his journey in the 1840’s. After reading William Lloyd Garrison’s (Mark Ulrich) uncompromising anti-slavery words in The Liberator, Douglass becomes convinced that he, too, can help the cause, by starting and sustaining the first newspaper run by an African American man in Boston. But wealthy abolitionist Miss West (Carrie Lee Patterson) and Garrison hold back financing for Douglass’ paper in order to motivate him to speak about his experiences as a former slave. The more time Douglass spends making speeches on behalf of others, the more he begins to wonder if he is merely a puppet for the abolitionist movement, rather than one of its leaders. As Douglass’ views on compromise and the Constitution change, Garrison’s become more unyielding, and the two men head towards an ideological conflict.
Which sounds like dry viewing, I am sure, given that oratory and publishing are the major dramatic concerns here. But playwright Thomas Klingenstein never misses an opportunity to highlight how Douglass’ development is hindered by the society he lives in. This is the story of a man hampered by the large ideals and small crimes of others. We watch Douglass as he builds support and debates whether or not he is too ambitious or too compromising for white abolitionists. The debates between Douglass and Garrison touch on matters as continually contemporary as the perception of black skin and the organization and silencing of black voices. And the differences cut to the bone, as Garrison uses increasingly personal attacks to win Douglass back to his way of thinking.
Director Christopher McElroen stages a spare production, with the actors shaping the action and time on set designer William Boles’ splintering wooden platform. Grant is an imposing figure, always in charge of any room he enters, and his command breaks only in his speeches about the slave experience. Ulrich ping-pongs around the stage, his fiery demands gathering strength with each affront (though he seemed to struggle with his lines at moments in the first act). Patterson represents a calming influence, as does the unpretentious Kristin Ellis, who plays Anna, Douglass’ wife. Ellis has the difficult job of acting as a naysayer to her husband, and while the script does not flesh out the dynamics of their marriage, Ellis makes them clear simply in the way she moves around her home. Likewise, Kenn E. Head as Delany, a Back-to-Africa proponent, provides a sounding board for Douglass when he is surrounded by white voices, and his sardonic nature suits the character.
“DOUGLASS” is touted as a multimedia production by the american vicarious. Projection designer Liviu Pasare paints the back wall of the space with portraits of Douglass and Garrison, as each addresses the public. In the second act, their faces are covered with hashtags and at signs, possibly calling to mind the Black Lives Matter movement and its Twitter presence. The flourishes are distracting, as the script easily connects Douglass’ concerns about power and justice to those we harbor today. More off-putting is Sarah Espinoza’s sound design. The transition music between scenes is well-chosen, ranging from hip-hop to hymnals, but the sound levels were ear-splitting in the production’s intimate Theater Wit space. The music took me out of the performance, rather than drawing me deeper in.
Early in the play, Douglass abandons discussion of his life as a slave for philosophical statements about whether African American men and women can be considered full citizens of the United States. Garrison finds his switch as distasteful as “Uncle Tom’s Cabin.” The irony, of course, is that “Uncle Tom’s Cabin” was melodrama meant to enlighten white audiences, just as Douglass’ tortured descriptions were. “DOUGLASS” posits that Frederick’s power to disrupt and compromise came from his insistence on speaking to men and women of color, as well as whites. Thus, the real engagement comes not from sentiment, but from speaking one’s truth, especially if those around you are not ready.
TEN WORD SUMMARY:History comes alive in well-written debate over slavery.