By Andy Seifert

“This is gonna be a great club when they finish it,” says comedian Jeffrey Ross in the first minute of his act at Zanies in Chicago. The club’s been open for thirty years.

His eyes appear a tad bloodshot, as if he’s intoxicated, but that may be because he’s staring head-on into six spotlights. He casually meanders in front of a sellout crowd, awkwardly working with a stage half-filled with a piano and keyboard. “I ask for a piano, and they got two pianos… ‘And if you could put it right in the middle so that I can’t walk around it all, that’d be perfect.’ We’ll have a little limbo contest with the piano later.”

“Last time I was here that speaker fell on somebody,” he says, pointing to the speaker directly above the front row, then laughing to himself. “All right, I guess I’m done making fun of this shithole.”

Within thirty seconds, he’s back for more—Zanies is too easy a target. “Such an honor performing in the room Anne Frank hid in from the Nazis,” he says. “How many years was it? Five years? Wake up Annie, war’s over.”

“Change, change is happening everywhere, except for the décor at Zanies. Some things will never change. Sam Kinison, still pissed off about it,” he says while gesturing to a colorful painting of Kinison on the wall, then notices the outlets and electrical knobs on stage that appear to have not been replaced since 1978. “Oh, we’ll have an electrical fire any second. This is great.”

The audience eats it up; some clap in agreement, some hide their blushing face within their hands and others hold their stomachs to keep their intestines from bursting open. Obviously, Ross—the current “Roastmaster General” for the New York Friars’ Club—is just doing his job, which is to insult the most beloved of society’s institutions, even Chicago’s favorite stand-up club. “I love this place,” he says later with as much earnestness as you’ll hear from a comedian in character.

The scene really hasn’t changed too much since November of 1978, when Zanies first opened its doors at 1548 North Wells. Back then, people came looking for a couple of laughs and now, thirty years and thousands of comedians later, Chicagoans still look to Zanies (and its more recent incarnations in the suburbs and in Nashville) for an outlet away from their troubles, to spend to an evening with just their significant other, a couple of drinks and someone who can make them forget how much their job blows.

There is one thing about tonight’s scene that’s different, though. In the back of the room, next to the side exit, there’s a small space where Bert Haas used to stand—and if he were present, he’d probably smile at the beating Ross was laying on his club and take pleasure in knowing the audience was erupting at every second of it. But God bless his soul, Bert Haas is no longer with us… he had to leave early because he’s still recovering from knee surgery. A shame, right?

Alive and well, Haas, the executive vice president of Zanies (”The reason that it’s ‘executive vice president,’” he says, “is that it gives the impression there’s more than one vice president.”) spends most of his time booking comedians, both up-and-coming new talent and established headliners and spreading the good word: his belief that Zanies is the “hottest club in the country.”

“One of the reasons we’ve succeeded for thirty years, it doesn’t matter who you see at Zanies, you’re gonna laugh,” Haas says. “That’s my guarantee. I will say that to anybody. You may not laugh at every joke, but you will laugh, and at the end of the show you will have enjoyed yourself. If you don’t, call me and I will give you a refund.” He claims no one has ever taken up the offer.

Opened in November of 1978 by the sole owner, Rick Uchwat, Zanies started as an all-around entertainment club—improv, stand-up, music, etc.—before focusing purely on stand-up in 1980 and capitalizing on the comedy boom in the early eighties, having since survived economic recessions and the perception of Chicago as an “improv town” (not to mention the rise in popularity of Andrew Dice Clay). Bill Maher, Sam Kinison, Emo Phillips, Jerry Seinfeld, Jim Gaffigan, Drew Carey, Dave Chappelle—these are simply a random smattering of the comics who have performed within Zanies’ tight confines.

Certainly, Zanies’ track record indicates Haas and Uchwat have an impeccable eye for fresh talent, having spent the last three decades booking relative no-names who, lo and behold, emerged as megastars.

“If you had gone to Zanies in 1982 you would’ve seen Jay Leno, you would’ve seen Jerry Seinfeld, you would’ve seen Richard Lewis,” Haas says. “If you would’ve gone to Zanies in the nineties, you would’ve seen Sarah Silverman and Lewis Black and Doug Stanhope and Dave Attell. And now in the 2000s, you’re going to see the next crop of comedians, whether it be Michael Palascak or Hannibal Burress.”

Seeing the stars of tomorrow—today! A nice concept (especially when not involving Ed McMahon or Simon Cowell), but Zanies takes the novelty to another level, offering to see these future icons in a tiny comedy club with a little bit of that rickety, old-school storefront atmosphere.

“[At larger venues], the comedian tells the joke, and the joke goes out to the audience almost as a wave, which means that people at different parts of the room hear the joke and respond to it, so then the laughs come back in a wave,” Haas says. “Whereas at Zanies in Chicago, the room is so small, the laughs explode. And the whole room responds at once. And the result is just an explosion of laughter on a hot joke.”

Ask anyone who’s been to Zanies—comedian or audience member—and the word that will come out of their mouth: “intimate,” an apt description for a venue that seats only 160. Make no mistake, they pack em’ in. A quick glance of Ross’ sellout crowd looks like a tight assembly of heads, bodies, tables, beer bottles, pizza slices and a thin aisle for apron-donned waitresses to skirt through. Jackets stay on, as there’s a slight but steady draft that filters through the room. But the desired effect is achieved: you can’t help but laugh when you’re that cramped.

“David Letterman keeps his studio I think at sixty degrees when he tapes his show,” Haas says. “People complain all the time, they wear winter coats in his studio. It’s to keep the audience cold so they’re alert and paying attention. If it’s warm, then they get groggy and they don’t pay attention.”

The stage may not be large, but it rises higher than normal, and a small ledge coming off of it serves as a place for the front row to put their drinks, although the comedian could kick the bottles back in their face if they wanted to.

“If you have some sitting in the front row, sometimes you feel bad because you’re like, ‘Did I clean my shoes enough?’ says Chicago comedian and frequent Zanies performer Patti Vasquez. “You know because sometimes they’re staring at your feet, that’s how high the stage is.”

The relatively small capacity of the crowd—along with the typically cheery spirits of a comedy-club audience—has an interesting effect: you feel like you’re in this together. Couples who were strangers five minutes ago now feel like they’re, at the very least, distant cousins. “Yeah, the economy is in the tank, but, dammit, tonight we’re gonna laugh our asses off,” seems to be the mood. There’s almost a family-reunion feel to it all, and the comedians can sense it.

“What I like about Zanies is the Chicago atmosphere, and for the Chicago comedian, it’s coming home,” says Chicago comedian Tom Dreesen. “It’s like, to me, you’re performing in your living room. It’s like you’re performing for your family, like performing for people in your backyard, your neighbors.”

“You go to another club, you have to be on your best behavior, and there I can pretty much do or say what I want, they’re not going to get rid of me,” says Larry Reeb, another Chicago stand-up veteran. “It’s the security, I guess.”

Vasquez shows up even when’s she not performing. “I’ve headlined all over the country, but it just feels like it’s my place to hang out sometimes,” she says. “I probably come across as a little bit crazy when I walk in there and no one knows who I am if they’re not from Chicago. But it’s my favorite place to perform.”

Haas admits that Zanies, like any other comedy club, has their fair share of hecklers and that the late-show Fridays can get a little testy because the audience is usually “tired and/or intoxicated,” but the comedians seem to feel that an intelligent Chicago crowd finds the perfect balance between crowds in New York and L.A.

“You get all different kinds of audiences, I would say the best audiences in the country, really,” Vasquez says. “Because Chicago doesn’t have that sort of ‘make me laugh’ attitude that New York does, and they’re not as laidback as L.A. They’re very smart and fun.”

“There’s no other city in America to me that supports their entertainers like Chicago does,” Dreesen says. “Chicago’s not spoiled, it’s not New York or L.A. Chicagoans pull for you, they cheer for you, they want you to do well.”

And then, after rising through the ranks from emceeing to featuring to headlining, Dreesen says Chicagoans will support comedians to do one more thing: get the hell out of here. And be nationally successful, of course.

“Chicago’s a great city to start out in, it’s very supportive, but at some point they’ll want you to leave, and show the rest of the world they were right about you. They want you to go out and be nationally known,” he says. “I make the analogy [that] it’s like your family. If you leave your family at 19 years old, you’ll break their hearts. But if you come back a success, they adore you at 24, 25. Stay with your family till you’re 35 years old and see how much they adore you.”

Many comedians who’ve graced the stage at Zanies have since moved to bigger and better things, but in a way, they’ve never left, and not in that corny “their spirit still resides within these walls” fashion. An incredible collection of framed, signed press photos of hundreds of comics who have worked there fills up virtually inch of the wall, a visual spectacle that demonstrates just how expansive the Zanies’ lineup has been over the years, not to mention how bewilderingly bad some of their hairstyles were (a captivating number of mullets are on display).

Todd Barry’s balding head shows up multiple times, as well as a very serious, clean-cut shot of “Full House”’s Dave Coulier, and a picture of Jimmy Fallon that looks like he’s about ready to audition for the Backstreet Boys. One could spend hours trying to read every message written on these photos, but here are some favorites:

“Rick, let me explain why I suddenly look like Bobby Darin.” —a young and innocent-looking Tim Allen

“I’ve never worked here.” —Jerry Seinfeld

“After I’m done signing this I’m going to do wild, convoluted-like dances around the club. Because I feel like it.” —Jeff Garlin, from the late 1980s (guessing from the photo)

“Who you laughing at, Butthead?” —Tom Wilson, better known as Biff from “Back to the Future”

“Thanks for getting that coleslaw from my throat! (I’ll buy you a new buzz saw).” —Emo Phillips

When the comedians sign them, there’s a name that shows up on a hefty number of photos; here’s one reference: “Bert, you suck balls. XO,” from Chelsea Handler. Haas’ name, followed by some well wishes or some sarcastic insult, is a common theme. And for good reason.

“He’s probably, without question, one of the best, if not the best, comedy-club manager in the country, because he’s been doing it a long time,” Dreesen says. “He knows the comedians, he knows their skills, he also knows how to treat them like human beings, and he also knows how most of them are all nuts, so he knows how to deal around their idiosyncrasies.”

“Bert’s like my brother, really,” Reeb says. “We used to live together, we used to room together for about a year. And then I got married, and he hates me for it because then he got married. We should have stayed together. I’m like, ‘Why didn’t you stop me?’ But he didn’t.”

A sociable fella with a penchant for traditional punchline/payoff comedy, Haas came oh-so-close to not even landing in this profession. His original plan in 1980 was to go to a German college for grad school in economics, but taking a waiter job at Zanies for the extra cash to send him there unknowingly changed his life.

“One thing led to another. I was the waiter, then I was the floor manager, then the manager, and then I never went back to Germany,” Haas says.

That’s lucky for comedians, who seem to love the guy. His wife included: squeaky-clean Chicago comedian Sally Edwards, who met Hass while he was an aspiring manager and she an aspiring comedian. (”We like to think of ourselves as the first couple of Chicago comedy,” Haas says.) But the way comedians describe their own kind, it seems like it would take extra effort to figure out how to best suit their needs.

“Comedians are a rare breed,” Dreesen says. “This is an observation of forty years of being in the business—eighty-five percent of all stand-up comedians are insecure, neurotic, sometimes psychotic, love-starved wrecks. And the other fifteen percent are gifted, confident people who say, ‘This is what I do. I know how to write a joke, I know how to tell one. And I can get up on the stage and be as comfortable on that stage as I am in my living room.’”

“There’s a certain amount of narcissism and self-hatred that’s involved in comedy,” Vasquez says. “Because it can be very painful to expose what you’re thinking, what your take on life is, whether it’s your philosophy or what you think is funny, and it doesn’t always work, and to be judged so immediately on that. Bert is very good at supporting comics and giving them a safe place to work.”

When asked about comedians and their sometimes-erratic tendencies, Haas shrugs it off. “Comedians have this terrible reputation of being ‘Oh he’s neurotic, he’s crazy, he had a bad childhood,’” he says. “I think we all have our baggage to carry, and I have to say that out of the thousands of comedians I’ve met in my career, I can name two or three that I would prefer to never have to meet again. Two or three out of a thousand.

“Are they neurotic? Yeah. But there’s a lot of ego involved in what they do,” he continues. “Most people, if you ask them what their number one fear is, it’s speaking in public. These guys do it for a living every night.

“I used to drive Jay Leno around in my Mazda, I used to take him to press gigs,” he says, to emphasize how deep-rooted some of his relationships are. “I knew Jay, I knew him as a person, so I don’t really get impressed with celebrities anymore.”

“My friends don’t know what Zanies is,” quips Hannibal Burress, in his feature-act routine for Jeffrey Ross. “I was like, ‘Yo, I’m doing Zanies tonight.’ He was like, ‘You need to leave those pills alone.’”

For those with enough knowledge to know that Zanies exists and the curiosity to wonder what goes on behind its kooky, crooked-lettered sign, there’s certainly been plenty of stories to tell when they stepped out. Just one example, from Tom Dreesen, who picked this one from his memory of favorite Zanies shows:

“One night, there was some noise out in front of the venue when I was performing,” he says. “It got a little bit louder, so I took the microphone off the stage and went out in the street while the audience stayed where they were, and I began interviewing people out on the street. [I'm] getting huge laughs inside because Harry Caray was coming over to see me, and Harry happened to be on the sidewalk, trying to get in, going, ‘Hey, How do I get into this goddamn place?’ not knowing that we were on live. I had this microphone in my hand, but he still didn’t put the two together that I was on stage.

“One of the things I said is, ‘Harry, my biggest fear when I go on is everybody notices you, they’ll be looking at you, they won’t pay any attention to me.’ ‘Aw, that’s bullshit.’ I said, “No, I’m telling you Harry. You know how they love you here in Chicago.’ Anyhow, when he went inside they gave him a standing ovation, cheering and everything, and by that time I was on stage, I said, ‘What’d I tell ya?’ You know, it was one of those magic moments that you look for in comedy.”

Sometimes these magic moments fall from the comedy gods onto an unsuspecting crowd at Zanies and it’s the unpredictability of comedy that has helped keep Zanies afloat for so long. When asked what’s made him enjoy stand-up comedy so much to stay in the business for this long, Haas says it’s partly because he also likes, of all things, westerns.

“You know there’s something about the one-on-one of stand-up comedy that I think is so cool,” Haas says. “It’s kinda like the gunslinger, you know, the ‘High Noon’ aspect. With stand-up comedy, it’s just the performer, it’s the one guy or girl, with a microphone and the audience. There’s no sketch material to fall back on, there’s nobody else to fall back on. It’s just you up there.”

By Valerie Jean Johnson

“In the puppet theater, the text is important, but not as important as the performance itself,” says Blair Thomas, founder and artistic director of the eponymous Blair Thomas & Company, the puppet theater he established in 2002. For six years, the Chicago-based company has focused primarily on touring shows, traveling the globe with their highly unique, multi-dimensional productions. 2008, however, marks the year that Thomas and company have decided to establish new roots in Chicago, launching their premiere season in the city. Following their inaugural show at DCA Theatre this fall, “Cabaret of Desire,” a comedic look at poet Frederico Garcia Lorca (directed by Hypocrites’ Sean Graney), Thomas moves his crew to the Museum of Contemporary Art this week with the Zen Buddhist parable, “The Ox-Herder’s Tale.”

The decision to initiate a home-city season, Thomas explains, “is to establish a regular presence in the city, and to participate in the dialogue that exists in the creation of new work in Chicago.” Founder of the lauded Chicago spectacle theater, Redmoon, Thomas left the company in 1998 to follow other artistic pursuits, including teaching at the School of the Art Institute and co-curating the Chicago International Puppet Festival. Interested in puppet theater from a young age, Thomas is a self-taught puppeteer and puppet maker, combining his background in the traditional actors’ theater with his interest in visual art and performance to explore the unique possibilities of a staged world where puppets are hardly pawns, they are the stars of the show.

“[Most important] is what is said by the presence of the puppets onstage, what gets said by the other visual elements that are incorporated. So the language that is being used in the puppet theater is innately more collaborative because its got the elements of actors’ theater—dramaturgy, story—that are going on, but you also have the physical properties of the kind of puppet you’re working with and the fabricated environment that its functioning under. And then I choose to incorporate music as a primary component as well. I want to find text that allows these other forms to come to fruition.”

And so Thomas was drawn to the story of “The Ox-Herder,” a fable told through a series of ten paintings, each accompanied by a short verse that, while not well-known in the general Western culture, has inspired various interpretations and distinctive depictions from a slew of visual artists throughout its history. While the texts that correspond to the images, which are not attributed to a single author, certainly play their part in Thomas’ world of “The Ox-Herder’s Tale,” the story is primarily based in the visual images. “The script for ‘The Ox-Herder’s Tale’ is only about fifteen pages long, so it’s a very short  piece of text—though that’s actually a lot of text for the puppet theater. It’s a lot to contend with. For me the source of the primary material for creating work has ranged from musical compositions to poems to, in this case, a collection of paintings. I’m also interested in things that have some sort of resonance in our culture,” says Thomas.

In “The Ox-Herder’s Tale,” music is unquestionably a central element, driven by a continuous live percussion score performed by renowned musicians Michael Zerang and Hamid Drake. But it is, of course, the puppets who take center stage. Utilizing the traditional Japanese puppet style bunraku, which uses life-sized human-doll puppets manipulated by performers masked all in black, as well as a a towering bull, guided by a stilt-walking performer, Thomas’ elaborate creations require the skills and commitment of extremely well-rounded artists to bring them to life. “I look for performers who can deliver lines like an actor, but can also think conceptually like a director in the process as well as have physical skills like a dancer, in some cases be a musician as well,” he explains. “The nexus point of interest in the contemporary puppetry movement is the relationship between the puppeteer and the puppet—it’s a defining characteristic of what’s going on today. The reality is that you can kind of conceive some ideas, but you’ve got to get the puppet in the room, and you’ve got to get the actors in the room, and then the text if there’s text and the music, and you’ve got to find out what kind of convention is going to be believable. It’s a process of discovery.  The puppets are easily cast, then we have to find out who are we in relation to them, rather than who are they in relation to us.”

At Museum of Contemporary Art, 220 East Chicago, (312)280-2660, Through November 30.

Signal Ensemble’s well-designed, fast-moving production of John Guare’s modern classic about intimacy, identity and our obligations to other human beings succeeds in bringing to life the play’s characters and humor but misses the mark emotionally. The problem starts immediately with the first scene of a frantic Upper East Side couple struggling to come to terms with being taken in by a young black con artist who calls himself Paul; their absurd search for possessions and posturing in his-and-hers satin robes and dress shoes sets a farcical tone that’s further underscored throughout the show, especially with the appearance of the younger generation in the play, over-the-top spoiled college students who squawk without restraint at their parents; and a funny but utterly distracting chase scene between the rich couple and a totally nude male prostitute whom Paul has brought to their home. The problem with these elements of absurdity and spectacle is that they eclipse the important relationship of the play, which is that of Paul and the wife who comes to feel responsible for him, even to love him (and whose line “I am a collage of unaccounted-for brushstrokes” glosses this production better than her famous monologue about the torture of human relationships) These two actors, especially Bryson Engelen in a admirable performance, struggle to express their connection, but by then the audience is just waiting for the next laugh. (Monica Westin)

At the Chopin Theater, 1543 W. Division, (773)347-1350. Through December 20.

RECOMMENDED

“Jarred: A Hoodoo Comedy” is the title of Tanya Saracho’s new play for Teatro Luna at Chicago Dramatists and, as the title may suggest, the writer is keeping things on the light side this time around. Returning to familiar themes she previously penned in “Lunatica(s) and “Quita Mitos,” Saracho here explores the Latino fascination with superstition and faith-based myths through the story of a jilted young woman who will do anything—including dabbling with Spanish-based witchcraft (Santeria) and magic (Hechiseria)—to get her boyfriend back. It’s deliciously funny and full of the sharp observations (“Ah, why are we saying “white girl” like that? Like it’s an insult. Sounds so angry Latina. We’re not angry Latinas. We’re the evolved kind.”) and sassy quips that have always characterized Saracho’s writing. And as for her trademark Spanish-sprinkled, colloquial English dialogue, I find it to be less slick than as in previous productions and a little more raw, as if the author is more trusting that her English-speaking audience will get the meaning and impact of a line, even when not overly translated. A chunk of text such as “You think there is no other man in the ocean. Pero mi’ja as soon as you get some new cuchichi with somebody else, se te olvida este carbon descara’o” not only sparkles in two languages, but also resonates in performance with a brisk bilingual energy that nobody but Saracho is tapping these days.

If there are any cavils to acknowledge, it’s that at first glance “Jarred”—especially following on the heels of the emotional powerhouse that was “Kita y Fernanda” at Berwyn’s 16th Street Theatre earlier this fall—will seem at best like a Latina version of an episode of “S-e-x-O and the City,” with the appropriate young woman “types” and even a leftover sitcom stock character in the person of “Jarred’s” Lulu, a lovable ditz straight out of “Three’s Company,” not as funny as Suzanne Sommers’ iconic Chrissie Snow, but definitely funnier than her replacement on that series (anyone remember Jenilee Harrrison as cousin Cindy?). More often than not, however, Saracho’s understanding of these “types” defies formula, and her compassion for them—you get a sense that Saracho is writing from the heart because it all smacks of the truth—allows the characters and their egotisms to be drawn without prejudiced. If Saracho was channeling Chekhov in “Kita,” here she reminds me of early Wendy Wasserstein, specifically the late Pulitzer-Prize winner’s 1983 “Isn’t it Romantic” in her understanding of young women, the endurance and limits of female friendships, and the sacrifices and crazy things we’ll do to be loved.

It’s the perfect vehicle for a quintet of actresses to exploit their brains, beauty and bilingual capabilities: Dana Cruz (in the neurotic-obsessive Carrie Bradshaw role); the ravishingly beautiful and strong-willed Yadira Correa (think Samantha because she gets all the great dirty lines); Marie Antoinette Flores as Lulu; and the author herself in a sweetly comedic supporting role. Finally, the incredible work of actress Miranda Gonzales cannot be overstated. Playing diverse “Señoras” (Latina fortune tellers) throughout the play, she assumes no less than three perfectly-sounding Spanish regional dialects with which to handle Saracho’s challenging and quick-paced dialogue.  My prediction?  It will cast a spell on you. (Fabrizio O. Almeida)

At Chicago Dramatists, 1105 W. Chicago, (773)878-LUNA. Thu-Sat 7:30pm/Sun 6pm. $15. Through December 14.

RECOMMENDED

“You say you want a Revolution, well you know,” there are pieces that talk about it and then again, there are pieces that actually start one. Napoleon considered Beaumarchais’ “The Marriage of Figaro” the straw that broke the camel’s back that ushered in the French Revolution and, even today, France’s leading newspaper Le Figaro is named after the fictional servant who outwits his aristocratic master. How badly did the French public want to see “Figaro” when it finally was staged in 1784 after having been officially banned for six years? So badly that that play had to be moved to a larger theater before opening night and even so, people were actually crushed to death trying to get in. Fast forward almost two-and-a-half centuries, and what comes to mind now for most of us is Mozart’s opera adaptation, still universally performed and far less explicitly political, versus the Beaumarchais original, which is today mostly done merely as a curiosity. Even Remy Bumppo’s ads trumpet, “A risqué look at what’s behind the music.”

Those Mozart and opera lovers who will doubtless inevitably catch this production will be immediately struck by the fact that this production weighs in at less than two hours, including a single intermission, whereas an uncut version of the opera can take up to four hours. Much has been edited and altered—sometimes entire scenes and characters are missing while contemporary slang referring to male anatomy is added—in this free adaptation and translation by Ranjit Bolt. Yes, you do miss Mozart’s music when situations arise that seem to demand hearing it, so much so that Remy Bumppo has added other music, much of it in a post-World War II Euro-pop style associated with contemporary French farce which further underlines the comedy rather than the serious issues behind the comedy. A particularly fun moment is when the maids all set aside their dust mops and end up picking up their skirts and aprons to do an impromptu “Can-Can,” complete with Offenbach’s music.

What often remains ambiguous, however, are the class distinctions that need to be drawn to make the action credible. Yes, Figaro is given a provincial Robin Leach-like British accent but he comes off as if he owns the place, whereas the Count is initially monotone and timid and only slightly better-dressed and could well pass as the same age as Figaro. (The comedy depends on the fact that the Count is old, rotund and decrepit, making his interest in fulfilling his “rights” as master of the house with his much younger and more handsome valet’s girlish fiancé all the more outrageous.)

But there are aspects of this production aside from the fact of how rarely such an historically important play is performed that make it worthwhile, particularly the sight gags and comic timing, which are superbly done and fun. And the timely discussions about what politics, if anything, has to do with intelligence and the notion that truths are lies that are repeated often enough to be believed got the biggest laughs in these waning days of a vocabulary-challenged administration that likes preemptive strikes and sees hallucinatory WMDs. “If things keep up as they are,” muses the Count, “the next thing you know, the lower classes will be running the whole show.” (Dennis Polkow)

“The Marriage of Figaro” plays through January 4, 2009 at the Greenhouse Theater Center, 2257 N. Lincoln, $40-$55, (773)404-7336.

A promising absurdist satire about Marxist revolution and the lampooning of the bourgeoisie that ultimately loses its focus in a crescendo of incoherence and farce gone amok. Beata Pilch works hard to invigorate the story of a middle-class family’s rise and fall in a generic proletariat uprising turned fascist regime, where the feminist daughter alone resists and is destroyed, and there are a lot of choices in the production to admire, from a sixties sitcom laugh track in domestic scenes to an inspired Devo soundtrack. The real problem, though, is that nothing in the story feels particularly fresh, and no matter how much theatricality the production achieves (a lot, and probably worth a visit to admire the acting and technical theater alone), the cleverness of director and talented actors doesn’t accomplish as much as they deserve. While the language of “The Unconquered” is often poetic, there’s a “broken record” trope of repeated lines that simply becomes redundant, and as the main antagonist morphs from a somewhat compelling southern-boy soldier to an Austrian fascist practicing mind control with a TV remote, it’s hard to know if the show asks to be taken seriously at all. There are a few powerful scenes, including an unforgettable John Kahara as the dweeby father who brings roadkill home for dinner during the famine of war, and all four actors work superbly with what they’re given, but Trap Door’s admirable impulse to stage difficult plays outdoes them this time—Betts’ play just doesn’t do anything innovative, and even with all the creativity put into this production, the show feels dated and somewhat derivative. (Monica Westin)

At Trap Door Theatre, 1655 W. Cortland, (773)384-0494.Through December 19.

RECOMMENDED

In the vast pantheon of Christmas theater, “Dublin Carol” is unique first and foremost because it is a play powerful and eloquent enough be performed outside of the holiday season. Yes, every minute takes place on Christmas Eve, but Irish playwright Conor McPhearson’s 2000 booze-soaked retrograde riff on “A Christmas Carol” might well be called “Anatomy of an Alcoholic,” so powerfully does it give its audience a phenomenology of what the ravages of alcoholism do to an individual as well as all those around him or her.

We have all been on the receiving end of the endless boozy broadcasts that veteran Chicago actor turned “CSI” television star William Petersen as John relentlessly and convincingly gives in “Carol.” As he is boring and alienating his 20-year-old assistant Mark (Stephen Louis Grush) to death, he tells Mark about a bartender who had “a good listening quality” and adds, “You have it, too.” Sure. It’s called being held hostage. Booze tends to clog up receivers, i.e., the ability to listen and respond to others and their needs, but often does wonders for broadcasting a wealth of useless information that sounds like wisdom under the influence but like the crap it usually is to those who are sober. And yet, every now and then, some truths cut so deeply that even the effects of the bottle cannot fully numb them.

The “redemptive” moment, if you want to call it that, is an unexpected visit from John’s daughter (Nicole Wiesner) that he hasn’t seen in ten years, coming to courageously ask him to come visit her mother and his estranged wife, who is dying of cancer. After an endless self-absorbed checklist of sins of commission and omission and a powerful confession of squandered attempts to get his life back together along the way, his daughter asks if he had to do things all over again, would he do things differently? In an inverted “It’s A Wonderful Life” response, John tells her that he just wishes it had all just “never happened.” “Do you wish I had never happened?” she voices, to no response. It’s one of those moments that you hope will imitate art when it happens in real life, but most often, doesn’t. His silence speaks volumes that she of course, can interpret as a lack of love for her personally, but the reality is that this is a man that hasn’t been able to love himself nor feel much else in decades, and to make matters worse, admits as much, drunk or sober.

Aside from one of the most eloquent monologues on the manic hell of alcoholism from the inside out (McPhearson has made his struggle public and, curiously, his more recent “on the wagon” plays are less monologue-like and feature more character interaction and narrative than his earlier soliloquy-filled “off the wagon” plays) perhaps the most fascinating aspect of “Dublin Carol” is that it does not reach for the formulaic finale of most Yuletide yarns. Exactly what happens to John, who already has ignored his daughter’s plea not to drink before coming to the hospital, is never fully revealed under Steppenwolf ensemble member Amy Morton’s direction (her first Steppenwolf project back home since her Tony Award-nominated Broadway role in “August: Osage County” although she’s set to open the same role in London this week), though fascinatingly, audience members coming out of the opening were sure that it had. Does he go, or does he sit around continuing to soak himself in denial and self-pity? There are strong staging hints in both directions, to be sure, but we are left in the ambiguity that a world anesthetized by alcohol tends to approximate. (Dennis Polkow)

“Dublin Carol” plays through December 28 at the Steppenwolf Upstairs Theatre, 1650 N. Halsted, $50-$70. (312)335-1650.

RECOMMENDED

The pristine, unabashed beauty of Lar Lubovitch’s choreography is on display in a series of affordable performances this weekend at the Harris Theater. The company is celebrating its fortieth anniversary with an accessible program of favorites—appropriate for a choreographer known for a certain populist camaraderie in his ensemble staging. A one-hour lunchtime performance on Friday costs less than your meal and features two works: “Concerto Six Twenty-Two” and a grand ensemble piece set to Dvorak serenades. Two performances will be held Saturday—a family matinee appropriate for ages six and up and an evening show that includes “Dvorak Serenades,” “Jangle”—a new piece set to Hungarian dances—and the award-winning “Men’s Stories.” (Sharon Hoyer)

At the Harris Theater for Music and Dance, 205 E. Randolph. (312)334-7777. November 21 and 22. $5-$75.

RECOMMENDED
Rape has long been a terrible weapon of war. But the sexual violence associated with the recent civil conflict in the Democratic Republic of the Congo has reached unprecedented levels of brutality.  Lynn Nottage’s “Ruined” is a riveting, poignant examination of Congolese women and their struggle to survive the unspeakable.

Mama Nadi (Saidah Arrika Ekulona) is a savvy businesswoman who not only survives but profits from the war by offering food, drink and female company to soldiers on both sides. She takes in two abused women, shunned by their families for being raped. Together, they navigate the baffling intricacies of wartime politics.

The top-notch ensemble shines throughout. Ekulona’s no-nonsense Mama is a rock of compromise and negotiation; Condola Phyleia Rashad  is luminous as the “ruined” girl Mama hopes to save. But Quincy Tyler Bernstine’s raw portrayal of a woman enslaved by soldiers stops the heart. She is a wonder.
(Lisa Buscani)

At The Goodman Theatre, 170 N. Dearborn, (312)443-3830, through December 7.

Newcity’s Best of Chicago 2008 has been released. Here are the Stage items:

Best production of a play you may have expected to be boring

Best rise of the undead

Best way to disband a performance company

Best five dollars you can spend on a Thursday night

Best non-senior, non-student discount

Best onstage mess-making

Best theater production (in the last year or so)