Carolyn Defrin/Photo: Michael Brosilow

RECOMMENDED

The House Theatre’s sharp eye for design saturates its production of “Rose and The Rime.” The whole piece is a stylish endeavor, from Collette Pollard’s icy set design, to Lee Keenan’s lighting, to Debbie Baer’s hip, harmonious costumes, right down to the fancy-schmancy playing-card programs. But it’s difficult to cut through the gloss and whimsy to find a story worthy of the images that support it.

The small Midwestern Town of Radio Falls is imprisoned in an eternal winter by the Rime Witch. Indomitable Rose (Carolyn Defrin) vows to free her town, and sets off to battle the witch and bring back the Magic Coin that can save it. The multitalented cast sings, dances and capably handles the movement work necessary to the show’s look. But they are never given much to say, and the show suffers. Deconstructions are fun, but so is meaningful dialogue. (Lisa Buscani)

At the Chopin Theater, 1543 W. Division, (773)251-2195. Through May 9.

As first reported by Chris Jones at the Trib, About Face is Chicago’s first theater company to go public with a full-blown recession-fed survival crisis, which includes postponing their spring show. The full press release follows.

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By Valerie Jean Johnson

Dali’s “Dream of Venus.” The Dust Bowl. Daniel Day-Lewis. 80-year-old former showgirls turned bar owners who still bring the geriatric men to their knees. The speculated life of a mysterious neighbor lady who dies alone in her bramble-covered shack. The people, places, ghosts and gamines that find their way into Heather Woodbury’s newest work, “Last Days of Desmond Nani Reese,” come from every nook and cranny; lifelong memories and imagined realities, history books and contemporary cinema—the then, the now, the what will come.  A tale of two women from very different worlds—a feminist scholar on a research trip and the aged stripper  she’s traveled across the country to interview—“Last Days” marks a departure in form for the critically acclaimed writer/performer. For nearly thirty years, Woodbury has been crafting epic solo plays, including “Whatever,” the 100-character, eight-night episode “performance novel” that was featured on “This American Life” and published by Faber & Faber; or the six-act saga about the Brooklyn Dodgers move to Los Angeles, “Tale of 2 Cities,” which began as a solo show, was transformed into a multi-actor play, and then nabbed an Obie for ensemble performance. But in this latest piece, Woodbury has “scaled back”:  two characters, two acts. “Whereas my previous work is more symphonic,” Woodbury explains, “this is more like a very intense chamber piece.”

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RECOMMENDED

The first thing one notices are the cherry trees. Yes, I know it’s called “Cherry Orchard” but not every production of Chekhov’s final play will choose to visually illustrate the one thing that is keeping a gentrified family in fin de siècle Russia up all night, the reason why spendthrift matriarch Madame Ranevskaya, behind on her interest payments and in danger of foreclosure, refuses to cut her losses. Topical, anyone?

In director Kimberly Senior’s revival for Strawdog Theatre, the cherry trees line the back walls of the theater, cluster in the middle of the playing area and sport branches that encroach upon the performers who must gently navigate around them—sometimes at the expense of a fluid entrance or graceful exit. This can only be intentional, Senior having found in Anders Jacobsen’s cramped scenic design a visual metaphor for Chekhov’s inevitable finale in which the old guard, clinging on to their privileged lifestyles, are being forced out by social change. Topical, anyone?

It’s a respectable and intelligent read on the play, yet one I’m afraid that makes these self-centered characters more prone to laughter than love. After all, if there’s little sense of the beauty and inspiration that the cherry orchard imparts on these sentimental fools who refuse to leave it, they run the risk of coming across as just fools and not the flawed human beings deserving of our sympathies. It’s a challenge any director and designer would face staging this particular Chekhov in such an unforgiving and claustrophobic space like Strawdog’s, where bad sightlines even prevent key “what’s at stake” moments from fully registering (the first time Ranevskaya takes in the cherry orchard; her reaction to Trofimov’s entrance). As well, given that the trees never lose their visual predominance, there’s little distinction between the cluttered state of the estate in Act I, and Act IV, when everything has been lost and the family is surrounded by emptiness. An emotional element goes missing.

Alas, I’m cherry-picking my quibbles in a production that offers so much more, like great actors, Senior’s trademark emphasis on ensemble and a brisk pace that sees this “Cherry Orchard” clock in at around two hours with intermission. As Ranevskaya, Jennifer Avery, whose Natasha in “Three Sisters” remains for me one of two definitive interpreters of that role, drops hints of knowing awareness even as she builds a fragile façade of smiley-faced indifference. She’s still much too young for the role, but by the end appeared to have aged right before my eyes. As her sometime nemesis/admirer Lopakin, Jamie Vann’s obsequious turn makes you realize this onetime son of a peasant never lost his servant mentality and desire to fit in, but he needs to hint more at the conniving social climber within to pull off his third act coup of class revenge. Curt Columbus’ translation—colloquial and comic—emphasizes the laughs and appropriately suits Senior’s light and comic touch. But I missed the perfect balance of tragedy and comedy that characterized her sublime “Three Sisters” three years ago. Let’s hope it’s not another three before her next visit to the doctor. (Fabrizio O. Almeida)

At Strawdog Theatre,  3829 North Broadway, (773)528-9696.  Fri-Sat 8pm/Sun 7pm.  $15-$20.  Through March 28.

Tre Dumas

Each winter, the Chicago Human Rhythm Project hosts a festival of hoofing—a weekend of workshops, master classes, youth scholarship auditions and, customarily, performances by local and national greats. This year, in lieu of live performances, the Winter Tap JAMboree will feature a Saturday night screening of documentary film “The Wonder Kids,” the story of a small tap school that served as safe haven and muse to at-risk kids in inner city LA. Tap legends Savion Glover and Debbie Allen along with Dick Van Dyke (an old hoofer himself) appear in the film, bearing witness to the good works of Paul and Arlene Kennedy—the founders of the school who are credited with saving the lives of thousands of kids throughout their career.

“This film brings home the urgency of reaching out to young people in rougher neighborhoods,” says CHRP director Lane Alexander. “There are schools in Chicago doing similar work in the African-American community: Mayfair Academy, the Sammy Dyer School on 72nd. We want to generate awareness in the community.”

The Winter Tap JAM is, first and foremost, the CHRP vehicle to identify and support promising young dancers across Chicago. Scholarships for the annual Rhythm World series of classes are awarded to kids between the ages of 12 and 18 on the basis of both talent and need; the result is a diverse group of teenage tappers who will spend one to two weeks of intensive study under the tutelage of some of the finest dancers in the field.

“The kids wind up working together, choreographing together, applying to college together,” says Alexander. “That’s the most rewarding part: to catch these kids in the ignition stage, when you can ignite their imagination and affect a whole life.”

The Sunday afternoon scholarship audition—dedicated to dancewear designer and arts patron Leo Harris—is open to the public; attendees will have the opportunity to vote for one $1000 scholarship recipient. If you’re planning to cast a vote, come early and don’t forget your shoes; intermediate through beyond-advanced classes with local masters, including Tap JAM director Tre Dumas, are held all day Saturday through Sunday morning. (Sharon Hoyer)

At the Beverly Arts Center, 2407 W. 111th St, (773)281-1825. Feb 28-Mar 1. “The Wonder Kids” screening February 28, $10.

RECOMMENDED

Shirley Mordine founded her Chicago-based contemporary dance company during the height of postmodernism. This year, that same company turns 40, begging the question of what “contemporary” means for a culture now exiting (for want of a better term) post-postmodernism, a culture still struggling to encapsulate the last two-score years. Mordine & Company plucks at the tenuous line between past and future with a world premiere, “Illuminations,” inspired by the tension between—appropriately for the times—“memory and hope.” In a video interview, Mordine states her insatiable curiosity and forward momentum, but there are plenty of affectionate glances back on the anniversary program this weekend too. Mordine & Co alum—a few of whom have gone on to establish prescient movement companies of their own—will join to perform hallmark pieces of Mo&Co repertory from the last three decades. Margi Cole’s Dance COLEctive will perform the 1975 piece “Three Women”; Same Planet Different World stages “I haven’t heard from you…” from 2003; and the company, along with guest alumni, will present a revamp of “Songspiel,” originally choreographed in 1980 and set to the deliciously wicked music of Kurt Weill. The Saturday night gala performance additionally features Mordine performing her 1981 solo “Silver Lining.” (Sharon Hoyer)

At the Dance Center of Columbia College, 1306 S. Michigan Ave. (312)654-9540. February 26-28, 8pm. $24-28.

Stillman, Schwimmer

Lookingglass Theatre’s revival of “Our Town” has its touching moments, some fine acting and has been sensitively directed by Anna D. Shapiro and Jessica Thebus, so along with the fact that a recognizable “name” (David Schwimmer) is in the cast who will undoubtedly sell tickets, I guess Lookingglass has an easy hit on their hands. But the production is so lacking in theatrical vigor, emotional involvement or intellectual stimulation that I left the theater wondering if Thornton Wilder’s 70-year old drama has dated badly, was overrated to start with or failed to move me because it doesn’t speak to my personal life experience. I’m pretty sure my ambivalence is the result of all three. Indeed, this is the kind of evening you describe in annoyingly equivocal statements: it’s not bad, but it’s not that good; it isn’t boring, but it isn’t exciting either.

“Our Town,” of course, is Wilder’s sentimental look at small-town American life in the fictional village of Grover’s Corners (population 2,600) at the turn of the twentieth century. The play spans thirteen years over three acts but is so dramatically inert that all the action blends together into one seemingly continuous day in the life of the Gibbs (the town doctor, his wife and their children) and the Webbs (the town newspaper editor, his wife and their children). They live the kind of lives where wives gossip over the stringing of beans and a trip to the battlegrounds of the Civil War counts as a holiday vacation. Nobody has to worry about AIDS, bad credit scores, job security or mushrooming mortgage payments. Instead, their hearts are captured by nature (birds; the changing of seasons), their minds molded by the non-threatening literature of “Robinson Crusoe” and the Bible. To say that life depicted in “Our Town” is dull and conservative is an understatement: Thornton Wilder makes Chekhov look like Joe Orton, and Grover’s Corners makes Lake Wobegon look like Sodom and Gomorrah.

It isn’t until the final act that “Our Town” delves into darker waters, when Emily Webb (Laura Eason), whose courtship with and marriage to George Gibbs (Schwimmer) has been charted in the first two acts, dies in childbirth and returns from the dead to pronounce that life’s too short and that humans take the little things for granted. “There’s something way down deep about every human being that’s eternal,” ponderously proclaims the stage manger (Joey Slotnick). And in case the message doesn’t immediately register, Janice Pytel’s cream-colored neutral outfits—linen suits for the men; blouses and skirts for the women—have by this point adopted an anachronistic splash of modern dress (jeans; khakis) or a black-colored piece of clothing to drive home this play’s universal and grim sentiment.

If this revival had found a greater purpose than as a nostalgic trip down an exclusive memory lane, or become something other than the theatrical equivalent of comfort food, I may have bought into it. If it had found an invigorating way to present an old war horse, I probably would have swallowed it hook, line and sinker. (Compare this revival to Sean Graney and the Hypocrites’ take on Eugene O’ Neill’s “The Hairy Ape” at the Goodman—problematic, but at least a risky endeavor attempting to make a statement of modern times via a classic text.) About the only nostalgia I experienced was when scenic designer John Musial’s imaginative set was in full flourish: hundreds of feet of Christmas lights strewn in and around the lighting instruments and bric-a-brac of everyday life (furniture, miniature houses, the moon), suspended high above the empty playing space and suggesting a heavenly cosmos of twinkling lights. It reminded me of John Napier’s celestial junkyard of a set for the musical “Cats,” had that design been turned upside down and hung from the roof.

And yet. The play’s durability proves that the piece speaks to millions of Americans on some level. On opening night, it clearly spoke to the middle-aged couple who were clasping hands like high-school sweethearts during George and Emily’s courtship scene over an ice cream soda. And it obviously spoke to the beaming single father of two young daughters in the front row, whose loving and protective embrace seemed to intensify as the show progressed. Maybe for them, “Our Town” is their town. For me, sitting through this play was like being stuck at the Cracker Barrel for two hours with a bunch of boring Republicans. (Fabrizio O. Almeida)

At Water Tower Water Works,  821 N. Michigan.  Wed-Fri 7:30pm/Sat 3pm.& 7:30pm/Sun 3 pm. $30-$60.  Through April 5.

RECOMMENDED

In Lifeline Theatre’s “Mariette in Ecstasy,” postulant Mariette Baptiste (Brenda Barrie) joins the Sisters of the Crucifixion as a minor celebrity; her initiation is greeted with pageantry by townspeople. When she experiences what may be a divine encounter, she shatters the group’s fragile order. Is she God’s chosen or an attention-seeking poseur?

Christina Calvit’s adaptation of Ron Hansen’s best-selling novel initially fails to dramatize the cost of an ecstatic experience. The first act is cluttered by exposition; conflicts are alluded to and never resolved. But the ensemble captures the struggle of the faithful as they seek God, and the doubt and pain created by an “answer.” Barrie quietly depicts Mariette’s fiery religious passion; Sarah Goeden’s unrequited devotion to Mariette is heart-wrenching. Elise Kauzlaric’s direction effectively establishes the order’s punishing routine and pushes the performers to delve deeply into the characters on Alan Donahue’s spare yet vivid set. (Lisa Buscani)

At The Lifeline Theatre, 6912 N. Glenwood, (773)761-4477, through April 5.

RECOMMENDED

Dirty jeans, an Iron Maiden t-shirt, a Jason Lee-esque mustache–comedian Glenn Wool may be from Canada, but he kinda looks likes a hillbilly, the type that makes fashion decisions based on Hulk Hogan’s wardrobe and drinks PBR for the smooth, full flavor. Slightly slurring through a truly bizarre set list of topics—“superhero drinking,” dinosaur deities and gaining entrance into “Jewish heaven”–Wool reasons and speaks like another lovable oaf, Chris Farley. And Wool doesn’t shy from opinion (often shouting such opinions with the passion of an angry Steve Zahn), making simple, silly commentary on social and political issues, with Al-Qaeda as comedic target #1. “Hate the West? I don’t get that. How primitive is your hate that it requires a flat earth?” he asks. “Al-Qaeda’s gonna learn, man. Once China gets in charge, you’ve got to treat your religion like it’s an illegal drug. ‘OK son, I’m gonna drop some coins towards Mecca, you pick em’ up and pray really hard and I’ll watch for cops.’” (Andy Seifert)

February 27-28 at Lakeshore Theater, 3175 N. Broadway, (773)472-3492, 7:30 pm and 10:30 pm. $15.

RECOMMENDED

The Strange Tree Group’s current production of Emily Schwartz’s “The Dastardly Ficus and other Comedic Tales of Woe and Misery” has been getting a lot of buzz within theater circles and there is a clear reason.  This artfully constructed gem, directed by Amanda Berg Wilson, is the kind that you want to take home in your pocket so you can get a closer look whenever its macabre imagery pops in your head, which will be often.  Everything I love about Edward Gorey, Roald Dahl, and any fairy tales with wicked stepsisters or spinster aunts is currently living warmly in the basement of the Chopin Theater, nestled in the lovely scenic work of Kate Nawrocki and the playwright.  The story is that of the Derbyshire sisters, Geneva (Carol Enoch), the buttoned-up matriarch and Jennifer (Nancy Freidrich), the disheveled free spirit who would rather be bogging for dead things than suffering under her sister’s conservatism.  The series of scenes in the first act sets up a codependent, dysfunctional family relationship that comes to a whirling cacophony when Jennifer invites home a gentlemen suitor for Geneva in the second act. What makes “The Dastardly Ficus” so fun is the talent of these two women.  Enoch can stare daggers through a coffee table and elicit fear from a potted plant while Freidrich is devilishly childlike in a way that leaves the most delicious taste in your mouth.  This production is a special engagement of the show that started the company five years ago and I’m left with one big question.  Where is the sequel?  These characters have way more life in them. (William Scott)

At The Chopin Theater, 1543 W. Division, (773)598-8240, strangetree.org. Through April 4.