Kelly O'Sullivan and Cliff Chamberlain

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I remember reading Martin McDonagh’s “The Lieutenant of Inishmore” when it was first published several years ago and thinking that it was the kind of play that Quentin Tarantino might have written had he been a playwright.  I still think this is partially true, at least for the part of the play that demands mutilated pussy cats, human craniums splattering open and onto walls and the severing of human bodies into small pieces, all of these disturbing stage directions simulated, of course, but nonetheless staged convincingly in Theatre Northlight’s perversely enjoyable new revival of the play.  On opening night I couldn’t decide what was more entertaining, watching the performance or keeping my eye on the woman sitting one row in front of me, looking pissed and uncomfortable as she kept flashing a “why did you bring me to this?” angry gaze to her male companion.  Unfortunately for him, she was probably a cat person or card-carrying member of the Anti-Cruelty Society. Read the rest of this entry »

Here’s what I can tell you about British playwright Chris O’Connell.  He worked as a probation officer in the 1990s, which clearly informed his preoccupation with derelict characters struggling for control.  9/11 happened while he was writing the three plays that established his cutting-edge style (1999-2003′s “Car,” “Raw” and “Kid”), and by the time this triptych of short plays was revived in London as “Street Trilogy” in 2005, the atrocities of Guantanamo Bay had depressingly come to light.  Finally, he’s a writer known for working with innovative theater companies who have best served his pieces by infusing a heightened sense of storytelling with multimedia savvy.  So it’s easy to understand what inspired O’Connell’s new play “Zero” as well as why those technical whiz kids at Oracle Productions would want to be the first to secure the American rights, which they have for this US premiere.  Unfortunately, as this disappointing and ultimately dull experience proves, even a few technical tricks can’t save what is essentially a mediocre play. Read the rest of this entry »

Phil Timberlake and Peter Greenberg/Photo: Suzanne Plunkett

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For a tiny island in the middle of a rough sea, England is so very dry, a dryness aptly demonstrated in Lifeline Theatre’s witty, intelligent “Busman’s Honeymoon.” The fourth in the “Lord Peter Wimsey, amateur sleuth” novels, this installment finds Lord Peter (Peter Greenberg), new wife Harriet (Jenifer Tyler) and ever-capable manservant Bunter (Phil Timberlake) honeymooning in their country house. Murder and mayhem ensue with all the stereotypical trappings: suspicious family members, disgruntled employees and a police constable who says “What’s all this, then?”  Some things are clichés for good reason.

Reprising their roles, Greenberg and Tyler endow their characters with affection for each other and a good mystery. One difference: this story doesn’t stop with the catching of the killer. It follows Lord Peter through the trial and sentencing and shows the toll justice takes: the media frenzy, the execution. Who knew setting things right could feel so wrong? (Lisa Buscani)

“Busman’s Honeymoon” at Lifeline Theatre 6912 N. Glenwood, (773)761-4477. Through June 21.

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Anchored firmly in a bizarre nineteenth-century America, a young and hyperbolically Italian woman named Maria (played by a dynamite Allison Bills) emigrates to Niagra Falls to pursue a career in daredevilry, joining an almost indescribably peculiar group of characters in an often stream-of-consciousness but always focused comedy of striking talent. The show is, above all else, obsessed with the nature of performance itself, and “Daredevilry” combines elements of stand-up, improvisation/sketch comedy, cross-dressing, sitcoms, historical reenactments, vaudeville and early radio in a kind of mishmash spectacle of the history of the American stage.  There’s almost nothing reining in director Timmy Mayse, who includes absurd marionettes on tightropes, a digression into Willy Wonka song and a particularly strange scene of torture involving ring pops; in other words, the show could have been an utter disaster. Instead, it’s a triumph of comedy, like the most brilliant sketch carried through to its insane logical conclusion, where smart work with double casting and repetitions of motif add layers of meaning that lift “Daredevilry” into the world of “real” theater. The cast, mostly all improv actors, are (not surprisingly) at home with inhabiting awkwardness, and when the show occasionally falls flat on its face, their ability to inhabit that brief failure makes the experience an even more refreshing relief from drama’s usually anxious fourth wall. (Monica Westin)

At The Annoyance, 4830 N Broadway, (773) 561-4665. Through June 13.

A trip through the rabbit hole of American mythology, presenting small-town girls, hustlers, pimps and seen-it-all grizzly men, brought together by constant bottles of shared whiskey. The show walks a fine line between charming and corny, and for every powerful image—LaQuin Groves as a traveling carnival barker for a crocodile with whom he shares a poignant personal history—there’s a helping of nostalgia that’s sometimes hard to swallow. The play is framed by a creepy, cackling old man from the South, who insists to a silent itinerant named Chuckles (a cross between Harpo Marx and Chaplin’s tramp) that if he’d just stop and look around he’d notice what an interesting country he’s in. Chuckles then appears as a low-level employee in interweaving tales of lost American dreams, pushing a broom around different sets that roll on and offstage like pop-up illustrations in a children’s book. “American Notes” is well-acted and visually conceived, and there are a number of sharp, funny lines, especially surrounding its most compelling character, F. Tyler Burnet’s paranoid has-been professor, now conspiracy theorist, who insists to a tabloid reporter that he sees shadow people made from a great sea of psychic debris. By the end of the second act, though, when a brokenhearted man finds solace in the innocence of a night clerk in a middle-of-nowhere motel, and the two of them compare stories about their dying fathers, sheer melodrama finally completely drowns out more subtle explorations of character and place.  (Monica Westin)

At Prop Thtr, 3504 N Elston, (866) 811-4111. Through June 7.

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This year marks the one-hundredth anniversary of Burnham and Bennett’s monumental plan for Chicago—an overarching vision of civic buildings, railroad systems, lakefront renovation and boulevard chains conceived at the very dawn of urban planning. Though Burnham’s Paris on the Prairie came to only partial fruition, the Plan remains at the core of Chicago’s identity, as representative of the Big Shoulder’s world- (and nature-) beating tenacity as our backward-flowing river. This weekend, as part of the citywide Burnham Plan Centennial celebration, The Moving Architects present a new work inspired by Union Station—its history, architecture and “location for modern human transience.” Artistic Director Erin Carlisle Norton and company collaborated with musician Ian Hatcher in this physical meditation on travel and the human spirit. (Sharon Hoyer)

At Church of the Epiphany, 201 S. Ashland (312)343-2840, May 15 and 16, 8pm. $15 in advance, $18 at the door.

The superficial public image of the ugly American, with stereotypes firmly anchored temporally in the Bush era, slowly gives way to the inner agony of the private American at home through a series of almost a dozen ten-minute plays. The first half focus on America’s sense of itself in the world, with a few very clever plays at the beginning confronting our baffling image of other cultures (“Ten Minute” and “Plain in the Land of Shinar”) that lead to more heavy-handed and less interesting explorations of America’s relationship to war. The second group of shorts considers the American individual’s repressed rage, paralysis and idealism, mostly through lots and lots of soliloquy. As usual with the side project’s year-long festival of short work, there’s a strong sense of how a group of pieces can engage in conversation, but perhaps ironically, the most stereotypical American characteristic of “Atom Smashers” is its generally unwavering belief in an audience that cares deeply about others’ inner angst. One of the plays, “Maraschino Red,” does undermine this sense, with playful jabs at a successful American family man who whines about the lack of excitement in his life, but more often characters release their inner grief and anger with little self-consciousness, and sitting through the second half is a lot like being a fly on the wall during someone else’s therapy session. (Monica Westin)

At the side project theatre, 1439 W Jarvis, (773) 973-2150. Through May 17.

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She may not claim to have coined the phrase “you fat fuck,” but New York stand-up/actress Susie Essman certainly popularized it. As the bat-shit-insane wife of Jeff Garlin’s character on HBO’s “Curb Your Enthusiasm,” Essman has pulled out nearly every scathing combination of profanities in the English language in order to deride the completely whipped Garlin and his partner-in-crime, Larry David. For a show that builds its comedic foundation on unscripted arguments, Essman has proven to be a bulldog that’s escaped from its leash, willing to tear apart Garlin and David for the audience’s continued amusement. Aside from “Curb,” Essman’s been touring the stand-up circuit for a couple of decades, and while a lot of her routine is still very much insult-driven, much of the act fixates on her Jewish heritage, replete with many rousing impressions of her family that remind heavily of the old Mike Myers’ “Coffee Talk with Linda Richman” SNL skit. (Andy Seifert)

May 17 at Zanies, 1548 N. Wells, (312)337-4027, at 6:30pm and 8:30pm. $30.

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In terms of a “number of words” to “fits of laughter” ratio, is there anyone more efficient than Boston comedic legend Steven Wright? The guy rarely wastes a line for a setup, but instead unleashes an unrelenting assault of slowly delivered, melancholy one-liners, sometimes only requiring three or four words for a joke to payoff (example: “I’m addicted to placebos”). Perhaps the best in the biz at balancing comedic delivery with quick witticisms, Wright probably owes much of his fame to his immediately recognizable croaking monotone (cleverly employed on “Dr. Katz” and “Reservoir Dogs”), which lends itself perfectly to the absurdity and irony he pushes (case in point, I couldn’t imagine “I’m addicted to placebos” working for the convulsive stylings of Dane Cook). Wright’s brevity means a typical set consists of hundreds and hundreds of jokes, and a night full of nonsensical wit. A personal favorite: “Lately I’ve been trying to feel healthier, so I eat a lot of vitamins, but I don’t know. Do you know how many vitamins you have to eat to be full? One good thing though, the color of my urine is a-ma-zing. It’s like going to a laser show.” (Andy Seifert)

May 15 at Vic Theatre, 3145 N. Sheffield, (773)472-0366, 8pm. $35.

Mackenzie Kyle, Claudia Garrison/Photo: Dean La Prairie

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Ibsen’s “Hedda Gabler” is either a modern woman acting out against an oppressive society or a shrew who needs a hobby that doesn’t involve guns. Either way, the Raven Theatre’s new production of the 1890 classic is a well-portrayed, smartly executed chess game played by a woman who wants more.

Hedda (Mackenzie Kyle) is a brittle beauty who has married beneath her to affable, naïve George (Ian Novak).  Bored, she wreaks havoc on her brilliant ex Eilert (Ian Paul Custer) and her former schoolmate Thea (Symphony Sanders). Kyle deftly walks a razor-thin line of control, keeping Hedda’s frustration-fueled bitchiness in check until her second act spin-out; even then she makes the character’s insane personal agenda plausible. Novak tugs at the heartstrings as George, desperate to find the love in a woman can’t love him. Andrei Onegin’s lovely set is beautiful valise one should open with care. (Lisa Buscani)

“Hedda Gabler” at the Raven Theatre, 6157 N. Clark Street. Through June 27.