Travis Turner, Michael Pogue, Grace Gealey, Allen Gilmore/Photo: Michael Brosilow

RECOMMENDED

Though its setting is seventeenth-century French aristocracy (it premiered in 1666, near the beginning of Louis XIV’s reign), Molière’s “Misanthrope” is a wholly contemporary play. The misanthrope, Alceste, is channeled in many people we all know, either professional critics or self-styled ones who see themselves as outside of and superior to prevailing society. And the coquettish Célimène, with her entourage of suitors and hints of promiscuity, is the very model of the contemporary female pop star.

Add to this the bracing wit in the text, delivered in rhyming couplets, and you have a work that derives its effectiveness in production from casting and pacing. In this regard, Court Theatre’s new rendition, directed by artistic director Charles Newell, succeeds rather well. Erik Hellman soars as Alceste, with a crisp sense of character undercut by a pervasive self-doubt often conveyed physically as well as in line delivery, and the court of suitors for both Alceste and Célimène are a grab bag of drama queens of various ilk, delivering laughs in gesture as well as word.  Read the rest of this entry »

Photo: Michael Brosilow

Late in Neil LaBute’s ”In The Company of Men,” the most deplorable character I’ve ever seen in a domestic drama relaxedly watches “Seinfeld” after confessing to horrid acts of objectification and betrayal against a woman in the name of the masculine drive to dominate. “Seinfeld” is the head honcho of cruelty on television, going so far as to end its nine seasons with a courtroom condemnation of its characters’ collectively awful behavior. Punished or not, we loved every cruel nickname, prank and misadventure, regardless of the emotional casualties along the way. Read the rest of this entry »

Photo: Tim Morozzo

RECOMMENDED

Few works of theater have the adrenaline-fueled urgency of “Roadkill.” But it’s not the familiar rush of exhilaration; it’s the primal clamor for survival that pulsates so fervently in this hopeless crypt. During this brusque, profoundly upsetting performance, the heartbeat quickens to prepare for a gutsy sprint away from your captors. Directed and conceived by Cora Bissett with a text by Stef Smith, “Roadkill” is truly that invasive. Sex trafficking, the subject of this British import, is typically resigned to the police blotter, in one ear and out the other. Knowing of the world’s emotional detachment to a rampant international crime with victims so forlornly voiceless, this team has dragged us screaming into an immersive space to tell their story, that of a young life destroyed by child prostitution. Late in this sickening tale, I found myself saying, “Oh, my God. Oh, my God.” in a hushed tone on repeat.

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Photo: Michael Brosilow

RECOMMENDED

Full disclosure: I, Lisa Buscani, am the 1982 Ohio State Duet Acting Champion, a card-carrying, pin-wearing member of the National Forensic League. Hold your applause. I took it seriously, almost as seriously as the three high-school students featured in the American Theater Company’s reboot, outcasts desperate for a voice, a forum “where the adults are forced to listen.” The piece brings back great memories and makes salient points about the rough road of adolescence. Read the rest of this entry »

Photo: Austin D. Oie

If the actors in a play ever exit the stage and invite you to leave, maybe you should. Red Tape Theatre’s “Lear” is a pseudo-sequel to Shakespeare’s “King Lear,” though audiences may struggle to find the connection. Written by renowned playwright Young Jean Lee, “Lear” often tells universal truths or at least exposes our shallow internal monologues about vanity and aging. Read the rest of this entry »

Photo: Claire Demos

The biggest revelation of Craig Wright’s “Orange Flower Water” is that it wasn’t written in 1982. Wright, a playwright particularly relevant after the recent Broadway production of his “Grace,” directed by Dexter Bullard and starring Michael Shannon, wrote his emotionally charged evisceration of marriage, infidelity and divorce in 2002. The Chicago premiere took place in the Steppenwolf Garage in 2003. Read the rest of this entry »

Photo: Michael Brosilow

As Rhea Perlman walks into Lou’s, the kind of neighborhood bar you wind down the holidays at, a warm sensation creeps its way from your toenails to your topmost follicles. Carla is back, and everybody knows your name. But the bar in Bruce Graham’s speck of a play, “Stella and Lou,” doesn’t embrace its patrons quite like Cheers. Maybe it did once upon a bottle, but its glory days are far gone as not-for-fun watering holes like Lou’s aren’t so popular among the young. Youth versus old age is a divide Bruce Graham’s play does not want you to forget. Read the rest of this entry »

Photo: Lara Goetsch

The hubbub in the men’s restroom at Lincoln Center’s Mitzi E. Newhouse Theater a couple years ago was highly energized. During intermission of J.T. Rogers’ “Blood and Gifts,” a thriller of overseas political intrigue reflecting America’s early role in present-day Middle Eastern affairs, the matinée audience was abuzz with verbal crossfire and indignation.

Some decried the play as anti-American, while others refused to embrace its representation of American arms sales to Afghan fighters in the struggle with the Soviet Union during the 1980s. Despite their misgivings over Rogers’ history, factually uncontroversial as it may be, I was tickled pink to hear a bathroom back-and-forth about the play’s content rather than its quality. “Blood and Gifts” has the piss and vinegar to provoke such fevered responses, being refreshingly aggressive during a playwriting era in which nuances have nuances. Read the rest of this entry »

“The Football Play” at the Den Theatre is like when your attention-deprived five-year-old wants to put on a show in the living room. It’s incoherent and overloaded with misplaced energy. This experimental play conceived by Trent Creswell is loosely structured around the idea that theater is a lot like football. It’s an interesting concept to consider, but often the sketch-comedy style of this piece does not support this, or any argument. Read the rest of this entry »

Photo: Liz Lauren

There is churchly ambiance to “Henry VIII,” which opened Wednesday night at Chicago Shakespeare Theater. Catholic clergymen clad in red vestments descend the central aisle to the stage in grand and contrived fashion. There’s enough shimmering hung fabric for another papal coronation, and the palpable vibe among the attendees is one of religious obligation—a common drive for Shakespearean theatergoers, believing the Bard to always be of crucial cultural significance, no matter the delivery. That push is even stronger in this particular instance.

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