RECOMMENDED

A semi-update of Chekhov’s masterpiece, with modern interpretations of lines and the addition of American folk music, which sometimes works perfectly, such as when characters burst into a Bob Dylan song over too much vodka, and sometimes distract from the story itself. Director Zeljko Djukic seems to understand that the production will be subservient to the play, and it shows; the actors seem a bit intimidated by the script, and the tone switches wildly between Shakespearean and romantic-comedy. But even with its awkward moments, actors still carry themselves and the play admirably, with particularly strong performances from Trey Maclin and Andy Hager as the increasingly desperate Vanya and the alcoholic, visionary doctor respectively. In the end, it’s an achievement and a beautiful one, with a sublime set and gorgeous, if sometimes distracting, costumes, which, like the rest of the show, are lovely if not always helpful to the play itself. (Monica Westin)

At the Chopin Theatre, 1543 W. Division, (773)278-1500. This production is now closed.

RECOMMENDED

Seeing a Pinter play on stage is, for me, a somewhat trepidatious enterprise: like Chekhov or Shakespeare, there is fragility in Pinter’s savage poetry that can easily become leaden, impenetrable in performance. How surprising then that Mary-Arrchie’s “Caretaker” feels rather light, goofy even, with little sense of the menace or danger that hangs thick in this play on the page. But director Hans Fleischmann’s “slapstick” approach is surprisingly effective for the most part, inducing an (unexpected) steady stream of laugh-out-loud moments throughout. Some excessive mugging does slow down the inherent clip of Pinter’s dialogue at times, and the dialects falter during some of the lengthier speeches, but Richard Cotovsky (Davies), Dan Kuhlman (Mick) and Todd Lahrman (Aston) navigate the idiosyncrasies of Pinter’s world (made fantastically claustrophobic by scenic designer John Wilson) with an almost grimy glee—delivering a genuinely fun and disarming production of a play that could otherwise take itself much too seriously. (Valerie Jean Johnson)

At Angel Island, 731 W. Sheridan, (773)871-0442. This production is now closed.

By Fabrizio O. Almeida

“The longer we have this conversation the more I feel uncomfortable by it.” Actor Lea Coco is addressing the subject of his looks. “This is going to sound strange but during my short time in Los Angeles the type they kept sending me out for was ‘the most incredible-looking guy you’ve ever seen.’ And I wanted to say, ‘You know, regardless of what I look like I just don’t feel like that is who I am.” Eric Rosen, who is directing Coco in playwright Douglas Carter Beane’s comedy “The Little Dog Laughed,” says, “Lea is a rare bird in Chicago. He’s a super-handsome, super-talented thirty-something actor—he is very valued here because of his type.”

If, as one casting director recently noted, “Good-looking actors don’t stay in Chicago,” then the 30-year-old Coco, who proudly calls the Windy City home, is indeed a rare bird. A rare bird and a chameleon: in “The Little Dog Laughed” he plays a secretly gay film star; at the Chicago Shakespeare Theater he’s played princes and paramours; at the Steppenwolf he was a fervent missionary who was almost beheaded. And yet. “It’s a constant question. People are constantly leaving for Los Angeles. If I remain here the stage work will be consistent and with the occasional film I’ll be okay. The other side of me thinks I’m crazy for not leaving while I’m still viable to try and cash in as much as I can. I don’t think any actor living in Chicago has illusions of becoming insanely famous or making a lot of money.”

So why the second city? “People in the industry here are much more willing to accept an actor as having many different faces. And in Chicago if you’re a hard worker and committed to your craft it actually matters. And sometimes in these other cities it can feel like those things are fourth or fifth down the list. People want to work here and they want to see you do good work here.”

Perhaps Coco’s work ethic stems from his upbringing. Born in Louisiana, his grandfather and father owned a cotton gin before tough times forced the family to move to Mississippi, where his father became a machinist and his mother was a secretary. “I threw the discus all throughout high school. I had a discus scholarship to go to Louisiana State and my aspiration was to become an Olympic athlete.” Given Coco’s strapping 6’2” frame, it’s easy to imagine the all-American farm boy throwing discuses into the skies over an Elysian cotton field. Coco erupts into a hearty baritone laugh. “No, not in the cotton fields. Although that is a very romantic image of the poor Southern boy.”

Although a shoulder injury cut his Olympic aspirations short, it also led him to the drama department and a spot in his first show, the school musical. (“I know it sounds cheesy but I really had a really magical experience doing ‘Camelot.’”) Two unfulfilling years at the University of Alabama followed (“majoring in beer”) before Coco enrolled in Pittsburgh’s prestigious Carnegie Mellon University, a four-year conservatory program known to still cut students when they’re not making the grade yet graced with a reputation for turning out well-trained stage actors. Rosen concurs. “Lea looks and seems like a film actor but has the talent and skills of a stage actor. He’s fiercely dedicated to the idea of ensemble. He’s a theater guy. I just wish he’d do more film. Then he could build a retirement fund.”

This year that retirement fund may grow. “The Relic,” a movie set to be released this spring, will feature Coco alongside a cast of seasoned film actors including Tim Daly, Edward Herrmann and Robert Prosky. And in May he’ll perform in “The Lion in Winter” at Glencoe’s Writers’ Theatre. “After that I’ll keep my fingers crossed and hope for the best,” Coco says. “I subscribe to the ideal—you’re an artist and the more you think about how you’re going to be a better artist and the less you think about how you’re going to make money doing this, everything will take care of itself.” And then with perfect comic timing he adds, “Maybe this is why I’ll be begging on the street when I’m 65 and there’s no more social security.” Doing Chekhov, perhaps? “Yeah, doing Chekhov…maybe alone…on the street corner…for pennies.”

“The Little Dog Laughed” is now in previews and opens January 15 at Center on Halsted, 3656 North Halsted (773)472-6469.

 RECOMMENDED

I’ve always maintained that a production of Chekhov that didn’t leave me laughing and crying in equal measures had seriously missed the mark. But Raven Theatre’s very funny revival—direction by Michael Menendian and straightforward translation by renowned playwriting teacher Jean-Claude van Itallie—has temporarily changed my mind. Perhaps it’s due to the fact that of Chekhov’s four major plays, “Sea Gull,” with its delicious send-up of artistes and their vainglorious self-absorptions, is probably the one that can lend itself best to a heavily comic interpretation and still manage to provide an entertaining—if emotionally lightweight—evening. Clearly this is Raven’s approach and it’s a perfectly respectable one, more so because Menendian has prevented the acting from slipping into parody, a common pitfall. Read the rest of this entry »

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Life as Chekhov depicted it may have been no bowl of cherries on the Prozorov estate, but it apparently beats the hell out of present-day Moscow. Janusz Glowacki’s updated fable shows its debt to “Three Sisters” primarily through frequent campy litanies of desperation. Its three sisters transfer their longing from the cesspool of corruption that the Russian capital has become to the shining center of a new world order: Brighton Beach. But even Neil Simon’s old stomping grounds have been poisoned by mobbed-up capital. The eponymous Stiopa (Kim McKean), the orphaned stepsister who’d be Cinderella if Cinderella were really a guy, crosses the ocean only to end up clawing his/her way out of imprisonment in a brothel. Did I mention that this is a comedy? Glowacki’s frenetic script never cuts its pitch-black wit with sentimentality, and Trap Door Theatre’s ferocious production attacks the tangled plot with brio. Even though Nicole Wiesner’s Tania occasionally takes her cartoonish role over the top into stridency, and the second-act business involving an accordion player remains pretty impenetrable, the cast’s savage energy and intelligence nevertheless make of Glowacki’s bitingly funny play another feather in Trap Door’s vagabond cap. (John Beer)

This production is now closed.

The last time I saw two productions of “Three Sisters” back to back was seven years ago in New York City, when the Brooklyn Academy of Music hosted a memorable Russian-language production courtesy of the 100 year-old Moscow Art Theatre while a Lower East Side storefront ensemble offered an ambitious but poorly executed modern dress version. History more or less repeats itself via two divergent productions currently on the Chicago boards. Unlike Strawdog Theatre’s polished, delicately observed production (see separate listing), Livewire’s contemporary crack at Chekhov’s masterpiece—it’s not only modern dress but also “like, totally” modern in its sensibilities—is beset with the typical missteps of amateurs attempting Chekhov: a ponderous pace; self-indulgent speechifying, histrionics; audacious choices but with little textual support and/or psychological motivation. Robert Tenges, a respected Chicago playwright whose writing is known for its economy of dialogue, lyricism and rich subtext, here produces a crude adaptation devoid of poetry but packed with potty-mouthed pronouncements, as if substituting expletives for emotions would automatically imbue this “Three Sisters” with the urgency it desperately needs. Disappointing. (Fabrizio O. Almeida)

Livewire Theater at Holy Covenant United Methodist Church, 925 W. Diversey, (773) 412-8089. Thu – Sat 8pm/Sun 4pm, 10/30 & 11/06 4pm & 7pm (no perfs 11/4th & 5th), $10 – $12 Through Nov 13th.

RECOMMENDED

I once read that Shaw had complimented Chekhov on his observation that a character such as Hedda Gabler—in the real world—would have been tragic if she hadn’t pulled the trigger in the end. This perspicacious insight into human nature clearly informed “Three Sisters,” Chekhov’s classic tale of—simply put—people capable of escaping their humdrum existence with the purchase of a train ticket yet who never make it past the driveway. Under the helm of discriminating director Kimberly Senior, Strawdog Theatre’s beautifully acted and beautiful-to-look-at revival never loses sight of the play’s universal theme of emotional stagnation in lieu of simple self-assertion. And it brims with moments of palpable poignancy and humor ensuring a strong Chekhovian mix of ineffable mirth and melancholy. Doe-eyed Irina’s joyous yet desperate leaps into the lap of surrogate father, Chebutykin; Masha’s lounging on the floor that belies her languid irritation; Tuzenbach’s humorous then verging-on-volatile gestures as physical manifestations of unrequited love, to name a few. Senior’s tight visual and psychological focus on life’s recognizable minutiae and her excellent ensemble’s interesting choices (traditionally bookish and ineffectual Kulygin here is a monstrous control freak like I have never witnessed before) ensure that Chekhov’s theatrical cri de cœur remains a haunting, moving and ultimately sympathetic sound. (Fabrizio O. Almeida)

Strawdog Theatre, 3829 N. Broadway, (773) 528-9696. Fri – Sat 8pm/Sun 7pm, $15 – $20 Through Nov 19.

Chekhov never said that a box cutter introduced in the first act should wind up in someone’s jugular, but maybe he would have been driven to such extremes if he’d spent enough time trapped in the soulless exurban setting of Angus Maclachlan’s “The Radiant Abyss.” Maclachlan’s play begins with sex, ends with violence, and in between devotes a fair amount of histrionic speechifying to religious fundamentalism and the general decline of the world into anarchy. The antiheroic saga of security guard Steve Enloe (Eric Burgher) three-timing his ditzy and overworked girlfriend Ina (Whitney Schaffer) with manipulative property manager Erin (Carolyn Klein) and an unseen fifteen-year-old, “The Radiant Abyss” leavens its Mamet lite with murky suggestions about a new church encroaching upon Erin’s strip-mall fiefdom. Director Darrell Cox keeps the pace moving swiftly in Profile Theatre’s production, while Klein blends a chilly authority with barely suppressed rage in her portrayal of Erin. But the play is hampered by its essential silliness and the casual brutality of its characters. Its labored attempts at shock deliver only a muted impression, because the action on stage, for all its brand-name efforts at realism, never achieves more than a passing resemblance to the behavior of real people. (John Beer) 

This production is now closed.

RECOMMENDED

Apple Tree Theatre’s current, moving revival of Chekhov’s classic dramatization of hilarious and heartbreaking “scenes from country life” works largely in part due to a fluid and modern-sounding interpretation/translation by playwright Brian Friel, dubbed by some critics as the “Irish Chekhov” given the penchant of his own plays—“Dancing at Lughnasa,” for example—to poeticize the everyday ennui of unfulfilled lives in the provinces. In this “Vanya,” a richness of subtext and subtlety abounds alongside flights of fervid fancy, most notably those of Ross Lehman as the eponymous antihero. And though it is unfair to single out any one member of the strong ensemble, it is Lehman who more than any other actor effortlessly achieves—through vocal inflections and simple gesticulations—the most cogent exploration of his character’s many psychological layers. The play is clearly set in the Russia of yesterday but director Mark Lococo and his team of designers have eschewed any easy period associations to keep the spirit and feel—like Friel’s language—current. Whether adorning a period-like costume with a contemporary touch (a denim skirt for the otherwise demure Sonya; a polo for the handsome Astrov) or giving the actors a playing area (a studio-like, in-the-round platform with minimal props) versus a naturalistic setting, the design choices clearly help this “Vanya” straddle the past and the present, allowing for a group of nineteenth-century-inspired languid Russian landowners to teach twenty-first-century audiences a thing or two about the human condition. (F.O. Almeida) Read the rest of this entry »

RECOMMENDED

During the intermission for Steppenwolf’s production of “Cherry Orchard”—which uses a snappy new translation by associate artistic director Curt Columbus—I found myself sandwiched between two people going at it about George W. and the war in Iraq. At the time, all I could offer up was silence. I literally shut down. When the future looks so dismal, how do you avoid drowning in the sludgy dread of it all? For once, I actually empathized with Chekhov’s inertia-maniacs. Madam Ranevskaya (called Lovey here) has just returned home to her rural Russian estate to deal with a vexing matter: the house and its prized grounds (including the unblemished cherry orchard) will be auctioned off unless she can come up with an alternate way to pay off her debts. The practical solution is to lease the land out for summer cottages. It’s an option Lovey and her equally ineffectual brother deem too “vulgar.” And so they while away the months hoping that hope will make their problems magically disappear. Self-reinvention is a real bitch, especially when you’re on the wrong end of a financial statement. Amy Morton is quite good as Lovey. There’s a moment in particular that stands out: “Paris is over,” she says, tearing up a telegram from her ex-lover, and then quite suddenly she falls back a little. It’s awkward and sad and it happens in an instant. While there are other small, equally wonderful moments, the total impact of director Tina Landau’s production is oddly neutral—like the scrims of white lace designed by Riccardo Hernandez surrounding the audience and actors. You can’t help but wish for a few stains. (Nina Metz)

This production is now closed.