Meg Warner, Greg Matthew Anderson and Jeff Cummings
There is more than one lens through which to experience Tom Stoppard’s “Travesties:” One can know everything there is to know about James Joyce, Lenin, Dadaist Tristan Tzara and 1917 Switzerland, and die to revisit it, adore “The Importance of Being Earnest” enough to see it mucked about with, and all technically without Lady Bracknell, or one can throw back the draught of champagne that Stoppard serves up with this word-operetta, and attempt to follow the various hounds.
Director Nick Sandys’ hand is so deft as to be invisible, save for moments when an actor must be sent to a mostly front corner of the rather three-quarters playing space, turn their backs to many, and give their faces to the few who have purchased a ticket for a less advantageous seat. Joe Schermoly’s books-books-more-books set is so right that one hardly notices the increasingly asthma-producing, begrudgingly disturbed mold wafting from the spaces’ carpeting. Playing everyman Henry Carr, Jeff Cummings is in an impish high-tenor; to experience his performance is to be jealous not to be in his shoes, alternated by thankfulness that the responsibility for that warren of verbal and physical dance is not our own. Becoming both a new member of the core company of American Players Theatre and the Remy Bumppo ensemble must make this a heady time for Kelsey Brennan, but her lace-gloved, iron-fisted Gwendolen seems in no need of smelling salts; she commands where she may. If still damp-eared artistic director Sandys is the obvious successor to the retired James Bohnen, artistic associate Greg Matthew Anderson is Bumppo’s new Sandys, and models that mantle’s delicate combination of insouciance and pedantry with his faultless Tzara. Read the rest of this entry »
Hollis Resnik/Photo: Michael Brosilow
In Court Theatre’s world premiere of “The Good Book” we follow the lives of Miriam (Hollis Resnik) and Connor (Alex Weisman) as they struggle with their personal faith. Miriam, who ironically has a biblical name, is an atheist biblical scholar and college professor. She tells a zealous Christian student who is opposed to her teachings, “We have to build separate rooms, one for the mind and one for the heart.” In Miriam’s class and life, she thinks of the Bible and faith strictly from an intellectual viewpoint. That heart stuff she left behind a long time ago, until she is faced with a tragedy and has to look inward.
Connor, on the other hand, is a fifteen-year-old boy with hopes of being a priest. His devotion to both the Bible and his faith is evident. Yet when he struggles with his identity, he must reconcile whether this particular faith is for him. Interwoven throughout these two stories are historical reenactments of what went into the creation of the Bible from ancient times until now. Read the rest of this entry »
(front) Allen Gilmore and Alfred Wilson. (back) Anthony Lee Irons and AC Smith/Photo: Michael Brosilow
Samuel Beckett’s “Godot,” as presented by the Court Theatre’s resident artist Ron OJ Parson, has all of the existential tremble without the hard edges of complete despair. Quite the opposite of dark turtlenecks and French cigarettes, Parson’s all-black cast offers an array of emotional leads that highlights the most compelling aspects of the script’s humor. The overall themes are still there: Beckett’s unique view of the world as absurd with no meaning or purpose; the human condition; resilience in relationship; others as hell; it’s all still there. But it is sewn tightly under real embedded comedy and drama, foregoing the usual blend of high allusion and close reads, mixed together brilliantly by Estragon (Alfred H. Wilson) and Vladimir (the wise veteran Allen Gilmore) who employ both classy wit and bountiful rancor. Read the rest of this entry »
The steady expansion of the performing arts in Chicago continues its marvelous pace, with more and better theater, dance, comedy and opera gracing more and better stages each passing year. The upward progression is so steady that epic undertakings—a new campus at Steppenwolf, a bigger chunk of Navy Pier for Chicago Shakes—seem almost business as usual these days. And that is a marvelous thing. This year we again celebrate the lesser-sung heroes offstage who deal with the less glamorous things like building those new stages, and paying those expanding payrolls without which the stars would have nowhere to shine.
Tragedy has been central to theater since the ancient Greeks first staged it, but the last year has brought a disproportionate volume of real-life tragedy to our community. No doubt, the expanding and maturing performing arts universe means that more members of its community will pass on each year, but the number of those struck down long before their expected hour was overwhelming these last twelve months and struck every corner of performing arts, from theater, to dance, to comedy, to opera. Molly Glynn, Jason Chin, Eric Eatherly, Bernie Yvon, Johan Engels, Julia Neary—and others we’ve unintentionally overlooked—we dim our collective marquee for you. (Brian Hieggelke)
Players was written by Zach Freeman and Sharon Hoyer
With additional contributions by Brian Hieggelke, Alex Huntsberger, Aaron Hunt, Hugh Iglarsh and Loy Webb
All photos by Joe Mazza/Brave-Lux, taken on location at Steppenwolf Theatre, Goodman Theatre, Lyric Opera of Chicago and Brave-Lux Studio Read the rest of this entry »
Tracy Walsh, Mark L. Montgomery and Adrienne Walker/Photo: Michael Brosilow
Watching a Greek drama is odd, because your moral compass gets completely rewritten. There’s a moment in Nicholas Rudall’s new translation of Euripides’ “Iphigenia in Aulis” when Clytemnestra says to her husband Agamemnon something along the lines of “Remember when you met me and murdered my (first) husband and killed my two sons in front of me?” Clytemnestra then goes on to point out how she eventually got over that and forgave him and became his loving wife and bore a gaggle of beautiful children, one of which (the titular Iphigenia) Agamemnon is going to sacrifice to the gods so that he and the rest of the Grecians can go fight a war. It struck me as I was listening to these words that I am watching a play in which a man murdered his wife’s first husband and her children and then married her and yet… that fact is incidental to the action currently at hand. It’s barely relevant. A footnote.
I repeat, he murdered her husband and both of her sons in front of her and the entire reason she brings it up is to point out how she totes got over it.
If I saw a modern-day play wherein someone dropped that little tidbit in the middle of an argument, it would stop the play dead in its tracks. There is no possible way that the play could be about anything other than that. It would be “the big secret” that gets revealed halfway through Act 2. Or maybe the play would be a marriage that pulls double duty as a prolonged case of Stockholm Syndrome. Either way, Agamemnon’s act would not be treated as incidental. It would be very, very integral. Read the rest of this entry »
Jerod Haynes and Eric Lynch/Photo: Michael Brosilow
In a “Poem About My Rights” June Jordan pens these words, “Wrong is not my name/ My name is my own my own my own/and I can’t tell you who the hell set things up like this/ but I can tell you that from now on my resistance / my simple and daily and nightly self-determination / may very well cost you your life.” Jordan’s words, though written long after Richard Wright’s novel “Native Son,” are the unofficial biography for his protagonist’s life. For so long Wright’s protagonist has been told that he is wrong, akin to an abominable black rat not worthy of life. Yet like in Jordan’s poem, when his spiritual awakening manifests, his fear dissipates and he realizes he has the power to name himself. It’s beautiful indeed, yet the road is long and rocky.
The play “Native Son,” adapted by Nambi E. Kelley, opens up with Bigger Thomas (Jerod Haynes) and the highly inebriated daughter of his new boss Mary (Nora Fiffer). Unable to stand, Bigger helps Mary to her room. While helping her, Mary begins to flirt with Bigger, who is initially reluctant to respond because she is white and he is black. Still, he eventually gives in to his desires, but their moment is interrupted by Mary’s blind mother Mrs. Dalton (Carmen Roman). Bigger’s attempt to quiet Mary by placing a pillow over her mouth ultimately leads to her death. Read the rest of this entry »
Edgar Miguel Sanchez, Yadira Correa and Charin Alvarez
Theater, like music, enlightens, opens eyes and can connect partakers viscerally to seemingly disparate segments of the population: people who aren’t “them,” exotic “others” who live somewhere else, have different wants and needs and cuisines. Quiara Alegría Hudes’ Pulitzer Prize-winning play “Water by the Spoonful” schools us; you will meet people you will never forget, and you will be completely cognizant of the fact that not only are they like you, they are you. They are us. We are them.
This play is not a theatrical theme-and-variations. It is operatic in emotional and intellectual scope. Motifs run through the work. They splash into the experience and then run off, only to roll back in, reworked, refurbished and turned on their heads. This play is Wagner meets free jazz, John Coltrane’s wailing saxophone in the hands of Brunhilde, and we’re all in for the ride. We learn to accept the dissonances, the explosions that happen when ostensibly unrelated sounds crash together to make something new. Themes of neglect, addiction, cultural disconnection, the expenses of war; we see the power of it all to scar, to make wounds that can’t heal, that can only be cauterized, the branding eternal. Read the rest of this entry »
Photo: Michael Brosilow
The Court Theatre has again chosen a production suitable to its environment. “Seven Guitars,” by August Wilson, is set in 1948 in the Hill District of Pittsburgh (where all but one of Wilson’s ten Pittsburgh Cycle plays are set—the exception being “Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom,” which is set directly in Chicago). The action takes place during the second northward Great Migration of blacks, but it is pointedly hugging the promise of Chicago in the forefront of the story.
“Seven Guitars” first opened in 1995 at the Goodman Theatre as Wilson was literally finishing the lines but on the night I attended this production, today’s Court Theatre audience—within walking distance of the first black President’s house, witnessing the current rebuilding south of the Midway and the integrated neighborhoods of Hyde Park—was tapping their feet to the beat, chuckling to themselves repeatedly about the nuance of the inner black familial, and shaking their heads to the straight-talking inner-workings of growing up a southern transplant, as a poor black who “gets it both ways.” Wilson gets the language right. Read the rest of this entry »
Photo by Michael Brosilow
Quite simply, this is one of the great one-man shows. The story is the greatest, oldest ever told—literally, the start of Western civilization is in “An Iliad.” The Chicago actor Timothy Edward Kane is brilliant, nothing short of spectacular. The set design is intriguing, relevant and worthy in relationship to Kane’s high energy blocking with Charles Newell’s subtle and almost subliminal direction. And the fact that this magnetic piece is told at the Court Theatre, the University of Chicago’s theater, within the same blocks as “Iliad” scholars Nick Rudall, the recently passed Herman Sinaiko and James Redfield, makes for a symmetrical commingling of events in this 100-minute retelling through a transcendent, must-see performance.
It goes something like this: the historical event of Troy vs. Greece takes place somewhere around 1250 BCE. Homer’s bardic retelling is around 750 BCE. Plato and the other classic greats use the backdrop of “The Iliad” full-on by 399 BCE. Aristotle defined it as THE epic. Depending on the translation, the poem is more than 15,000 lines, twenty-four books—Homer would recite, sing and chant the piece for the polis in a twenty-four-hour session, or three eight-hour days. Imagine a fire, the town crowds gathered, maybe a bottle of something being passed around. The oral tradition begun by the poet, to entertain and educate and philosophize. Read the rest of this entry »
Lisa Beasley and David Alan Anderson/Photo: Michael Brosilow
Has any American been so universally idolized in the last century as Martin Luther King, Jr?
On April 3, 1968, five years after “I Have A Dream” and almost a dozen years since the first of his three appearances at the University of Chicago, King delivered a speech in Memphis in support of striking sanitation workers that concluded:
“We’ve got some difficult days ahead. But it doesn’t really matter with me now. Because I’ve been to the mountaintop. I don’t mind. Like anybody, I would like to live a long life. Longevity has its place. But I’m not concerned about that now. I just want to do God’s will. And He’s allowed me to go up to the mountain. And I’ve looked over. And I’ve seen the Promised Land.”
Afterward, King returned to his regular Memphis lodging, the Lorraine Motel, where he spent the night in rather meager accommodations. The next day, he was assassinated on its balcony.
With “The Mountaintop,” playwright Katori Hall has written a fable about King’s final night at the Lorraine. An uneventful evening, in Hall’s construction, where the only real action is the reverend ordering a cup of coffee and its delivery by a comely young maid (based on the playwright’s then-young mother, who was prevented from attending King’s final speech by her own protective mother), who he cajoles into sharing a cigarette and a conversation and… Read the rest of this entry »