Although it’s commonplace these days to characterize George W. Bush as being the worst president of all time, those of us who lived through the presidency of Richard M. Nixon know better. Here was a man who had the world at his feet, who—it is sobering to remember in the midst of an election year where the outcome is a complete crapshoot—won the largest landslide in American presidential history and yet was so insecure that he considered one vote for his Democratic anti-war opponent George McGovern one too many. Thus, Nixon illegally bugged everything from his own private presidential office meetings and phone calls to having his cronies infamously attempt to bug the Democratic National Headquarters at the Watergate Hotel. Nixon’s own self-recorded tapes and the Watergate break-in and its subsequent cover-up led to his downfall and resignation. It is a tragedy worthy of Shakespeare, yet precious little art has been mined from it, unless you count Oliver Stone’s overblown and superficial “Nixon” film (John Adams’ fascinating opera “Nixon in China” never touches on the downfall). What actually happened in the White House on the eve of Nixon’s 1974 resignation? That is what Russell Lees’ 1996 “Nixon’s Nixon” attempts to answer in a Writers’ Theatre revival of the work for this election year. As Lees imagines it, Nixon (Larry Yando) and Secretary of State Henry Kissinger (William Brown) were hanging out and drinking that night, each wildly speculating on their own futures and self-interests. Nixon, who was an abysmal pianist in real life, is seen conducting along to records. At one heated moment, he even throws a drink in Kissinger’s face. At another, both are counting up the casualties of the administration, from every death in Vietnam and Cambodia—including civilians of those nations, mind you—to the college students gunned down in a 1970 anti-war protest at Kent State, Nixon noting that he would spend the rest of his days “wading in a pool of blood.” Nixon even admits at one point that he doesn’t want his daughter Julie, who was then running around the country defending her father, to know that “her father was a bum.” This is Nixon-bashing Nirvana run amok that fails to remotely square with the Nixon revealed in the very tapes that became his demise, who always pathologically felt above the fray and fully justified, no matter the action. What this play misses by miles is that Nixon truly had no conscience for his actions and never “got it,” anymore than “W” or Dick Cheney are likely to ever come to terms with Iraq. But pointing an angry finger and painting a superficial dark portrait of the power-monger is always more conscience-soothing than the far less attractive realization that we, as Americans, are fully complicit when we continue to elect and sustain leaders blind to the abuse of the very power that we so willingly bestow on them. (Dennis Polkow)

Through October 19 25 at Writer’s Theatre, 664 Vernon, Glencoe, (847)242-6000.  $60-$75. 

RECOMMENDED

For those like myself who found “Doctor Atomic” an insufferably confused and convoluted enterprise, John Adams’ “A Flowering Tree” should be an effective antidote. Though its lacks the wit of a work such as “Nixon in China” or the gravitas of “Death of Klinghoffer,” Adams’ adaptation of an Indian folktale based on a translation by Indian scholar, poet and longtime University of Chicago professor A. K. Ramanujan has charms of its own, even if it sometimes takes political correctness to absurdities by, for instance, setting chorales of a work set in India in Spanish. The story is a rather static one, dealing with a young woman (Natasha Jouhl) who has the ability to transform herself to a tree and the prince (Noah Stewart) who falls in love with her, which isn’t helped by the presence of a storyteller (Sanford Sylvan) who has to explain things, but the music, particularly in the transformation scenes, is anything but static. Drawing heavily from Wagner’s “Ring” cycle, Adams’ music conveys magic and transformation using compact Wagnerian orchestration and Adams’ own effective leitmotivs, reminding us, for instance, of how many moments of Wagner could be interpreted as “Minimalist,” especially the prologue to “Das Rheingold” and the repeated arpeggios that represent the Rhine River. Though this Chicago Opera Theater production is obviously one of meager means, but unlike say, last year’s “Bluebeard’s Castle,” never looks cheap, which is no small accomplishment in these lean times. (Dennis Polkow)

At the Harris Theater for Music & Dance, 205 E. Randolph, (312)334-7777. This production is now closed.

“We’ve had the opportunity to work with a very diverse group of distinguished voices,” Artistic Director Jim Vincent says of the highly contrasting choreographers his company has showcased over its thirty years.  What sets Hubbard Street Dance Chicago apart from its industry peers is their athletic, innovated repertoire, a collection of pieces by some of the world’s most renowned dance makers set on a company of exuberant dancers. The 2008 Spring Series will consist of two programs featuring existing works from their catalog and introducing three new pieces to its repertoire.

“Two come from in-house,” Vincent tells of his choreographers. “It becomes a much more personal experience.  They are working with their colleagues.”  Company dancer Alejandro Cerrudo’s “Extremely Close” will take the stage during Program 1 (March 26-30). In this, his second premiere with Hubbard Street, Cerrudo draws from all around him.  “The inspiration came from many diverse sources,” says Cerrudo, “the dancers, the music, conversations with people that I’ve had, images, my past, other artists, memories.” Music is integral to Cerrudo’s work.  The 27-year-old from Madrid, Spain compares his relationship with music to that of you or I with air.  Vincent promises a sophisticated, subtle work with striking visuals set to piano solos by Philip Glass and Dustin O’Halloran.

Series 2 (April 1-5) will welcome New York-based choreographer and director Doug Varone to the Hubbard Street family.  His piece is “The Constant Shift of Pulse,” set to a score by contemporary composer John Adams. It is a rarity for Varone to give a work to be toured as much as Hubbard Street’s schedule demands. After some coaxing from Vincent, Varone agreed to set a piece on the entirety of the sizable Chicago company, a work that would not be accommodated by his own acclaimed company of eight. “If it feels like you are dancing it is wrong,” Varone tells his dancers.  “Many people say that my work looks spontaneous, and I love hearing that. It is all highly choreographed, but giving an audience the feel that it is happening in the moment is key.” 

Also in Series 2 see Lucas Crandall’s “The Set.” It will be the Hubbard Street artistic associate’s first foray into humor with this Edwardian romp for three dancers.  “These days finding humor in dance is hard to come by,” Vincent says.  He thinks Crandall has found it.

“It’s always great to be home,” Vincent says, but they won’t get long to enjoy it.  After the short sit down, Chicago’s unofficial contemporary dance ambassadors will be off to Germany to show the Rhineland just what is great about dance. (William Scott)

At the Harris Theater for Music & Dance, 205 East Randolph, (312)334-7777. This production is now closed.

RECOMMENDED

If you’re a dance company, you need live music to dance to, and if you’re a symphony orchestra, you need something for your audience to look at other than folks sitting there in tails and gowns.  Such is the mutual benefit for the collaboration between Hubbard Street Dance Chicago and the Chicago Symphony Orchestra, a partnership that is celebrating its fifth anniversary.  Past collaborations and new works will be spotlighted at this special anniversary one-night-only performance, which will include the first-ever collaboration between the two organizations, “counter/part,” choreographed by Hubbard artistic director Jim Vincent and set to movements from Bach’s “Brandenburg” Concertos along with the return of 2004’s “SF/LB,” set to Leonard Bernstein’s “Prelude, Fugue and Riffs,” with choreography by Daniel Ezralow as well as an excerpt from Vincent’s 2007 “Palladio” with music by Karl Jenkins and a preview performance of Doug Varone’s “The Constant Shift of Pulse,” set to music of John Adams, which will be officially premiered by Hubbard in March.  Also included on this Edwin Outwater conducted program are Mendelssohn’s “Hebrides” Overture and Bartok’s “Romanian Folk Dances.”  (Dennis Polkow) 

At the Symphony Center, 220 S. Michigan, (312)294-3000. This production is now closed.

Being a huge admirer of the previous operas of John Adams, I had high expectations for “Doctor Atomic.” Adams seemed a Teflon composer and virtually any subject that he touched, no matter how diverse and controversial (the Cold War, 9/11, Middle East terrorism, the Nativity story, et al) he seemed to be able to write engaging music that complemented the drama in compelling terms. What went wrong with “Atomic,” which given the scope of the subject matter, might well have been expected to be Adams’ masterpiece? In a word, the libretto. I hadn’t given much thought to how crucial a component Adams’ longtime librettist and poet Alice Goodman had been to his previous successes, but given how huge of a void her absence creates in this work, it is now clear that it was a role as big a role as say, Lorenzo DaPonte with Mozart, or Hugo von Hofmannstahl with Richard Strauss. Director Peter Sellars tried to step in and fill Goodman’s shoes when she pulled out, but his bizarre solution to a dramaturgical problem that Goodman apparently could not solve was to take literal transcripts of technical documents and assemble them into a hodgepodge of atomic academia that ends up offering little, if any, insight into the genesis of the nuclear era that couldn’t be found far more thoroughly in a book on the subject. The result is a choir standing on the edge of the stage having to sing such non-singable syllables as “icosahedron” and “dodecahedron.” Weighing in at more than three hours, the drama revolves around the question, “Will the bomb work?” It is amazing that we don’t care, not only because we already know the answer and the far more compelling drama that followed that first test, but also because we don’t get to really know any of the cardboard characters in the opera, particular the mysterious title character, J. Robert Oppenheimer. Imagine if Mario Puzo instead of writing a detailed fictional account of gangster life complete with character development and inside views decided to compile trial transcripts and police reports to write “The Godfather.” What little drama there is here, will the bomb, that is suspended mid-stage a la “Phantom of the Opera” chandelier (but never moving, nor exploding with the time-frame of the static “action”) work, is never resolved. If you didn’t know the story, you would never know. The fact that a handful of male dancers skip around here and there with truncated Jerome Robbins-like choreography suggesting that they are passing through on their way to audition for a high-school production of “West Side Story,” is never explained. Perhaps admirers of the work will insist that the work is ambiguous, like the atomic age itself, but uh, we kind of knew that much coming in. (Dennis Polkow)

At the Civic Opera House, 20 N. Wacker, (312)332-2244. This production is now closed. 

By Dennis Polkow

“Does he still have the spiky hair?” asks a visitor who hasn’t seen director Peter Sellars in years. “Yes,” offers a Lyric Opera staffer, “and oddly enough, there is no mousse, no hairspray, it’s just—well, spiky.” Actually, as a now 50-year-old (but still boyish-looking) Sellars makes his way from the rehearsal stage, his hair looks like a surfeit of snakes standing at attention.

If opera is the domain of the director, there is no director more legendary and eccentric than Sellars, who not only revolutionized the genre with his bold, modern interpretations of the classics, but also by commissioning iconic new works as well that often touch deep social nerves. We haven’t seen Sellars in Chicago for nearly two decades—okay, he did direct a “Merchant of Venice” at Goodman back in 1994—but he sent shock waves throughout the opera world by staging “The Mikado” here on motorcycles in 1983 and then making “Tannhäuser” a disgraced televangelist in 1988. Sellers grins ear to ear when he is told that Lyric’s general director Bill Mason counts these daring and radical productions as among the finest that Lyric ever produced.    

Despite the fact that Sellars has been a constant collaborator with composer John Adams for more than two decades now, “Doctor Atomic” is the first Adams opera that Sellers is directing at Lyric Opera. Their inaugural 1987 “Nixon in China” was heard last year at Chicago Opera Theater and “El Nino” was heard at Ravinia, but “Doctor Atomic” is the first Adams opera ever presented at Lyric and the first production that Sellars has directed at the company since “Tannhäuser.”

Ironically, Adams was not an opera lover, nor even an opera goer, but Sellars told Adams that his music contained such drama that he simply “insisted” that Adams had to work in the form. “Nixon in China” was Sellars’ idea, as have been most of their collaborations. “Not ‘El Nino,’ ” Sellers is quick to point out. “A nativity play? No, that was a commission.”Adams came to Sellars, however, with “Doctor Atomic,” and Sellars was against it at first.

“As artists, we are not equipped to show Auschwitz, Hiroshima, Nagasaki,” Sellars says. “At a certain point, art trivializes things that are truly unspeakable and should not be aestheticized in any way. For me, what was therefore necessary was to draw very clear lines around what we did have the capability of showing and talking about and what we didn’t, and to have the humility in the face of the subject matter to confine ourselves to one twenty-four-hour period: the first atomic test on July 16, 1945.”

The genesis of “Atomic” is the San Francisco Opera asking Adams for a contribution to its 2005 “Faust” season of operas, with Robert Oppenheimer suggested as a modern Faust figure who sold his soul to create the first atomic bomb. “We set to work with Alice Goodman, who had written the librettos for ‘Nixon’ and ‘Klinghoffer,’” Sellars recalls, “and Alice is the person who said, ‘Actually, at the end of his life, Faust signed away and lost his immortal soul, whereas at the end of his life, Robert Oppenheimer realized that he had one.’” Ultimately, Sellars himself ended up writing the libretto, and he is flanked in his backstage office by dozens of books about physics and the bomb. “It’s not an accident that ‘Doctor Faustus’ was such a powerful image in the twentieth century, and we ended up honoring Christopher Marlowe and Thomas Mann with our play on their title. Mann’s novel was very important for the generation that created the bomb, and they were seeing themselves in those images. It really is a Greek tragedy, taking place across a single twenty-four-hour period. The audience walks in with Hiroshima, Nagasaki, the Cold War and nuclear accidents and cover-ups as the future that these men are bringing into the world.”

Sellars is clear that, for him, Oppenheimer begins heroically, “with the idea that the Nazis were going after the bomb and that our beating them to doing it was the only thing that could prevent them from taking over the world. But once Germany surrendered and we realized that there had been no German atomic program as such, we went ahead with the program anyway and unleashed it on civilian cities in Japan to establish ourselves as the world’s lone superpower. Did 350,000 people have to die to test our experiment?

“The fallout of this action is that right now, at this moment, in silos in Russia, there are nuclear warheads at hair-trigger alert, pointing at the city of Chicago.  Why?  We are not at war.  We need to complete the steps that Ronald Reagan and Mikhail Gorbachev began in the back of a limo, of eliminating all of them.  It’s not a question of North Korea or Iran having them: there is no reason for any of them to exist, anywhere.  The toxins that have been released since 1945 means that cancer is the disease of choice and every one of us knows someone who is in chemotherapy right this minute.  Every one of us has Strontium-90 in our blood cells and bone marrow at this moment from atomic blasts; it is in our milk, our bones, it is throughout the world right now as we continue to be assured that such high levels of radioactivity are perfectly safe.”

He continues, “What is abundantly clear is that nobody can use these weapons. It’s no longer one nation versus another, you release a toxicity that creates a cloud that goes throughout the world. Henry Kissinger and George Schultz are currently at the forefront of the movement to eliminate these weapons. This is no longer conservative versus liberal. This is an issue for all of humanity. We have to eliminate seventy years of profoundly misguided policy and not carry it forward into the twenty-first century.”   

“Doctor Atomic” at the Civic Opera House, 20 North Wacker, (312)332-2244.