Michael Halberstam as Scrooge at Writers

By Dennis Polkow

When Charles Dickens wrote “A Christmas Carol” back in 1843, he reportedly did it merely to pay off a debt.  His “little Christmas book,” as he liked to describe it, became the first in series of six Christmas books, but none ever attained the same popularity as that first effort.  A less clever man might have been annoyed by the success of what he clearly considered a lesser work, but not Dickens.  He was enough of a populist to recognize, as Jean-Paul Sartre would later explicitly state it, that the public always completes every work of art.  So unlike Tchaikovsky, who had nightmares about the fact that he would be best remembered for the “1812” Overture and “The Nutcracker,” Dickens shrewdly saw the dramatic and commercial opportunities for “A Christmas Carol” early on.  Nine years after writing it, Dickens read the novella publicly to a literary society in Birmingham and three days later to a working-class audience.  Both groups were mesmerized, according to newspaper accounts.

That same tradition continued on with stage actors for decades well into the radio era although, curiously, the thought of actually dramatizing the story gained more popularity when silent movies came in, allowing for dissolves and such that could make the ghosts described in the story actually appear via camera tricks.  In the case of the Goodman Theatre, one of the oldest attempts to literalize the story on a live stage, the earliest adaptation thirty-one years ago opened with Dickens himself writing the story on stage at his desk with a quill pen and serving as a pseudo-narrator, although he became gradually less relevant as the action progressed.  Much was made about the first time that various ghosts took flight on stage in the early 1980s, and long before falling chandeliers and helicopter landings became commonplace in mega-musicals of the later 1980s, plenty of folks were coming to the Goodman “A Christmas Carol” for the stagecraft more than the story.  There were times when the production became so behemoth and so stripped to the bone narratively that Dickens seemed to fade away from the proceedings almost as mysteriously as Marley’s face on Scrooge’s knocker.

In this year’s production, a small Greek chorus of jovial carolers endeavor to tell the story, right from “Marley is dead” and like that first Goodman adaptation some three decades ago, they fade away from the proceedings but do appear now and then when a jolt of Dickensian language is needed.  After all, when the narrative is stripped bare apart from its social commentary and wry humor and eloquent storytelling, even Mister Magoo can play Ebenezer Scrooge.

Larry Yando as Goodman's Scrooge

The problem that poor Larry Yando, a terrifically talented actor who is playing Goodman’s Scrooge for a second year, has is to flesh out a character via dialogue that does not benefit from Dickens’ own insertive language.  Invariably, this means that Yando, like most Scrooge portrayals, ends up coming across at the beginning more cranky and mean than the book and more joyous and childlike in the end as a literal contrast has to be drawn.

The huge advantage that Michael Halberstam has in his solo performance of “A Christmas Carol” at Writers’ Theatre is that his own portrayal of Scrooge can be far more subtle because he can play up Dickens’ own descriptions.  His Scrooge is more indifferent than mean, very matter of fact.  I haven’t heard the recordings of our state’s governor, for instance, allegedly refusing to pay children’s hospital funds without a kickback, but I would be quite surprised if he were hissing or screaming as he is doing so.  Usually such “requests” are calm and cool.  People can often be polite when they utter the casually brutal equivalent of “Are there no prisons?  Are there no workhouses?”  If Scrooge is angry, he is less interesting.  It is indifference that is responsible for his isolation, not a temper.

By the same time, the transformation that Scrooge goes through during “A Christmas Carol” is one of self-discovery through his life’s journey.  We see him become indifferent when his father leaves him at school over the holidays because the alternative is to fall apart.  As an older man, he can recognize the cruelty of this in a way that psychological self-defense would never permit when he is a teenager.  Scrooge has become his father in his dealings with his clerk and others, but only by recalling the pain that the indifference of his father towards him does he come to see this.  And so it goes, encounter by encounter, Scrooge even assuming that the point of his visitations is for self improvement, which is why he cannot bring himself to even consider the possibility that the first death portrayed during the Ghost of Christmas Future visitation could be his own.

The other detail made so clear in Halberstam’s performance that is lost at Goodman is that Scrooge has learned to stop feeling much of anything at all, good or bad.  So when he does start to feel some things once again with the Spirits, he wants to dismiss these in Dickens’ language.  And he cynically jokes with the ghosts as much as he is afraid of them, realizing it could be indigestion, or even senility, since these visitations were supposed to happen over three nights so he could have well missed Christmas entirely.

And what of the transformation at the end?  How radical is it?  Dickens gives Scrooge enough of a heart at the beginning—after all, the clerk does end up with the day off—and enough impatience at the end as he is watching himself try to be polite to a boy that he condescendingly finds can actually converse and quip, that there is more ambiguity here than Goodman or other literal adaptations can allow.

Halberstam and Writers Theatre are on to something very important in their rediscovery of “A Christmas Carol” as a solo performance work: the power of great storytelling itself in communicating the soul of a story vs. stringing together a host of scenes portrayed literally and hoping that the end result will be more than the sum of its parts.

This difference can best be seen in the response of young children to both approaches: children love Goodman’s “A Christmas Carol,” perhaps especially the “scary” parts, much like an amusement-park ride.  And adults love to bring children to watch them watch the experience.  The few young children who were brought to Writers’ Theatre “A Christmas Carol” however, barely made it through the first scene.  Some were just bored, to be sure, but others were struck down with primordial terror by the intensity and power of a single storyteller baring and focusing his all.  Children tend to have far more developed imaginations than most of us do as we get older, and Dickens’ eloquence is such that each of us in our own way conjures up in our mind’s eye something far more terrifying than anything the most literal staging of “A Christmas Carol” could possibly convey.

“A Christmas Carol” runs at the Goodman Theatre, (312)443-3820, through December 31; and at Writers’ Theatre, (847)242-6000, through December 23.

RECOMMENDED

It was all too easy to identify with a pair of homicidal housemaids but such was the power of Writers’ Theatre’s riveting revival of Jean Genet’s “The Maids” (1947) that when two sister-servants laced their insensitive mistress’ cup of chamomile tea with barbiturates, I was ready to run onstage and serve her the drink myself! I suppose one can blame these tough economic times. After all, in November Crain’s Chicago Business published an article, derided by several readers in the weeks that followed, about how some Kenilworth residents were coping. Sure, you might be laid-off, lose your home and see your retirement savings disappear, but isn’t it reassuring to know that you’re not alone and that in Kenilworth some have had to scale back on the cleaning-lady visits, nix the private French lessons and “downgrade” to $500 winter coats? Tragic, indeed. I hope they’re being nice to their servants when requesting their nightly cup of tea.

Jean Genet, of course, was the poet laureate of the truly poor and oppressed and “The Maids” was his theatrical exploration of the power struggle between the haves and the have-nots—always raging, constantly shifting and all consuming. The play is challenging, to say the least. There is little in the way of action save for some ritualized role-playing such as when the maids try on their lady’s clothes and jewelry and recreate their mistress’ patronizing and humiliating verbal tirades. Emotions and feelings explode but don’t always seem to be motivated. And the psychology of the sisters—stubborn Solange and delicate Claire—demands that a performer vacillate between desperation and liberation.

Given Writers’ recent output, it’s not surprising that this revival has met all these challenges and surpassed them to amass a production of considerable intellect and artistry: director Jimmy McDermott’s staging is the epitome of finesse; Elizabeth Laidlaw’s Solange, Helen Sadler’s Claire and Niki Lindren’s Madame offer performances of psychological precision; and the design team has transformed the intimate, fifty-seat Books on Vernon venue into a gorgeous and claustrophobic French boudoir setting replete with ornate floral prints, black crystal lamps and pink velvet walls.

These qualities would make any production worthy of professional admiration. What makes McDermott’s worthy of excitement is how much passion it ultimately oozes. From the crime passionnel of its story to a passion for subversivness—McDermott admirably doesn’t shy away from Genet’s hints at incestuous lesbianism—I doubt you’ll see a finer or more resonant production of “The Maids” in the Chicago area for some time to come. (Fabrizio O. Almeida)

At Writers’ Theatre, 664 Vernon Avenue, Glencoe, (847)242-6000. Mon 7:30pm/Tue 7:30pm/Wed 2pm & 7:30pm/Thu & Fri 8pm/Sat 4pm & 8pm/Sun 2pm & 6pm (performance schedule varies). $40-$65. Through April 5, 2009.

RECOMMENDED

Does Genet still have the power to provoke? That’s the million-dollar question theatergoers will have the chance to answer not once but twice within the next few weeks as the Chicago area sees two productions of the 1957 French avant-garde classic “The Maids.” First up is director Kate Teichman’s independently produced staging in an abandoned church turned community center in Wicker Park. Jimmy McDermott’s revival for Writers’ Theatre in Glencoe follows next month.

It’s a rare opportunity to compare and contrast simultaneous productions of the same play, but the fact that it’s Genet makes it that much more special.

In any given season, Chicago audiences can expect to overdose on classic American realistic fare (Williams, Inge, Mamet) but the rarely revived—at least in this country—Genet, as well as other challenging works of the European repertoire are usually the exclusive stomping grounds of avant-garde maverick ensembles or theater majors embarking upon their senior theses. There’s a reason for this. More than an acquired taste, audiences are probably right in recognizing that Genet’s plays, with the exception of “The Balcony” and possibly “The Blacks,” are not masterpieces but rather meditations upon a theme—albeit with Genet’s unique blend of subversive theatricality, poetic language and the potential for gorgeous stage imagery.

At its most basic “The Maids” is about two sister-servants (Solange and Claire) secretly indulging in role-playing whenever their mistress is away. They swap master-servant roles during their flights of fantasy, and ritualize these “performances” with gestures and actions that border on the violently masochistic and quasi-religious. Famously, Genet suggested that the servants’ roles be played by men, either because France’s famous thief, pederast and prostitute turned playwright liked to be subversive that way, or because men playing women playing maids playing each other playing their boss, etc, would add to the work’s shock value (circa 1957 Paris) and underscore the reality-illusion theme. These days, of course, men in drag is about as shocking as a gifted writer with a tortured past, and recognizing this, I think, first-time director Teichman, an actor who has worked extensively with Beau O’Reilly’s Curious Theater Branch, is presenting a respectably straight reading of the play staged in a dilapidated church, that gives it an extra atmospheric jolt that the script alone no longer has, and avoids any cross-dressing campiness by casting women. She makes good use of the space. The chapel, with its uninviting salmon-colored and chipped walls, ominous pipe organ and mural backdrop depicting Jesus and the apostles, is a sometimes complimentary but mostly ironic site-specific space for a play making constant religious references and indulging in mock Christian ritual. Unafraid to have fun in the space, Teichman constantly moves her actors on and off the central playing area, up and down aisles and staircases and even out of the auditorium—lending some movement to what is often a static script. As older sister Solange, Laura Rauh has an appropriately dark timber to her voice, as well as beautifully seductive eyes that have a way of maniacally fixating on Laura Wettingfeld’s softer-spoken and more delicate Claire. And although some of Genet’s sisterly-Sapphic overtones have been underplayed here, Rauh and Wettingfled convey a believable sense of shared personal history thanks to a high physical comfort level with one another. Acoustics are sometimes terrible and brief chunks of dialogue are inaudible, but credit needs to be given for this cast’s ability to keep their “characters” straight, for themselves as well as for the audience, amidst all that psychological role-swapping. Still, this truly bare-bones production offering good performances is recommended mainly for Genet admirers and theater geeks. Or as a tasty theatrical appetizer for what will hopefully be Writers’ main-course production. (Fabrizio O. Almeida)

At Acme Arts Work at St. Paul’s Church, 2215 North Avenue, (773)787-7862. Fri & Sat 7pm (no shows Nov 28 & 29). $10. Through December 13.

RECOMMENDED

William Inge’s 1953 Pulitzer Prize-winning play, his follow-up to “Come Back, Little Sheba,” was a groundbreaking, cutting-edge work portraying the dark desperation of 1950s Midwest Americana that, in the right hands, still has the power to pack quite a wallop. Director David Cromer does not ignore the fact that this is the Eisenhower era, but the work is staged to remind us that the time and place could well be anytown, anytime, right down to a reconfigured Writers’ Theatre space where the audience is engulfed by realistic grass and dirt and are made to be porch ornaments between two houses in a Kansas neighborhood over a Labor Day weekend.

Kids are playing, arguing, making fun of one another, in short doing what kids usually do, until a hunky, charismatic guy (Boyd Harris) comes to town who with his charm and good looks manages to set the entire town on its ear. Old ladies start to feel young again as he works shirtless, kids want to play with him, old friends want to offer him jobs, middle-aged guys want to drink with him, middle-aged women are reminded of shattered male fantasies and girls and teenagers fall in love with him.

The guy awakens repressions in a community where repression is an art form and whether or not what transpires is of his own making or has been thrust upon him by the community is one of the fascinating issues of the play. Is this a drifting loser who is willfully seducing those around him to get by, or does judging a book by its cover manage to bring out people’s basest instincts? It is a sobering, sometimes terrifying reminder of how much all of us, whether we like it or not or believe it or not, make judgments based on appearances and how devastating such judgments can be for all concerned.

Although Harris steals the show by making audience members start to have the same varied reactions to him that the townspeople do, the entire cast is first-rate down to the smallest roles and interact as a first-rate ensemble with as much “familiarity breeds contempt” as so often occurs in real communities. This is one picnic that you come away with plenty of food for thought. (Dennis Polkow)

At Writers Theatre, 325 Tudor Court, Glencoe, (847)242-6000, through November 30. $50-$65.

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. 

Pride has come to Chicago once again. It is time to take to the streets and celebrate the diversity that gives our city so many reasons to be excited. About Face Theatre is one of those reasons. This season the dynamic institution dedicated to the exploration of sexuality and gender issues will have new artistic leadership. Award-winning producer, director and playwright Bonnie Metzgar has taken the helm as artistic director and is excited to continue the company’s dynamic programming. Although Metzgar won’t make it to the parade this year—she is currently traveling Africa with her partner—she did take a few minutes to share a little bit about how she got here and what she is looking forward to as she makes Chicago her home.

How did you get to Chicago and About Face?

I spent the last year traveling around the U.S. for the 365 Festival with Suzan-Lori Parks. We partnered with 600 theaters; fifty-two of them were here in Chicago. Congo Square, Next, Steppenwolf, Goodman, Writers, Hypocrites—I learned fast that, wow, the Chicago theater scene is amazing! Bold artists, bold audiences—that’s my kind of town. So when the opportunity with About Face came up, I jumped at it. About Face has always had a unique place in the American theater as a home for new work that furthers the national dialogue on sexuality and gender.

How do you plan to continue what is great about About Face?

I will continue the commitment to artistic excellence and to developing the voice of our youth. I will expand the tradition of collaboration by continuing to find new ways to reach out to the community. And I will throw really great parties. I am excited and proud to be producing our whole season at the Center on Halsted. The Hoover-Leppen Theater is gorgeous! And having a home in the heart of the LGBTQ community feels right.

What excites you about Chicago?

Chicago is fierce—in its commitment to the arts, its celebration of diversity and in its history of political struggle. So for someone like me who is interested in the messy intersection of art and politics, Chicago is a fascinating place to be in 2008.

The country is changing for the LGBTQ community. What is the role theater can and must play in shaping perceptions and advancing LGBTQ causes?

The country is not changing for us. We are changing the country—by working hard, building bridges, making art that moves us all closer to each other. We need to feel the urgency in each day—as citizens and artists, in our homes, in the streets and in our art—if we dare to believe that another world is possible.

What message do you have for the LGBTQ community as we enter this year’s gay pride celebration?

Our community is in all communities. Reach out. Beyond your comfort zone. And support LGBTQ artists in Chicago during pride and all year round! (William Scott)

Learn more about Bonnie Metzgar and About Face Theatre at aboutfacetheatre.com

RECOMMENDED

“My life when written will read better than it was ever lived,” says Henry II (Michael Canavan) in James Goldman’s 1966 play and indeed, with Henry II being the central character of “The Lion in Winter” as well as in Jean Anouilh’s 1959 “Becket”—both receiving regular productions on both sides of the channel as well as in America and both of which also became immensely popular movies, “Lion” having been filmed twice in 1968 and 2003—modern audiences know as much fiction as fact about Henry. But no matter, what little history that is known isn’t that interesting, but the intrigues and personalities that make up the speculative and dysfunctional family Christmas surrounding Henry and his court in “Lion” are roles for actors to really sink their teeth into, and the outstanding cast that Writers’ Theatre’s Michael Halberstam has assembled could well chew up the scenery if given the opportunity. How refreshing to see the cobwebs of British calm stripped away from this modern classic with a first-rate ensemble that goes through the motions of their family hatreds so passionately that the audience is treated to a riveting ringside brawl within the close confines of Writers Theatre. Henry (Michael Canavan) and his Queen Eleanor (Shannon Cochran) provide most of the melodrama, but no less impressive are the three sons who vie for position to become their father’s heir, Lea Coco, Christopher McLinden and as a delightfully insufferably spoiled Prince John, Robert Belushi. What is most remarkable about the spontaneity of these performances is the fact that, despite having seen this show and its film adaptations numerous times, you really do start to forget how it all turns out as you duck with delight as the daggers dart by. (Dennis Polkow)

“The Lion in Winter” runs at Writers’ Theatre, 325 Tudor Court, Glencoe, (847)242-6000, through August 17. $40.

RECOMMENDED

All the world may be a stage, but when it comes to Shakespeare in Chicago, no venue can serve up the Bard better than the North Shore’s Writers’ Theatre. Its stunning “Othello” last season was so powerful and persuasive that every detail is memorable and fresh nearly a year later, but this production of “As You Like It”—arguably the most joyous and life-affirming work in the Shakespeare canon—is no less engaging. A play of persecuted outsiders, directors often try to outdo themselves attempting to allegorize some specific marginalized group of the moment to make the action “relevant.” And though director William Brown’s production is set in a modern world where the persecutors use helicopters with spotlights to pursue, a lack of national specifics underscores that this could be anywhere. Young and displaced Orlando, as played by Marcus Truschinski, is boyish enough that his temper and conceit can still get the better of him and he has to be naïve enough that say, when he challenges the court wrestler—here done as a pull-no-punches, no holds barred ultimate fighting contest—no one is more surprised than he is when he actually prevails after risking everything when he has nothing to lose, but then again, he has to be tough enough and hungry enough to pull that off. Likewise Rosiland (Tracy Michelle Arnold) has to be attractive and enticing enough to catch Orlando’s eye, but she, too, is a refugee struggling deeply from the inside out with the same issues that Orlando is facing from the outside. But the biggest inspiration is having the band that Orlando and his servant encounter in the forest of Arden be a radical group of guitar-strumming elder beatniks and hippies that sit around campfires and teach Orlando the meaning of life. Veteran Chicago actor Larry Yando delivers the show’s most famous soliloquy with a deliberate and detached cynicism that can only be attained by having played each and every part and having made all of the entrances and exits that are catalogued. (Dennis Polkow)

At the Writers’ Theatre, 325 Tudor Court, Glencoe, (847)242-6000. 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.

By Nina Metz

This is a ripe time for Chicago playwrights according to Brett Neveu, whose latest work, “Weapons of Mass Impact,” opens Monday at A Red Orchid Theatre. 

Over the past six years or so, no other local playwright has had as much new work produced as Neveu. You’d think the guy has it made. “The problem with that is ‘playwright’ and ‘have it made’—those two things never go together,” he says as we talk by phone.

He made this observation, by the way, from his new home in Los Angeles, where he and wife Kristen moved in August with their daughter, Lia Pearl, who turned 1 last week. “Mostly it was because we had the baby and we needed to have some more stability money-wise—or at least try to get that stability.” Kristen, who is a mixed-media artist, was the first to land a job. She works at Warner Bros. in the art department. And like so many before him, Neveu is hoping to write for television and film.

If he lands a lucrative writing gig—which seems likely, judging by his success to date—he will join the ranks of other nationally known playwrights who subsidize their theater dreams with Hollywood dollars, including Craig Wright (“Six Feet Under”), Theresa Rebeck (“Law & Order: Criminal Intent”) and Chicago’s own Rick Cleveland (who was just hired to write for AMC’s “Mad Men”).

It is a smart move for Neveu, 37, who was supporting his family primarily on teaching jobs (most recently at Northwestern) and playwriting commissions, which pay anywhere from $5,000-$10,000, depending on the theater. Neveu has had no shortage of commissions—companies such as the Goodman, Steppenwolf, Northlight and Writers’ have paid him to write plays. Currently he has commissions from the Manhattan Theatre Club in New York and Royal Court Theatre in London.

I’ve been commissioned many, many times,” he says, but “I’ve only had one theater produce the play they commissioned.” That would be “Old Town,” a musical about backroom political dealings set on election night in Cook County, which debuts in April at Strawdog. “They put it in the season before it was even finished,” a rare show of confidence from a theater.

But Neveu’s artistic home in Chicago is still A Red Orchid, where the claustrophobic dimensions of the stage seem perfectly suited to “Weapons of Mass Impact,” about a trio of kidnapped women who endure interrogation at the hands of their foreign captors—and at the hands of one another. 

The play is part of a trilogy that began with “Harmless,” seen last year at Timeline. (Part three is called “Old Glory” which Neveu is working on for Writers’ Theatre.) The plays each take place in the middle of the current decade, and they focus on how regular folks “mentally deal with the situations that crop up as a result of a country at war in the modern age.”

Despite the heavy subject matter, Neveu’s plays contain a sly sense of humor. He’s not writing jokes. The way Neveu sees it, people are just funny when they talk. “Especially in tense situations.” He doesn’t craft the perfectly articulated argument that would never transpire in real life. He writes dialogue that is riddled with awkward social niceties and subconscious hostility. He writes the way people genuinely talk, which is hilarious if you really listen to it.

The move to L.A. notwithstanding, Neveu is focused on theater. A possible strike by the Writers Guild of America “makes it harder for me [to get a job right now], so I’ll just wait until resolution happens. Whatcha gonna do?” He has a pair of commissions to work on, at any rate.

And more to the point, “My end goal was never to be a screenwriter or a TV writer. My end goal was to be a playwright, and that’s always been the case. Actually, my end goal is to be a writer, whatever it’s for. Actually, my end goal is just to have a job that I like.”

And regardless of what the future may bring, “I will always consider myself a Chicago playwright.”

“Weapons of Mass Impact” opens October 22 at A Red Orchid Theater, 1513 North Wells, (312)943-8722.