I am not a theater critic but I have been devoted to covering theater since my early 1980s reports on the explosion of Chicago storefront theaters for National Public Radio. On The Mara Tapp Show in the 1990s, I was honored to host weekly conversations about and offer scenes from some of Chicago’s best shows, and delighted when those interviews filled houses for our local theaters.
In 2015, at the request of friends, I started a series of emails with recommendations for shows I thought worthy of patrons. Some years later, actors, directors and publicity people in Chicago’s theater world prevailed on me to share these raves, a request I accepted, especially in light of the increasing tensions in the theater world and need to keep Chicago theaters healthy. Read more…
Find out what the critics think at the Review Round-up on the website of TheatreInChicago.com.
Breaking News
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Theater Raves
Windfall
Namir Smallwood, Esco Jouléy and Jon Michael Hill (Right)
in Windfall. Photos by Michael Brosilow.
Steppenwolf Theatre Company through May 31
Highly Recommended
What a thrill to have Tarell Alvin McCraney back in Chicago with his incandescent new play on Steppenwolf’s stage. Long a star in our city’s dramatic galaxy, his works have staying power. I remain enraptured by Steppenwolf’s 2010 production of The Brother/Sister Plays, McCraney’s decade-spanning trilogy that explores life in the Louisiana Bayou, West African mythology and ends with a hurricane. His Choir Boy about a young Black student navigating his role in a prestigious school, and Ms. Blakk for President, an homage to a Chicago drag queen that McCraney starred in and co-authored with Tina Landau, still occupy my thoughts. This playwright’s range is stunning and his works are connected by his lyrical yet realistic dialog, as well as the brilliance of his plots and characters.
Once again, with Windfall, McCraney’s astonishing command of language unwraps the beauty of Black life to reveal its splendor. It speaks to our times. Based in Chicago but not limited by its borders, his new play offers yet another layered portrait of the obstacles and trials that government and society create for Blacks. Here a father is offered a Faustian choice that dishonors much, including father-son relationships.
Everyone in Windfall understands the value of money, and money is at this play’s dramatic heart. That makes sense when it’s revealed that yet another Black person was shot by police and a settlement payout is being offered because this is how our government tries to buy Black complicity and silence. Windfall has many layers and goes in many directions, which is praise rather than critique since it shows the layered nature of the work and McCraney’s brain. The play is also is full of universal themes, like the tensions between parents and their children, the hopes parents have for their children, the love and independence children seek, the press of life and loss, how loss haunts us, the monetary worth of a life, the overlay of the city-state that can break all bonds.
McCraney’s words, full of musicality and gripping thoughts, are brought to life by the sure and intelligent direction of Awoye Timpo and a sublime cast. The actors occupy the entire theater and occasionally engage the audience. One illuminating moment allows hope and joy to emerge.
Most of the cast comes from Steppenwolf’s richly talented ensemble and upholds its tradition of excellence but the father and one of his sons are making their Steppenwolf debuts. Michael Potts plays Henri “Mr. Mano” Tamaño as a man sure in his skin but tortured in his multiple losses of those he loves. A devotee of The Wire, I found his performance here equally compelling. His child Eli is a charismatic activist and has become a cult figure. Esco Jouléy imbues this young man with the presence required of such a near-holy being.
Eli’s closest friends and followers are played by two ensemble members, Jon Michael Hill and Namir Smallwood, both of whom possess an extraordinary ability to portray wildly different people onstage. Hill’s memorable Steppenwolf successes include the analytic and perceptive son in Purpose and a hyperkinetic, computer-savvy Ariel in The Tempest. Smallwood recently shone as a gentle, compassionate father in Mr. Wolf and a son enraged by abuse in The Book of Grace. Here each persuasively, and with ease, brings the solid support of a good friend mixed with the believable devotion of a follower who still retains his individuality. Glenn Davis is ideal as Mr. Man’s less-favorite child. The exasperation and rage he brings to Marcus, whose grasp of economics is more sophisticated than his father’s, is biting yet when his gratitude emerges it is equally authentic. Hill and Smallwood are impressive in additional smaller but essential roles, as dictated by McCraney’s script, and Alana Arenas shines in her three incarnations. Each is driven by duty and/or money and each pays Mr. Mano an official visit bringing bad news. Arenas moves from the tentative First Lady, her efforts to be efficient eclipsed by a shocking development, to Miss Second, flitting about the stage with a realtor’s relish, to The Last One, who exudes evil while delivering the ugly realities of Mr. Mano’s situation.
The creative team is as strong as the actors with a few standouts. In an impressive use of the theater’s in-the-round setting, Andrew Boyce’s set allows cast members to circle the action and hop onto the raised stage when they are a part of it. Qween Jean’s costumes are spot-on for each role but especially delicious when it comes to Alana Arenas. Music Director Mahmoud Khan amplifies the songs in a way that makes them present and important but never overwhelming.
The result is that Windfall works on all levels, elevating McCraney’s play and those who shape and animate it, and giving all the stature deserved. The gift to audiences is a show overflowing with ideas, love, tragedy, activism, humanity and hope. McCraney’s work is so smart, so good at capturing the conflicts and complexities of Black life, and life in general, as to merit repeated viewings. That places it in a rare dramatic cohort. Make sure you experience this theatrical treasure before it departs.
Eelpout!
Shattered Globe Theatre through May 30
Highly Recommended
Call this one an enchanting Minnesota Little Mermaid but with a man. And please think Hans Christian Andersen and not Disney even though the ending is more Disney-happy than Brothers-Grimm-gruesome. Eelpout! is such a delightfully wacky story that it’s fortunate its constantly changing currents carry one along leaving little time to ponder the impossible watery twists and turns it takes.
The premise is simple: Two Minnesota guys are having a bachelor fishing party in an ice house. Their names are Ole Olsen and Sven Svensen, and they’ve been best friends since kindergarten. They’re joined by Lars Larsen, a wildly unpopular weirdo and now the third wheel. The first part of Paul W. Kruse’s play has these three tossing back booze while uttering ridiculous ritualistic chants, punctuated by riotous male comments and rites. Yet, from time to time, and not that infrequently, these young men express deep, sometimes breathtakingly beautiful, thoughts. In fact, Sven and Ole’s first appearance is magical, a moment in nature that leaves them awestruck and reveals their closeness. Then there are the fish, many fish, who play a huge role, making them more than just a good catch. Ditto for the women, who may seem less epic and dreamy but turn out to be rather wise.
Lives in this show are dictated by the small town from which these Minnesotans come, and the comforts, limitations, irritations and surprises that brings. To say much more would be to deprive audiences of the thrill of this fishing excursion on Lake Mille Lacs.
None of it could work without this utterly original script, perfectly directed by Jeremy Ohringer and masterfully acted – pun intended though the women quite match the men here – by a first-rate cast. Jeff Rodriguez is an ideal Sven, capable of being “one of the guys” but hiding so much more. She handles the layers in her role, which has the greatest range in the play, with admirable ease, sweetness, resignation and humor. Watching her is a joy. Carl Hallberg as his buddy Ole, the groom-to-be, gives us a more traditional guy but one who also has some surprises and profound thoughts. Dinah Berkeley is an exemplary Lars, quickly demonstrating their weirdness and proving how they’ve earned their most-disliked title.
Rebecca Jordan portrays a realistic but loving woman who knows what time it is and has her own set of surprises, as does her daughter, played with a delicious mix of naivete and knowledge by Taigé Lauren. Lydia Moss is a bride-to-be who is resigned but cheerful and, like her future mother-in-law, a realist. All the fish deserve praise for their iridescence and dancing skills but the main fish merits a shout-out. Jesús Barajas’ talking fish is equal parts irritable and sensual, and he adeptly shines a light on being different, which turns out to be an important theme in this play.
Delena Bradley’s costumes fit the actors like second skins whether they are human flesh or fishy gills and scales and they are as hilarious as the play. Eleanor Kahn’s set, with its raised platform, offers options above and below water. Props by Saskia Bakker add mirth. Christopher Kriz’s original music and sound round out the experience with beauty and humor.
As someone who endured several cold years in college and later working for Minnesota Public Radio at a time when the state was really white and far less comfortable with diversity than it is now, the Minnesota jokes rang true. A trip I took to Duluth was particularly exciting for the contrasting presence of Italians and Eastern Europeans who worked the Iron Range mines. The only Black I saw was Muhammad Ali on a pinball machine. Sven, Ole and Lars would have been right at home.
The young friend who joined me was as captivated as I was by the unexpected actions and events in Eelpout!, as well as its ability to plumb the under-ice depth of its characters and the challenges and sorrows they face.
This is a piece that completely turns masculinity on its head, causes uncontrollable laughter and still manages to speak truths about being lonely, the other or trapped. Best of all is that it does so with humor and joy, making it a completely engaging undertaking. Don’t let this one get away!
The Ally
Theater Wit through May 17
Recommended
The Ally is an admirable effort to make comprehensible a thorny issue that’s almost impossible to discuss in a civil fashion. No matter where you stand on the Palestine and Israel, this play will leave you with a better sense of the multiple sides and a desire to discuss what happened.
That often doesn’t happen in the charged dogmatic debates that I’ve witnessed over the decades. Many people who are deeply passionate about this issue seem no longer able to listen, preferring to offer up rage-filled and often-repeated recitations of events and irrelevant minutiae that beg the bigger, and indeed more global, conflict. Such polarization excludes the other major religious group that lays claim to this piece of land – Catholics and many Christians. Dogma is always dangerous and it can be blinding when the stakes are as high as they are here so let’s detonate it a bit with some levity courtesy of the inimitable spot-on Dorothy Parker. “You can’t teach an old dogma new tricks,” this witty writer noted. Fortunately, there is humor in The Ally, along with lots of passion, rage and hope.
Playwright Itamar Moses starts his story with a writer, Asaf, and his wife, Gwen, in a domestic conversation that reveals their lack of connection and their differences. He writes, mostly about European Enlightenment, and is an adjunct professor at the university in their college town. She an administrator at the same school, focusing now on a politically delicate expansion plan. Asaf is Jewish. Gwen is Korean-American. One of Asaf’s Black students asks him to sign a petition protesting a racially motivated murder that draws him into a larger movement about Palestinian rights, Zionism and freedom of speech. This forces the writer to confront his own views on a range of issues.
Jordan Lane Shappell plays Asaf as it is written, a role that captures the indecision of liberal Jews. The playwright and Director Jeremy Weschler also expertly capture the tension between the personal and political that touches almost everyone in this play. K Chinthana Sotakoun is a mostly patient spouse, good at pressing her husband when he can’t make a decision. He is challenged in different ways by his college girlfriend, still an activist. Sharyon Culberson brings passion peppered with wisdom to this role.
The younger actors are the truly powerful people in this play. DeVaughn Asante Loman brings appropriate intensity to the student who appeals to Asaf for support and is an important somewhat removed perspective later on. Evan Ozer is compelling as a Jewish graduate student whose expertise from working toward his Ph.D. in Jewish history and Judaic studies puts him into a fiery debate with Asaf that ends the first act with a troubling twist. That is most welcome in what seems to be a period in Chicago drama that is plagued with an epidemic of sluggish first acts. Eliyah Arman Ghaeini is searing as a Palestinian student whose politically charged and emotional takedown centers the second act.
Kudos to the technical crew, especially Joe Schermoly for his flexible set with big Gothic windows above shelves of books and magazines that allow it serve as a library, academic office and even create a space for Asaf and Gwen’s home. Matthew Eggers’ costumes fit the folks onstage well from the professorial to the students to the activists.
Over the course of the play, much is discussed, argued about and examined. Among them is the tricky connection between Blacks and Jews. Even the delicate matter of which people have suffered most is addressed. Normally I will not engage in the my-genocide-is-bigger-than-your-genocide argument because it seems pointless when it’s clear that genocide is genocide wherever and whenever it occurs, but here it is explored with vigor from a range of perspectives. I appreciated the ability of this play to present so many plausible sides for those who understand – or want to understand – a range of perspectives.
I’ve been collecting responses since it opened. The smart and appropriately critical friend who joined me was concerned that, despite some very good acting, people might automatically gravitate to the views they held before or be put off by the weight of these ideas and the density of the exchanges about them. I agree but must note that we had much to talk about after the show. Another friend, whose scholarship includes a country that endured genocide, was drawn in by the “very thoughtful, respectful kind of analysis” in The Ally. That, too, is true.
What this corps, from playwright to director to actors, does is to offer an evening full of ideas. More important, daunting and painful as they can be, they are ideas worth hearing, worth the wrestle for those on stage and those in the audience. In dramatizing the issues, The Ally does clarify some of the problems though, ironically, by giving voice to so many ideas and ideologies, it does not offer solutions. Whether you become an ally of any side presented on stage or simply gain a better understanding and perspective is to be determined, you’re likely to emerge from this show with lots to discuss and contemplate.
The Angel Next Door
Northlight Theatre through May 10
Recommended
The Angel Next Door is both an homage and a love letter to screwball comedies. Its impressive historic roots stretch back to Hungary where Ferenc Molnár, an esteemed playwright, director, author and poet, wrote Play at the Castle in 1924. That work inspired theater artists in his native Hungary but also on other continents. Their names read like a directory of dramatic giants – Fritz Lang, Richard Rodgers, Oscar Hammerstein, Alfred Lunt, Lynn Fontanne, Billy Wilder. Play at the Castle became The Play’s the Thing in P. G. Wodehouse’s hands, premiering in New York in 1926, and was later adapted by Tom Stoppard into Rough Crossing. Its newest inspirational incarnation comes to Northlight’s stage thanks to Playwright Paul Slade Smith’s 2023 adaptation.
This version has a playwright power couple, fearful of losing their power, doing their best to persuade a young author about to explode on the literary scene to sign the contract for his book about the leading lady he’s idolized and memorialized. They have gathered in a Newport, Rhode Island, mansion run by an irritable housekeeper, for a concert to be given by the woman of the author’s heart. On arrival, the schemes for salvation and screwball antics start and, of course, everything that can goes wrong.
Director Linda Fortunato keeps it all clipping along, ensuring that the required comic timing never loses its pace or rhythm. Although the actors playing actors are the “stars,” Sean Fortunato, who happens to be married to the director, and his onstage wife Katy Sullivan shine throughout. Charlotte Sanders is the hardboiled leader of the pack with enough sense and optimism for everyone else, including the clueless and the sad sacks, and Sullivan imbues her with a confident take-charge charm. Sean Fortunato is a fine foil to his wife, ever the loopy pessimist to her cheerful optimism. His comedic skills make him wildly popular on Chicago area stages and always great fun to see. Garrett Lutz gives us an author whose pleasure at certain fame is easily eclipsed by matters of the heart or possibly heartless. He goes from blissful budding literary sensation in love to depressed lover with admirable speed and feeling. Aja Alcazar’s leading lady is a beauty, both literally and interpretively. Her Margot Bell is a confection to behold but a well-played smart cookie. Not so for her kidneys-for-brains leading man. Andres Enriquez makes sure his Victor Pratt flips from narcissism to obliviousness with fluid ease. The real star of this show, though is Olga the housekeeper. Erin Noel Grennan, who is married to Playwright Paul Slade Smith, steals the show with her Slavic irritability and working-class disdain capped off by a delightful twist.
Kärin Kopischke’s period-perfect costumes are luscious, from her rich red boudoir set and plunging bejeweled evening gown that sets off the leading lady’s rosy complexion and dark hair to the greens and stylish outfits that drape Charlotte Sanders to the goofy suits that her husband sports. Jack Magaw’s set, with its multiple doors and elegant furniture, and Paloma Locsin’s props create a space befitting a Newport mansion.
My only critique was one that my guest, a friend with decades of Chicago theater experience, brought to my attention. The second act is better than the first. Whether this is the fault of the original Molnár or the need to set up all that will happen after intermission is not clear but I realized that this is true of several of the shows I’ve seen of late. It supports my belief and requirement – much to the woe of my sometimes-miserable late husband – that one must always stay for the second act because everything could change. Call this recent phenomenon slow-start influenza. No matter though since it will not prevent the laughs or fun to be had at this play.
Northlight Artistic Director BJ Jones describes The Angel Next Door as “a theatrical bonbon,” and it is indeed a treat to mark the last show at the Skokie Performing Arts center before Northlight returns to its Evanston roots in a brand-new home in September. So savor the sweets now by seeing this show.
Musical Homage
Remembering Tom Lehrer
I was about 11 when Tom Lehrer jumped into my consciousness and stole my intellectual heart.
I’ll blame it on my parents who were crazy about this genius mathematician-turned-showman, the author of some of the wittiest satirical songs most of us had ever encountered. We spent many a night after family dinner wearing out the vinyl on Lehrer’s That Was the Year that Was. By the time I was12 I knew all the lyrics on that album, and a couple other well-worn records by Tom Lehrer. For true Lehrer devotees, picking a favorite song is impossible but singing as many as possible as often as possible is impossible to resist – much to the annoyance of non-Lehrer fans or other sorts of American Puritans he would most certainly eschew. Fortunately, my parents were far from that, and I had the good luck to marry a man who happily sang Lehrer along with me, though he was usually in key. So Lehrer’s late July death at 97 hit me with enough of a smack that it’s taken me a while to collect my thoughts, and to trace his impact on my life.
In my junior year of high school, my mother was offered a visiting professorship at Harvard Law School, an opportunity she happily accepted for many reasons, not least among them that she’d not been able to accept the full scholarship Radcliffe offered her because her parents couldn’t afford to send her across the country for college. Already a surly teenager, I was eager to escape the irritating pretensions of the University of Chicago, where the administration often made racist and other horrible decisions that eclipsed the good work and politics of my parents and their friends and colleagues. My parents took the view that while the Hyde Park neighborhood had some merits and lots of smart and wonderful people, it also possessed a cloyingly small-town nature that required true city folks like us to leave it often to explore the delights of Chicago, and to find decent restaurants. Given this, my adolescent spirit was prepared to dive into in the cosmopolitan charms of Cambridge and Boston. That disappeared as soon as I discovered that pretense and academic pedigrees were an art form at Harvard compared to the rumpled, multisyllabic, grumpy nature of your average U of C habitué or Hyde Parker.
The fact that I was sent to a “school for young ladies” in a Cambridge house did not improve my teenage outlook. However, one fact, and that school’s proximity to it, elated me. Tom Lehrer taught at Harvard and lived nearby. Call me naïve but, at 15, I thought the best way to meet him was to go to his house every day after school and sit on his steps in the hopes that he would emerge or come home after work whereupon I would express my admiration of his brilliant lyrics and fawn all over him. Weeks went by. This did not happen. Finally, one cold afternoon, the door opened and my heart leapt. A woman peered out and asked me why I was sitting on her porch every day. I explained that I wanted to meet Lehrer and asked if this wasn’t his house. Yes, she replied, but he had the good sense to go to Santa Cruz that winter and she was renting his house. Crestfallen, I went home and consoled myself with art. At that time, I intended to be a dancer and choreographer so I persuaded one of my two school friends, both also outliers, to join me in creating a dance to Lehrer’s “The Vatican Rag.” Her Czech mother sewed our nuns’ habits from old pillowcases, and we used Mardi Gras beads that doubled as belts we could swing around and as rosaries.
We started performing our “Vatican Rag” around Cambridge. People seemed to like it, except for one woman who found it scandalous and turned to express her view to my father, who was sitting next to her. “That’s my daughter,” he said with some pride. He was a professor of humanities and religious studies among other subjects so I like to think that it was more than mere paternal pride.
The Cambridge grapevine, it turns out, was as good as the Hyde Park one. When Lehrer returned to Cambridge in the spring, word reached him that two girls were performing a dance to his “Vatican Rag” around town. Connections were made, and Lehrer came over to our house, singing and playing the piano while I performed our dance for him. His delight was contagious but not nearly as enormous as mine. My mother, herself delighted, filmed this encounter. Alas that ancient videocassette returned with me to Chicago only to become the one piece of my luggage the airlines have lost forever so all I have is the memory of that remarkable afternoon – and, of course, Lehrer’s glorious song.
I headed off to Macalester College in St. Paul, Minnesota in the Fall but was so smitten with Lehrer that I managed to stay in touch with him. He was campaigning for George McGovern by singing at fundraisers, and the Twin Cities were on his tour. I got to spend an intoxicating evening following Lehrer around and watching him work his magic on crowds. By then, he’d performed on Sesame Street, singing adorable little ditties about “silent e” and its alphabetical relatives. He tickled the Twin Cities audiences by sharing the “Adult X-rated” version of “Silent E.”
As I’ve revisited his repertoire since his death, I’ve been struck by the giddy joys Lehrer’s lyrics cause in songs like “New Math” and “The Elements,” and the relevance of his lyrics in so many songs from “Pollution” to “Who’s Next?” Consider these from “National Brotherhood Week:”
Oh the white folks hate the Black folks
And the Black folks hate the white folks
To hate all but the right folks is an old established rule
But during National Brotherhood Week
National Brotherhood Week …
It’s fun to eulogize the people you despise
As long as you don’t let them in your school
Oh the poor folks hate the rich folks
And the rich folks hate the poor folks…
Oh the Protestants hate the Catholics
And the Catholics hate the Protestants
And the Hindus hate the Muslims
And everybody hates the Jews
But during National Brotherhood Week
National Brotherhood Week
National Everyone-Smile-at-One-Another-hood Week
Be nice to people who are inferior to you
It’s only for a week so have no fear
Be grateful that it doesn’t last all year
I was moved to discover in the many odes to and obituaries to Lehrer that he decided to release the rights to all his songs, telling his fans, “So help yourselves, and don’t send me any money.” He even had a website created for people to download his songs.
No doubt that only expanded Lehrer’s following, as does his songs’ infectious singability, which has made me continue to sing Lehrer’s songs across so many decades whenever and wherever the spirit moves me, which is often. Our children grew up on Lehrer’s songs as well, and I am now introducing my grandbaby to his oeuvre. I’m sure she’ll enjoy the kiddie versions of his Sesame Street songs when she learns to read but, for now, we’re working our way through the age-appropriate highlights of his adult repertoire so she can decide what her favorite will be.