Review: Chicago One-Minute Play Festival (Victory Gardens)

  
  

OMPF - One Minute Play Festival - Victory Gardens - banner

 

New Festival Showcases Short Works by Local Artists, Sampler-style

 

by Dan Jakes and Oliver Sava

This May 15-16, Victory Gardens premiered Chicago’s first One-Minute Play Festival (OMPF), a benefit event that featured bite-sized works by an eclectic mix of prominent and upcoming local theater artists. Creator and “curator” Dominic D’Andrea originally debuted the series in New York in 2007, where it has since grown to San Francisco and Los Angeles . For its first ever stop in the Midwest, considering the event’s magnitude–50 playwrights, 10 directors, and nearly 60 actors–this year’s showcase demonstrated promising potential for an exciting annual Chicago theater institution.

That is, if it finds a stronger footing. Micro-plays are nothing new, especially in the Windy City, long-time home to the Neo-Futurists’ Too Much Light and Second City; one set the bar for two-minute plays, and the other made one-joke flash bits a sketch trademark. D’Andrea and producer Will Rogers’ OMPF also rides off the larger 10-minute play trend. Their efforts to boil down theater even further, though, prove to be fruitful–sometimes even enlightening. Below is a list of the night’s highlights.

Paper Airplane, Aaron Carter  

     
   The finest piece in the festival. A young boy expresses his anguish over his father’s looming death while tossing folded paper planes across the stage. His ability to speak is limited to the papers’ flight, leaving him choked and frustrated with each audible crash landing. In less than a minute, Carter encapsulates the panic of grief, and animates the cruel handicap children endure to express pain. Those planes approached visual poetry.

Two Vegans, Robert Tenges

     
   A couple engaged in love making–some of it hilariously acrobatic–get their kink on by dirty-talking their favorite (or to cool things off, least favorite: (“raw kale…raw kale!”) foods. At first, it’s funny nonsense. Then, after you uncomfortably internalize your own link between taste/sexual satisfaction, it’s hysterical.

A Play, Kristoffer Diaz

     
   You’re the hero in this monologue. The audience member to your right is the protagonist. Your left, the antagonist. Diaz’s simple, straight-forward instructions don’t feel like a gimmick. His inconclusive end ponders some sophisticated ideas about the broader implications of storytelling, ones that resonate long after the play’s 60 seconds are up.

The Last Walk, Lisa Dillman

     
   Sad pets are an easy go-to for emotional impact…but that doesn’t make using them any less effective. A dog reminisces about the good days with her very recently deceased owner. Confused, she brushes up against his dead body for affection…and if you don’t cry a little at the thought of that, then you’re a monster. Only a few high-pitched “aw’s” were heard in the house during an otherwise hushed fade-to-black.

Inequity, Jake Minton

     
   Penis envy comes early for two little boys (played by full-grown adults, of course) in a school bathroom: One stands proud, pants down and bare-butted at a urinal, while the other sits devastated, hiding his…well, you know. Minton makes a nice little joke about men’s biggest insecurity.

Haiku Fight, Caitlin Montanye Parrish

     
   A couple hashes out an argument by having a refereed 8 Mile-style slam, with Japanese poetry filling in for hip-hop. It’s a simple, wonderfully clever juxtaposition of the writing form’s serenity versus the needling aggravation of a relationship fight.

This Just In, Stephen Louis Grush

     
  Liberal sensibilities about prejudice get turned over on their heads when one easily dismissible stereotype gets paired with one that’s equally unfair, but–for many viewers–may hit a little closer to home. Those might sound like the makings for a didactic issues play. With the right amounts of humor and levity here, they aren’t.

Bag Thief, Laura Jacqmin

     
   A mix-up at an airport luggage carousel leads to suspicion and accusations. Jacqmin doesn’t quite know how to end her play–what she settles for lets the air out of its balloon and betrays her otherwise solid work. Up until the final seconds, though, it’s fun stuff watching two men calmly navigate each other’s logic and contemplate one another’s mind games.

Blackout, Chisa Hutchinson

      
   As the name suggests, Hutchinson’s play takes place with the house and stage lights off. Her monologue discusses nyctophobia (fear of darkness) in friendly, clinical terms. Once she starts in about the ghastly things you could be imagining, it’s hard not to nervously giggle and realize you’re an adult who’s once again–briefly–afraid of the dark.

In Not Our Finest Hour, Andrew Hinderaker

     
   You can spot a gag coming within the first few seconds of this context-free comedy. A line of actors take a swig from a water bottle and pass it on. Anticipation builds; titters slip. The fact that the punch line is exactly what you’d expect compounds the simple humor in this satisfying, straightforward piece.

Wisconsin, Andrew Hinderaker 

     
   Anyone who’s experienced the unique isolation of a rural Midwest winter can attest to the truth and melancholy spoken in this eloquent monologue. A young man describes a blackened hand rising out of the snow. Hinderaker’s vivid image is striking on conflicting levels–it’s unsettling, somber, and in its own way, serene.

Free, Zayd Dohrn

     
   A United States Marine quietly bemoans the chaos of modern war and rejects America’s authoritative façade. His speech is upsetting for all the obvious reasons, and for some less common: notably, the futility of humanitarian efforts and the false hope instilled by the military’s hierarchy.

A Short Story, Emily Schwartz 

     
   A narrator gives up on his own story, much to the protagonist’s chagrin. Schwartz’s non-story leaves the nameless hero waiting and frustrated as the nonchalant storyteller signs off on her would-be adventure. Smart, funny metatheater.

Love Play for Two Chairs, Seth Bockley 

     
   When you think about chairs having sex (though in any other context, why would you?) the word “whimsical” probably doesn’t come to mind. And yet, like an x-rated Fantasia, Bockley and director Jeffrey Stanton achieve just that. Annoyed by the noise of his enchanted furniture getting it on, an apartment owner sets out to end his two chairs’ tryst. His solution is delightfully absurd–the fact that it’s irresistibly adorable makes matters even stranger.

Unsolicited Advice for Next Year’s Fest

Now that the One-Minute Play Festival has taken its first entertaining, successful baby steps in Chicago, here’s what we at we’d would like to see from the show in its future incarnations…

A Greater Assortment of Styles:

Only a few plays in 2011 were noteworthy for really bucking traditional conventions. The message in Gloria Bond Clunie’s Falling about resilience in the face of natural disasters, for instance, wasn’t particularly moving or inspired, but her play stood out from its peers for its striking use of projections and puppetry. That left us with a question: How can the other works of 50 unique artists have looked so homogeneous? Talking animals, inner-monologues, contentless scenes and gripes about public transit bore the brunt of too many shows. No movement pieces? No one-minute musicals? Festival organizers take pride in the lack of dictated thematic guidelines for the playwrights (as they should). Still, there has to be a way to commission a more diverse body of work.

Super-titles:

Many of the short plays benefited from having the names of the shows known; some even took on new light. Dimmed houselights and tiny program font made seeing them impractical–unless you were really straining, you had to do without. An inexpensive or creative way to integrate the show names could further enrich the work.

Clear Intent Behind Curation:

Was there or was there not an intended arc to the evening? We couldn’t tell. Directors took on about 10 plays each, and their pieces were presented together in ten unique “clumps.” The order that clumps were presented in and the plays within them, though, did not have an obvious flow. Perhaps one wasn’t intended–regardless, having one might keep the night as a whole engaging.


The Chicago One-Minute Play Festival is produced as a benefit for Victory Gardens Fresh Squeezed, their alternative programming and audience engagement initiative. With a shared mission, both Fresh Squeezed and the festival aim to represent a wide and diverse range of playwrights, actors, and directors working in the great city of Chicago.

Reviewers: Dan Jakes and Oliver Sava

     
     

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Belarus Free Theatre wraps up Chicago stay with final show

  
  

Playing to sold out crowds, Belarus Free Theatre wraps up Chicago stay

  
 

Yana Rusakevich, Yana Rusakevich and Aleh Sidorchyk

This past Monday night, the Belarus Free Theatre gave its last Chicago performance of Being Harold Pinter to a packed house at the Chicago Shakespeare Theatre. Their world tour will now carry them to Hong Kong and London, a development they hardly anticipated when they first escaped from the Belarus secret police in January to perform in New York City for Under the Radar Festival, sponsored by Public Theatre. As artists on the run, they have one overriding mission—to alert the world to the conditions of torture, unlawful detention and disappearance occurring in “the last dictatorship in Europe” and to continue strong sanctions imposed on Belarus for its mass arrests of Alexander Lukashenko’s political opposition during post-election demonstrations on December 19 last year.

The applause they received upon entering the champagne reception afterwards echoed the standing ovation that crowned up their final performance in Chicago. While undoubtedly deserved, one couldn’t help feeling the inadequacy of what we were offering them–that what they needed most were not cocktails and hors d’oeurvres but a home free from the terrors of state oppression. The star presence of John Mahoney, Ora Jones, Phillip James Brannon, Stephen Louis Grush, and others who joined the actors onstage to read eye-witness accounts of KGB brutality paled before both the cast’s plight and their bold achievement.

Overwhelming our attention were names of the imprisoned and tortured, their images printed up on posterboards and lined in the lobby—Anatoly Lebedko, leader of the United Civil Party; journalists Natalya Radina and Irina Khalip; Andrei Sannikov, Vladimir Nekliaev and Nikolai Statkevich, opposition presidential candidates; Dmitri Bondarenko, European Belarus Movement coordinator; Maya Abramchik and Svetlana Nosova suffering leg and eye injury from being tortured and young Danik, whose parents are still in jail from the December crackdown. “These were the photographs that we made in time for the NYC performance in January,” said BFT director Vladimir Scherban. “Some of the people have been released from jail but are under house arrest now. As for the images of those tortured, these are just those photos that we could get to print.”

With the help of BFT co-founder Natalia Kaladia, I had managed to corner Scherban for an interview:

PL: So, how long will your tour continue from Chicago?

VS: We’ll be in Hong Kong for less than two weeks, then on to London. We’re planning to perform the play in Parliament. We hope so.

PL: So you have UK politicians helping you to set that up?

VS: We have good contacts with British artistic figures. And we hope to return here. We plan to continue our contacts with the Goodman Theatre, with the Public Theatre and the Baryshnikov Theatre in New York.

PL: Have you received enough funding from your performances here for the tour?

VS: (shrugs) We hardly knew we would be here when we arrived in New York. I suppose so—we’d plan on only 4 performances and how spontaneous to perform 14 in Chicago, fully sold out. So, this was very strange but also very pleasant situation that we could do this for Chicago audiences.

PL: How is your application for asylum in the US going?

VS: (shrugs) I really don’t know about asylum. It’s a big question whether that’s going to happen or not. We cannot re-enter our own country. Our members have already received threats or orders to return. We constantly receive threats in the form of our relatives and neighbors being called late at night by the police about our whereabouts. Several members have received invitations from the police to show up for interrogation.

Unfortunately, this [Belarus] government only understands sanctions, straightforward and unwavering sanctions. The last elections, only very harsh sanctions forced the president [Lukashenko] to release the opposition presidential candidates from jails. Discussions do nothing. During discussions, political candidates just become goods to sell America and the EU.

What you have to know about the demonstrations that took place on December 19th is that there was snow on the ground. After the police had stormed the crowd and assaulted the people, the snow was stained with blood. Then at university, students who were absent on the day of the demonstration were ordered to go for a medical check up and if they looked like they had been beaten up from the demonstration, they were expelled from school.

In some ways, it’s easier for us. We don’t fear this anymore. We’ve been beaten up, we’ve been arrested, we’ve lost our places at work—we’ve gotten used to working under pressure.

PL: What would you like people to take away most about your stay here?

VS: Well, a very big idea for everyone to understand is that we mean serious things. We’re not just about going around and telling our story. We are expecting Obama to be very precise about our situation and take a clear position against the Belarus government. This is what people should know: people are being beaten up, thrown in jail, and disappeared. [BFT co-founder] Nikolai [Khalezin] has had 9 friends disappeared in the last 16 years. The people you see on the posters who are in jail? They’re our friends, our audience.

PL: Anything else you’d like to say?

VS: Wish us luck!


UPDATE: Since the posting of this interview, the OSCE  – Office for Democratic Institutions and Human Rights – published its report on Belarus’s December presidential election, declaring that the election did not meet the criteria for being free and fair.


 

           
Maryna Yurevich, Yana Rusakevich, Nikolai Khalezin_thumb[1] Yana Rusakevich and Aleh Sidorchyk - Belarus Free Theatre - Being Harold Pinter_thumb[1]
Nikolai Khalezin, Maryna Yurevich and Yana Rusakevich_thumb[2] Being Harold Pinter by Belarus Free Theatre at Goodman Theatre_thumb[5]
     
     

Review: Feet of Clay (LASTmatch Theatre Company)

     
     

Southern retelling of ‘Three Sisters’ needs the family spirit

     
     

Craig Cunningham, Paul Dunckel, Brandon Ford, Larry Garner, Chris Hart, Leah Karpel and Kimberly Logan in 'Feet of Clay' by Stephen Louis Grush, presented by LASTmatch Theatre Company in Chicago.

  
LASTmatch Theatre Company presents
  
Feet of Clay
  
Written by Stephen Louis Grush 
Directed by
David Perez
at Royal George Gallery Theater, 1641 N. Halsted (map)
through March 19  |  tickets: $25  |  more info

Reviewed by Oliver Sava

A reimagining of Chekhov’s Three Sisters set 200 miles outside New Orleans, Louisiana, Feet Of Clay finds sisters Orah (Kimberly Logan), Matty (Jennifer Alexander), and Iris (Leah Karpel) Ledet struggling to adjust to life a year after their father has passed away. Orah despises the students at the school where she teaches, Matty is in a loveless marriage to an unseen husband, and Iris clings to the ideal of New Orleans, a place she never truly called home, but dreams will one day be. As Matty and Iris become involved with soldiers from the nearby military base, their Craig Cunningham as Sonny in 'Feet of Clay' by Stephen Louis Grush, presented by LASTmatch Theatre Company in Chicago.deadbeat brother Andy (Chris Hart) and his trailer trash wife Nambi (Annie Kehoe) assume control of the house, desecrating their father’s memory. While Grush’s plot hits the same major points of Chekhov’s, the script suffers from severe pacing issues, moving so quickly that it never fully establishes the relationships between the characters.

Running only 90 minutes with no intermission, Feet Of Clay tries to cram as much story as possible in a limited time, forcing events to move at a speed that doesn’t feel natural. The first act sets up the story points in quick succession, with the second exploring their conclusion one year later, but there’s very little time spent showing the characters building relationships with one another. Matty and Vincent’s (Paul Dunckel) romance suffers because we never get to see them when they are a couple. They’re in love with each other because they have wildly different opinions on crawfish? In the second act both of their spouses become complications, but there’s not any initial tension established between the characters to make the threats feel dire.

The love triangle between Nick (Brandon Ford), Iris, and Sonny (Craig Cunningham) suffers from the same issue, although Iris’s relationship with Nick seemingly appears out of nowhere after Sonny dotes on her (stares at her creepily) in the first act. Grush builds Sonny’s mental instability through two solo scenes, the first at the start of the play when Sonny wakes up from a night terror, the second when he stands drunk and half naked in the rain. Sonny is probably the character that gets the most development in terms of showing multiple facets of a personality, but the character’s big act two moment feels gratuitous and improperly handled by the script. Sonny’s relationship with Iris may be intended to symbolize New Orleans and Hurricane Katrina (which occurs between the two acts), but the consequences of Sonny’s actions are never seen, making the events feel tacked on to build emotional conflict without following through.

     
Chris Hart and Annie Kehoe in 'Feet of Clay' by Stephen Louis Grush, presented by LASTmatch Theatre Company, Chicago. Jennifer Alexander and Paul Dunkel in 'Feet of Clay' by Stephen Louis Grush, presented by LASTmatch Theatre Company, Chicago

Rather than building the characters through dialogue and interactions with each other, most development occurs during speeches where the characters are finally able to express their innermost desires and conflicts. Iris has a freak out about being bossed around on her birthday, so she feels inferior. Orah complains about the “maggot” kids she teaches, so she’s unsatisfied with her life. Matty talks about tarot and how life is all about symbols, so she’s a free-spirited thinker. And while monologues can be effective, it becomes repetitive when characters go to a corner and say their opinion in one big oration. Monologues don’t help much when it comes to building interpersonal relationships because they’re singular by nature, yet much of the characters’ emotional lives come through in these moments. It would be nice if the insight shown in the monologues were distributed throughout the dialogue.

A major problem with Feet of Clay is that the three sisters and brother never really feel like a family. Orah, the oldest of the four, is played with such one-note brashness that it’s difficult to ever care about her. There is rarely a moment when she is not complaining about her work, or demanding something from another person, and when she finally does show a moment of vulnerability, she gives a pretty pathetic reason for her bitchiness. By the time Nambi and Andy get their big monologue Larry Garner as Ivy in 'Feet of Clay' by Stephen Louis Grush, presented by LASTmatch Theatre Company, Chicago.moments (every character gets one), they’re such repulsive characters that there’s not much reason to care. Kehoe falls into a stereotypical trailer trash type that feels put on, and her relationship with Hart feels as forced as the rest of the romances in the play. Karpel seems to be the only one trying to create some sort of family dynamic, her delusions about New Orleans pushing to keep them together, but ultimately her character becomes as scattered as the rest.

Replacing Moscow with New Orleans creates a lot of opportunities to incorporate southern American history and imagery, but beyond a few references to kudzu and the southern dialect, these go largely unexplored. Nick mentions how the South is so different from what he sees on TV, and Feet Of Clay’s Leesville is different by not having all that much character at all. The Ledet father’s friend Ivy (Larry Garner) brings in some context when he tells a story about how he improved at math by working at his father’s store, and it’s a quiet moment that has as much value as the intense, dramatic explosions. With a few more of these calm moments, LASTmatch Theatre’s Feet Of Clay could explore the depths of the relationships and develop the characters more completely. The show is all tension, but there needs to be moments of relief that serve as reminders for the characters – and the audience – of why they choose to stay.

  
  
Rating: ★★
  
  

Performances run 2/11- 3/19, Thu, Fri, and Sat at 8pm at the Gallery space at Royal George Theatre. Tickets are $25 and are available through the Royal George Box Office and www.ticketmaster.com. For more information call the Box Office at: 312-988-9000 or visit www.lastmatch.org.

     
Leah Karpel as Iris and Jennifer Alexander as Matty in 'Feet of Clay' by Stephen Louis Grush, presented by LASTmatch Theatre Company, Chicago. Kimberly Logan as Orah in 'Feet of Clay' by Stephen Louis Grush, presented by LASTmatch Theatre Company, Chicago.

Brandon Ford and Leah Karpel in 'Feet of Clay' by Stephen Louis Grush, presented by LASTmatch Theatre Company, Chicago.

Performers include Craig Cunningham, Paul Dunckel, Brandon Ford, Larry Garner, Chris Hart, Leah Karpel, Kimberly Logan, and LASTmatch founders Jennifer Alexander and Annie Kehoe.

     
     

REVIEW: Sex With Strangers (Steppenwolf Theatre)

  
  

The perils of blogging while shagging

  
  

Sally Murphy and Stephen Louis Grush in 'Sex with Strangers' at Steppenwolf Theatre. Photo by Michael Brosilow.

  
Steppenwolf Theatre presents
   
Sex With Strangers
   
Written by Laura Eason
Directed by
Jessica Thebus
at
Steppenwolf Upstairs Theatre, 1650 N. Halsted (map)
through May 15  |  tickets: $20-$73  |  more info

Reviewed by Paige Listerud

Steppenwolf Theatre’s remount of Laura Eason’s Sex with Strangers, which enjoyed its first success during their 2009 First Look Repertory of New Work, is framed as another installment in their seasonal exploration of the public and private self. Now if only Eason’s play had the depth and strength to take on that weighty mantle. As is, Sex with Strangers is a nice and gentle play about an older generation’s discomfort with a younger generation, their new technological toys, and the exponential expansion of sexual frankness as the result of those toys. The play might “spark dialogue” about where the private self has gone in this internet age but it will hardly give body, clarity or insight to that discussion.

Stephen Louis Grush and Sally Murphy in 'Sex with Strangers' at Steppenwolf Theatre. Photo by Michael Brosilow.As a result, the play is rather tepid and pleasant but just as easily forgettable. Shy, neurotic and old-school novel writer Olivia (Brenda Barrie for our performance) runs into brash, young, self-promoting blogger Ethan (Stephen Louis Grush) at a writer’s retreat. She’s completing her second novel many years after her first and Ethan, who’s compiled his blog of sexual exploits into a bestselling book, has arrived to work on the screenplay for which he already has a Hollywood contract. The scenario is set for seduction—something the audience can see coming a mile away. But Olivia’s seduction isn’t just about booty calls or–what’s that old 70s phrase? The “zipless fuck”? Olivia is introduced, through Ethan, to the whole world of blogging, social media, and no longer relying upon the gatekeepers, i.e., critics, or those dinosaur editors of print publishing.

It’s sad that we don’t get to know these characters beyond their types. Sadder still is that the chemistry between Barrie and Grush is just not believable. Their relationship has be to set up fast so that the rest of the play can continue—one accepts their sexual interaction just to let the story unfold—but by far there isn’t enough of an instantaneous connection of passion between them to make their relationship credible. Grush is a dynamic actor who gives Ethan’s impetuousness and arrogance the right balance of self-effacing candor. Barrie, meanwhile, has the nuance to convey Olivia’s introverted low self-esteem down pat, but missing is Olivia’s sexual, as well as intellectual, allure. If Olivia is the kind of character who only reveals herself on the page, it’s no wonder that even after the first act she seems a kind of cipher.

So far all the you-know-the-internet/I-don’t-know-the-internet stuff is concerned, that’s really just fluff on top of a much older kind of story about the fickle nature of fame and success, about the envy that springs up between friends over who is making it in their careers and who isn’t, about who has more power in the relationship and who doesn’t. While this is the real dynamic of Ethan and Olivia’s relationship, it’s one in which the characters sleepwalk their way through, never pausing to observe themselves, what they are doing with each other or why.

Plus, Sex with Strangers sets up a strange dichotomy between what’s old and young but then fails to examine that dichotomy or whether it’s even valid.

Stephen Louis Grush and Sally Murphy in 'Sex with Strangers' at Steppenwolf Theatre. Photo by Michael Brosilow.Ethan falls in love with Olivia in part because of the excellence of her writing. So, the older writer is associated with excellence while Ethan’s blog is emblematic of flash-in-the-pan dreck that gets rewarded with fame and success. Missing from the play’s interrogation is any recollection of old school pulp novelists and young, excellent, intelligently written blogs—or intelligent blogs written by oldsters. Gone is any acknowledgement that there are hundreds, if not thousands, of writers old and young out there who may be every bit as talented, if not more, than the august Olivia—not all of them are going to get publishing contracts, even with a blog to promote their work.

The simplicity of Eason’s set-up is also her play’s downfall. No doubt, many in the audience will find her dialogue humorous and enjoyable, but whether this play will be remembered more than the usual date movie rom-com is anyone’s guess.

  
  
Rating ★★½
  
  

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REVIEW: Cash (XIII Pocket Ensemble)

        
        

Pissed off by Christmas frivolity? Then try ‘Cash’

        
        

IMGP5239

 

   
XIII Pocket Ensemble presents
  
Cash
  
Written by Stephen Louis Grush
Directed by
Jacob Lorenz
at
Stage 773, 1225 W. Belmont (map)
through Dec 19  |  tickets: $  |  more info

Reviewed by Katy Walsh

“Hello! I’m Johnny Cash.” XIII Pocket presents Cash with the tagline “The Man in Black, and the Death of the American Dream.” Music icon Johnny Cash sang soulful songs of the human condition. He became a legend singing about doing the wrong thing under the influence of drugs, lust and incarceration. All these themes twist into XIII Pocket’s introduction of folks struggling with being poor, bad, or obsessed. This Cash is less about Johnny and more about the lack of money. The monologue and dialogue vignettes are transitioned together by Johnny Cash songs. The JC selections are a more obscure sampling than his familiar mainstream blockbusters. So, it’s uncertain whether or not the songs mirror the IMGP5112stories. What is certain is that “playwright Stephen Louis Grush dulls the bandage-ripping drama with booze. On a stage decorated with dangling naked light bulbs, the misery and pain of every day Americans is illuminated from the shadows in Cash.

Under the direction by Jacob S. Lorenz, the cast is in intoxicated angst. In a three part vignette, Chip DavisWalks The Line” between crazy and drunk. He pontificates about snake dancing, eyeball donors and being someone’s bitch. Looking like a cross between Jesus and the band Alabama, Davis rants with an increasing dark intensity. Paige Smith and Mark Minton are a fury of “Hurt” as their drinking game spins horrifically out-of-control. Smith and Minton are uncomfortably real with spitting and gun pointing ferocity. Plagued by a “Ring of Fire”, Caitlin McGlone is poignant and funny as a woman screwing her cheating ex-husband. McGlone speaks directly to the audience with the familiar I-don’t–love-him-I-just-wish-I-didn’t-have-to-love-him logic of an unhealthy relationship. McGlone engages perfectly in her ordinariness. Laura Rook and Sean Driscoll have “It Ain’t Me, Babe” banter. The disdain is evident in a coupling crumble. Heath Cordts is primed for “Folsom Prison Blues”. Behind a pulpit, Cordts unemotionally describes a killing spree based around his favorite number ’13.’ Cordts is hysterical as a controlled disturbed freak. In fact, the entire cast is despicable in their portrayals of gritty folks not dealing in reality.

Getting Cash takes the right mindset. It’s not a show about Johnny Cash. It’s not a “Behind The Music” bio-pic on the celebrity. The songs referenced above are not heard during the performance. If you’re looking for a Man in Black to croon familiar tunes, Million Dollar Quartet is a better choice for you to get ‘Cashed’. But if you are tired of holiday plays; find yourself rooting for Scrooge and Grinch to the way they are, or nearly vomit every time you hear an obnoxious carol, this show is Cash-friendly for you! Perhaps, the only Anti-Christmas spirit option available, Cash sings speaks volumes.

   
   
Rating: ★★½
  
    

IMGP5219

Cash plays through December 19th, and can be seen Thursdays and Sundays at 8pm and Fridays and Saturdays at 10:30pm.  All performances at Stage 773 in Chicago. Running Time for Cash is 65-minutes with no intermission.

3-Words: The better half of a “Jackson” duet, Bill describes it with “disjointed, Cashless, negative.”

  
  

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REVIEW: The Seagull (Goodman Theatre)


          
           

Robert Falls allows this glorious ‘Seagull’ to soar

 

 

Nina (Heather Wood) listens as Trigorin (Cliff Chamberlain) talks about his obsession with writing and the fame that consequently follows as Arkadina (Mary Beth Fisher) looks on.

   
Goodman Theatre presents
   
The Seagull
   
Written by Anton Chekhov 
Directed by
Robert Falls 
Goodman’s Owen Theatre, 170 N. Dearborn
(map)
through November 21  |   tickets: $20-$45  |  more info

Reviewed by Catey Sullivan

With The Seagull, Robert Falls makes a stunning 180-degree swerve from the massive, nearly operatic productions he’s staged over the past few years. If King Lear and Desire Under the Elms were thundering landslides of theatricality, The Seagull is a lone, perfect pebble. Which isn’t to say Falls’ take on Anton Chekhov’s ground-breaking masterpiece lacks the gob-smacking emotional heft of his overtly showier efforts. Far from it. Played by actors in minimal costumes on a bare stage, The Seagull is as thrilling a production as you’re apt to see this season – an example of storytelling at its most powerful. That Falls manages to enthrall without the help of conventional costumes, sets or even lighting design illustrates just how gifted the Goodman’s Artistic Director is.

(clockwise from front center) Konstantin (Stephen Louis Grush) informs Masha (Kelly O’Sullivan), Dr. Dorn (Scott Jaeck), Sorin (Francis Guinan) and Medvendenko (Demetrios Troy) that Nina has returned to town but will not see any of them.Another indication of Falls storytelling prowess: Two hours of The Seagull elapse before the audience is released for an intermission. We’d be the first to cry foul at such a demand. Holding your audience captive for 115 minutes? Not fair. Moreover, since the vast majority of the dialogue within The Seagull seems to deal solely with superficial inanities, such a marathon sit will surely be all but intolerable, yes? In this case, no. Falls and his rockstar cast have captured the emotional truth in Chekhov’s text with a power and a glory that makes the piece fly by. Those first two hours feel like 20 minutes.

The intricate passions of Chekhov’s story are reflected in the sprawling cast, every member of which has their own vibrantly realized emotional life – right down to a cook (Laura T. Fisher) who has but a single line and less than a minute of stage time. When even the ‘bit’ roles are this rich, you know you have an ensemble of extraordinary power.

The action – which is actually mostly dialogue – spans several years and takes place on the country estate of Arkadina (Mary Beth Fisher), a famed, vain actress for whom adulation is an opiate. Much of The Seagull focuses on Arkadina’s tectonic clashes with her angry young son Konstantin (Stephen Louis Grush), a playwright struggling with love and art. The difference between mother and son is akin to the difference between Broadway in Chicago and any number of tiny, Off-Loop theaters. Which is to say: Konstantin, who sees his own art as pure, beautiful and meaningful while dismissing his mother’s shows as pandering tripe.

 

Arkadina (Mary Beth Fisher) expresses her deep passion and need for Trigorin (Cliff Chamberlain) to stay with her. Masha (Kelly O’Sullivan) seeks to numb her feelings and shut out the rest of the world.
Sorin (Francis Guinan) attempts to comfort Konstantin (Stephen Louis Grush) as he grapples with the complexities of his life. Nina (Heather Wood) performs in one of Konstantin’s plays in front of (l to r) Medvendenko (Demetrios Troy), Shamrayev (Steve Pickering), Polina (Janet Ulrich Brooks), Dr. Dorn (Scott Jaeck), Arkadina (Mary Beth Fisher), Trigorin (Cliff Chamberlain), Konstantin (Stephen Louis Grush) and Sorin (Francis Guinan).

Fisher is glorious, mining both comedy and pathos from a character whose depths are often profoundly superficial.  Grush is perfectly cast as a tortured artist who strives for edginess with the rage of a petulant child who is certain that adults are trivial and adult artists are pandering hacks. In their scenes together, the two are incendiary, a mother and son whose see-sawing love/hate relationship will never find an even keel.

Kelly O’Sullivan’s Masha is equally indelible, a black-clad emo/Goth prototype capable of the sort of gasp-inducing cruelty borne of unbearable sorrow and frustration. In capturing the bitter aesthetic of a woman who knows her life is over at 20, O’Sullivan is also laugh-out-loud funny, blurring the line between tragedy and comedy with such finesse that they become impossible to tell apart. As Masha’s husband, Demetrios Troy continues establishing himself as one of the most fascinating young actors around, portraying the put-upon Medvedenko as the personification of disillusionment and impotent fury borne not of hatred but of love.

And as Nina, the radiant, innocent young woman who is as easily destroyed as the titular bird Konstantin slaughters, Heather Wood makes Chekhov’s overarching metaphor a devastating heart-breaker.

   
   
Rating: ★★★★
   
   

Konstantin (Stephen Louis Grush) shows his affection for his mother, Arkadina (Mary Beth Fisher), after a traumatic experience.

 

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REVIEW: A True History of the Johnstown Flood (Goodman Theatre)

Design team is all that’s left above water

 

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Goodman Theatre presents
 
A True History of the Johnstown Flood
 
by Rebecca Gilman
directed by
Robert Falls 
Goodman Theatre, 170 N. Dearborn (map)
through April 18th (more info | tickets)
 
reviewed by Catey Sullivan 

Rebecca Gilman’s  latest play is titled A True History of the Johnstown Flood, but those hoping for any kind of insight into the tragedy will leave the Goodman Theatre’s production disappointed. As will those hoping to see a compelling story peopled with engaging characters. What A True History of the Johnstown Flood does offer is a condescending 2.5 hour lecture on the evils of Robber Baron capitalism backed by an award-worthy sound design and some amazing sets.

johnstown-flood_007 Speaking of which: The Goodman itself becomes an unintended, unavoidable and meta-theatrical punchline when one character opines with righteous indignation that some people go to the theater just to see the elaborate sets.  The line refers to theater-goers of the 19th century, but it  might as well refer to those who show up at the Goodman during the run of A True History of the Johnstown Flood.

Director Robert Falls might be working with paper dolls for all the authentic  emotion he gets from a cast trapped in a narrative that has all the authenticity of a Perils of Pauline episode.

Set in 1889, the piece contains many plays-within-the-play, as it follows the fate of the Baxter family acting troupe. Siblings Fanny (Heather Wood, doing what she can with an underwritten ingenue), James (Stephen Louis Grush, consistently out-acted by his wig) and Richard (Cliff Chamberlain, stuck in a character whose emotional journey peaks with an excruciating case of  explosive diarrhea) represent the working poor as they perform for a pittance at a posh resort located alongside a manmade lake high above working class Johnstown.

The Baxters perform in the style of the time – hackneyed plots delivered with stilted, exaggerated gestures and plumy, overripe line delivery. It is not a good sign when it becomes impossible to differentiate between the Baxter’s melodramas and Gilman’s drama.  But Gilman’s narrative is that hollow and histrionic and under Falls’ direction, that histrionically performed.

Take (please) a scene wherein Clara Barton arrives in Johnstown and encounters Richard in the throes of what was once called the bloody flux. The dialogue is as stiff as a cadaver as Clara announces who she is and explains that she is with the Red Cross, and that the Johnstown Flood is the first  Natural Disaster the Red Cross has responded to since the Civil War was a war and not a Natural Disaster.  It’s like watching the Hall of Presidents exhibit at Disneyland: Soulless, superficial and self-consciously educational.

johnstown-flood_012The 90-minute first act is a long, slow slog of exposition and declamation, as the Baxter siblings discuss their “museum worthy sets” and perform for the swells. James, who has been to Europe and ostensibly seen a few Ibsen plays, augments his performing career by writing bad plays about the unfair conditions of the proletariat. Cue the thick-as-river-bottom-sludge foreshadowing:  James runs into an ancient fisherman who explains the potential for flooding like some latter day Sophoclean messenger.

The worst instance of  this automaton-school-of-(over)acting comes toward the close of the 90-minute first act, in what should be a breathtakingly suspenseful  climax as the Baxters – and their newfound patron, the wealthy Andrew Lippincott (Lucas Hall)  -  are holed up with their sets in a freight car as the storms rages outside. The huddled group learns of the approaching disaster via a series of telegrams, each one delivered by the same, increasingly het up fellow.

Instead of the all-but unbearable tension borne of the knowledge that a disaster is imminent and one might be breathing one’s last, the scene is all fussy, unintended comedy. By the time the water arrived (with a blackout and Richard Woodbury’s extraordinary sound design), we found ourselves so distracted by the telegram man’s superpowers (Was the telegram office right next door to the Baxter’s train car? How was he getting back and forth so fast? Could he fly?)  the flood itself seemed almost beside the point.

Sound designer Woodbury provides the sole harrowing moment in the piece, capturing the crashing din of 20 million tons of water – and the countless trees, homes, corpses, animals and debris caught within its violent roil – with an apocalyptic sonic roar so fearsome it evokes the fury of the Old Testament’s God. It’s horrifying, and it is the sole moment in the play that effectively evokes the nightmarish event that is the Johnstown Flood.

Post-flood (and post intermission), the story dribbles into soggy inconsequence. People enter and exit looking for loved ones on a stage strangely bereft of corpses given the elaborate nature of the Goodman’s production values elsewhere in the drama. The flood killed over 2,000 people, but for all its big-budget resources, the Goodman has only three or four dead bodies on stage in a scene that supposedly shows desperate survivors searching for their loved ones amid hundreds of fatalities.

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Later comes a  potentially intriguing exchange as Lippincott discusses the flood with an official from the South Fork Hunting and Fishing Club – the organization responsible for building Lake Conemaugh as a playground for the rich, and thereby endangering the lives of the working class folk downstream. But the Club man disappears after that single conversation.  Instead of the class conflict the scene seems to portend, Gilman gives us only James’ hackneyed attempts at social justice via melodrama, with the Baxters beating their breasts and wailing unto the skies with all the verisimilitude of canned hams.

In the end, the Baxters inexplicably forsake their careers in the theater. A new cast is seen rehearsing James’ play on Broadway while James and Fanny are seemingly far away in a domestic life that doesn’t involve their “museum quality sets.”  Their abrupt retirement would be perplexing, if the story had given audiences any reason to care. But there is no such reason, unless, of course, you want to know what became of all that marvelous scenery.

 
Rating: ★½
 

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