Playwright: Bill Jepsen. At: Chicago Dramatists, 1103 W. Chicago. Phone: 312/633-0630; $28, $22; $10 student and industry select Thursday and Sundays . Runs through: Feb. 24
Of course they're all wonderful, your scriveners of the Great Profound. Sophocles, Aristotle, Euripides—nobody rocks the eternally transcendent truths of humanity like the Ancients. So bully for them and all that vaulting Greco-Roman architecture. It takes another sort of writer entirely to capture the dilemmas of the human condition from the confines of a used car dealership. Yet that is precisely what playwright Bill Jepsen does with Cadillac. Set in the instantly recognizable and nondescript confines of Lindy Motors is a tale that puts the workday's fluorescent glare over the hubris and nobility of a hilariously ordinary, instantly recognizable world.
Within the mundane travails of Lindy's salesmen ( and this is a world of salesmen, despite the fact that there's a woman in the ranks ) , director Edward Sobel captures the petty triumphs, defeats and compromises that define the frittering days of most of our lives.
The flawed moral center of this deliciously comic and equally touching drama is Howard ( Craig Spidle—hold that thought a moment ) . You know this person: He's the smiling strong-arm guy who preys on your exhaustion after the Byzantine rituals of negotiation are over and you've actually agreed to buy a car. He's the one who convinces you that you and everyone you love will die unspeakably violent deaths at the hands of carjackers in a downpour of acid rain if you don't shell multiple thousands out for extended warranties, rustproofing, alarm systems and other you-will-kill-your-children-without-them upgrades.
But to return to Spidle: He's one of the great, not-sung-enough heroes of Chicago theater, a fearlessly unglamorous, rock-solid Everyman. And he's terrific here, no flash and all integrity, absolutely nailing the side-combed weariness and dubious wisdom of a middle-aged guy plowing through a Sisyphean career. Yes, Sisyphean. Every month, the dry-erase board at Lindy motors is wiped clean as Howard and the rest of the team start from zero and begin a harrowing four-week countdown to see who can close the most deals. It's Darwin and Mamet and survival of the fittest, a survival made all the more difficult by the minefield of office politics. An old-school working stiff honestly baffled by the paradigm shift that made calling coworkers 'sweetheart' a bad idea, Howard forever finds himself navigating treacherously thin ice without a clue as to how things got so dangerous.
If Spidle is the hub here, he's surrounded by an equally impressive ensemble that truly embodies the old 'there are no small parts' cliché. Whether in one scene or 15, everybody on stage creates a rich, multifaceted character. ( And watch for Laurie Larson, who in a single, perfectly delivered line, captures the fear and loathing that defines car-buying experience of untold millions. ) As for Kevin Depinet's set, it is utterly forgettable perfection, from the cheaply framed certificates on the wall to the no-color carpet on the floor. Cadillac? Sold.