It's hard reviewing theater. You give up so many of your weeknights to sit in darkness, passive, waiting for something to happen ( although the same might apply to one's love life, but that's a different column ) . You miss lots of reality TV! You can't talk intelligently about the likes of Paris Hilton or Britney Spears; instead you bore your friends and family with discourses on Chekhov, Shakespeare, and Sondheim.
But once in a while, a play comes along that makes you drop your official lighted pen and notebook and stare slack-jawed at the stage. Hopefully, you don't drool. Sometimes the magic happens: you forget your purpose in being at the theater that night, you forget about critiquing and simply sit back, letting the emotion and artistry wash over you, transporting you to a fantastical elsewhere that leaves you slightly dazed and stunned when you exit the theater to join the real world once more. In 2004, I've winnowed down my theater-going ( and critiquing ) experiences to five plays that made me simply an audience member once more. See, when you go to theater professionally, you inevitably lose some of the joy ( Oh, I know! I know! I'm not whining THAT much … it's still my passion; it's still great ) like a prostitute probably loses some of the passion for sex when she or he takes it up … professionally. So, those plays that transport a professional audience member are that much more meaningful. Below are the five that did it for me.
On the other side of the coin, there are some plays that make you want to throw down that lighted pen, tear up that notebook, and stalk out of the theater, a sneer of righteous indignation plastered across your amazing-should-have-been-on-stage features. There are times in the theater that make you want to say 'Never again,' and 'I'll stick with reruns of great moments on Green Acres featured on Nick at Nite.' Below is my list of five plays that had me chomping at the bit to write my resignation letter.
Five Plays That Made Me Forget I Am a Critic ( in a good way; see above ) .
1. The Fall to Earth. Writing and direction are certainly the bedrock of any theatrical production. But it's the actor who's out there, under the bright lights, alone on a stage night after night, facing the audience. And while Chicago has its share of talent, perhaps no one can rival Steppenwolf ensemble member Rondi Reed, whose interpretation of a mother on the edge in this play about a woman coming to claim her suicide son's body was simply the thespian triumph of the season. Reed skillfully peels layer from layer in her rich, in-depth portrait of grief, guilt, and remorse. Heartbreaking.
2. Maggie, A Girl of the Streets. The future of Chicago theater is in Rogers Park, in a tiny, unremarkable storefront. This adaptation, by side project theater company artistic director Adam Webster, proves it. Mesmerizing, soulful, and blessed with amazing performances ( no matter the size of the venue ) , Maggie was a standout, even more so because of the limited budget and tiny space Webster and director Jimmy McDermott were forced to work with. Not only gut- and heart-wrenching, this Maggie was a triumph of imagination and artistry.
3. Pulp. Patricia Kane's obvious love for the lesbian pulp novels of the 1950s and 1960s comes through in this hilarious, deliciously probing, and on-target animation of those same novels, replete with the lurid poses depicted on their cheesy covers. A crackerjack all-gal ensemble gets the styles and sensibilities of the genre just right. I'm not lying!
4. Sweeney Todd. A confession: I've always been slightly underwhelmed by Porchlight's musical theater productions. They always seemed just a cut above community theater. Until Sweeney Todd. Porchlight took Sondheim's darkly hilarious masterpiece and brought it to the kind of life that Broadway can only aspire to ( many critics favorably compared it to the very finest productions of 'Sweeney' in the past, featuring the likes of Angela Lansbury ) . If Sweeney Todd is an example of what Porchlight is capable of, watch out. Killer stuff, just killer.
5. Cherry Orchard. Steppenwolf's production of Chekhov's tragicomic look at the fall of a wealthy Russian family on the brink of a societal shift was lovely because Steppenwolf ( and robust and artful adapter Curt Columbus ) took an approach that was both reverent and fearless. Removing the kid gloves that lesser minds might surmise a classic must be handled with, resulted in an engaging, completely accessible outing. Bonus: Rondi Reed! Eating a cucumber!
Five That Made Me Want to Quit
I'm not going to dwell on the negative here. Let's just keep these five to short, terse, and snippy observations to explain why they made me want to throw up my hands and say 'I quit' … or just simply throw up.
1. Liars and Angels. This little production, by the Actors Workshop, boasted a trio of story lines. It was the last of the three that had a curious effect on me, a pretty hard-hearted, yet open-minded, bastard: it offended me. I don't know why a piece begging for sympathy for a high school teacher who probably molested hundreds of students failed to bring to tears of outraged understanding, but it didn't.
2. The Last Sunday in June. In trying to be an anti-gay gay play, this play succeeds in being a gay play. When will we get it right? When will we find a voice that really understands what 'pride' is all about?
3. Starfucker. Proving that you need more than a provocative title to make theatrical magic, this debut by the already obscure Revolution Theatre Company boasted an opening night that saw the director nearly 25 minutes late to his own production, keeping a breathless audience waiting outside the theater. When he arrived, he said, 'Oh! Are you waiting for me?' Unfortunately, this was most likely the funniest performance of the evening. My answer, at that point, was 'no.'
4. Iphigenia in Kingman. OK, so it's kinda refreshing to take a Greek classic and update it to a diner in the America west. Imagine the possibilities! Imagine the fun! Imagine not taking it the whole hog and using modern-day speak, instead of lofty, literary-sounding, 'Greek chorus' dialogue. Sometimes, one stupid misstep can sink a whole production. Holy Juno! Check please!
5. The Graduate. You don't get much more desperate than Lorraine Bracco naked, channeling Foster Brooks, and trying to be Mrs. Robinson in the most misbegotten production of the year. Commerce masquerading as theater is never pretty; neither are Lorraine's thighs.
