Playwright: Jon Steinhagen. At: Signal Ensemble, 1802 W. Berenice. Phone: 773-347-1350; $20. Runs through: June 18
Once upon a time circa 1975, in the fantasy kingdom of Las Vegas, there was a penny-ante casino where four disgruntled blackjack dealers, their pit boss, a floorwalker and a cocktail waitress supplemented their penny-ante incomes by running a penny-ante fraudnothing greedy enough to attract the attention of the gaming commission, but enough to get by. Then comes the early November nighttake note of that datethat one dealer dies, his absence threatening to put an end to the scheme requiring seven participants for its operation. However, the new dealer turns out to be endowed with a knack for providing people exactly what they need to find their bliss and the courage to follow it. By Christmasdidn't I tell you to note those dates?her co-workers are still perpetrating their penny-ante flim-flam in a penny-ante casino, but they are much, much happier.
Of course we may have to suspend our judgment somewhat in defining "happy:" Old-timer Lloyd's bliss is figuring new ways to rook his unwary customers. Grumpy Jack's bliss is the alcohol-fueled insight that brings him preternatural luck at the tables and, ironically, a corresponding abundance of good will toward his fellow human beings. Horndog Duke's bliss is moving on every woman in sight. Bashful Pete's bliss is an apartment above an urban-disaster zone. Multiple-divorcée Linda's is a needy male and Vietnam-vet Garrett's is rootless solitude.
Theater companies founded on a community of actors (Steppenwolf, Remy Bumppo, et al.) offer playwrights the advantage of writing with an eye to its members' individual strengths. Jon Steinhagen has tailored his script to make the most of Signal Ensemble talent poolAaron Snook plays guitar, Vincent Lonergan shakes booty and Simone Roos does her seductive Wendy turn. However, in addressing these specific skills, his roster of bottom-feeders emerges as a collection of personalities common to gambling circleslegal or covertknown throughout the world.
There's no mistaking this for some sugary Dickensian parable aimed at family audiences. Steinhagen's Mamet-mouthed dialogue is as salty as it is witty (such hyperbolic images as "dark as a bat's asshole" and "that's a real sandpaper hand job" linger in the memory). Ultimately, however, its tidy symmetry and gritty warmth render Aces a crowd-pleaser for any time of year, as well as the perfect alternative holiday show.