THE VOICE OF CHICAGO'S GAY, LESBIAN, BI, TRANS AND QUEER COMMUNITY SINCE 1985

Once upon a time, there was a lazy lad who runs away from the family farm and his widowed mother. He encounters numerous thrilling adventures, all concluding in his quick wit and flexible morals delivering him from the consequences of his irresponsible actions. Even when death approaches, he demands special dispensation for such a clever person as he claims to be.

The folk legend of the Trickster is found in virtually every corner of Western culture. His Norwegian name is Peer Gynt, his progress inspiring, among other artists, composer Edvard Grieg and playwright Henrik Ibsen, during the latter's early forays into epic romanticism. The essence of the character being universal, it was not unexpected that activist poet/folklorist Robert Bly should see in Gynt's quest for wealth and power—by any means necessary—a metaphor for the capitalist ethos. Bly's subsequent adaptation presents us with a hero of contradictions—selfishly inhumane on the one hand, intractably charming on the other, confident of his ability to "get around" his gullible victims, and viewing each escape as proof of God's favor.

The challenge to performing this picaresque tale within the boundaries of modern theater practice is not so much engaging our sympathies on behalf of a fundamentally repellent hero, but sustaining them for a narrative stretching to several hours in uncut form—albeit pared down by director Jeremy Wechsler to a cool two and a half hours for this Polarity Ensemble production. Brevity is achieved in a variety of ways: Gynt's voyages throughout the world are tracked on a chalkboard map, and a shipwreck is depicted with collage puppets. Scenic designer Heath Hays' ladder-and-platform decor facilitates swift changes of locale in the Storefront's cavelike interior, assisted by Paul Gilvary's stageside string band and a score of sprightly American ditties.

Bryson Engelen and Richard Engling—playing, respectively, the young and old Gynt—deliver marathon performances, augmented by a 16-member chorus doubling and tripling in a roster of auxiliary roles considerably diminished from the original numbers needed to realize the Wagnerian spectacle mandatory to 19th-century drama. Despite the obvious care expended upon this ambitious project, however, a distinctly academic aura cannot help but pervade material of greater value for its historical and social reflections than for its entertainment potential.