Playwright: Hristo Boytchev
At: The Journeymen at
Holy Covenant Church,
925 W. Diversey Blvd.
Phone: (773) 857-5395; $10
Runs through: May 10
In a former monastary now utilized as an insane asylum, hidden in the mountains of Bulgaria, six mental patients and their
warden huddle in one room to keep warm, their provisions running low: a chronic dipso-klepto alleged to have stolen and then drunk
their truck's last gasoline, a flyweight paranoiac afraid of being trod underfoot like a roach, an erotomaniac who can't get it up, a
reformed nympho who refuses to assist him, a deaf depressive who lip-reads the news on their soundless television set, and a
catatonic languishing in his wheelchair. The clinic's morphine-addicted doctor is no better off, medical supplies being likewise scarce.
Even in the Balkans, you can't get much more miserable than this. But a miracle is about to deliver them from their helplessness
and isolation. It arrives in the form of humanitarian aid meant for Bosnia, dropped from United Nations planes flying off-course in a
storm, its bounty including a number of warm, sturdy, military-surplus uniforms.
At first they are only clothes—but clothes make the man/woman, and gradually the reclusive derelicts respond to the iconography
of their garb—especially the withdrawn mute they call 'the colonel,' who regains his tone of command. Soon their community reflects
a new pride and discipline, and with it, the hope of a place in the world outside their chilly retreat. Homing pigeons are dispatched
with messages, and one significant New Year's Day, a band of pilgrims empowered by their very madness set out to find a home
among the citizens of their shattered country.
A story this intriguing walks by itself, and Journeymen director Frank Pullen wisely instructs his cast to stay out of its way, making
for a elegant and articulate narrative uncluttered by the grandstanding that so often accompanies portrayals of lunatics. Pullen's
staging takes full advantage of the Holy Covenant sanctuary's shadowy stained-glass splendor, even as the ensemble—featuring
Greg Hardin as the reinvigorated commander and Mac Brandt as the perplexed psychiatrist—overcomes the space's cavernous
acoustics to impose uncaricatured and surprisingly engaging characterizations on personalities easily reduced to allegory. The
Colonel Bird's plot-driven density requires some acclimation, but its uplifting message makes the effort worthwhile.