Playwright: R.C. Sherriff
At: Seanachaí Theatre Company at Breadline Theatre, 1802 W. Berenice Ave
Phone: (773) 878-3727; $22
Runs through: July 5
The history of war is filled with such incidents: an army facing certain defeat vows to die
rather than surrender (as at the Alamo) or—more often—are ordered by their superiors, safely
headquartered far from actual danger, to die in combat (as with the Light Brigade—'Theirs not
to reason why, etc.'). World War One was no exception, its policy of attrition tailor-made for
unnecessary casualties on both sides.
So the officers of C company, bunkered some 70 yards away from the front lines, don't know
that the enemy attack coming in six days will massacre them to the last man, but only that
retreat is not an option. Lt. Hibbert tries to weasel out on sick call and is told by his commander
that he will be shot as a deserter if he does. But the prospect of sending men to certain death
is not what most troubles Captain Stanhope, who already requires a daily quart of whisky in
order to function, but the new soldier assigned to his unit—a boyhood admirer whose
unwavering loyalty to his former mentor amplifies Stanhope's deterioration,
In 1928, a bare four years after the events depicted, Robert Cedric Sherriff wrote the play that
(along with the 1930 film, All Quiet On The Western Front) would become the prototype for
battlefield dramas. But this Seanachaí Theatre production is not content to coast on
brave-boys-in-uniform clichés. Even in its preview performances, the reverence
characterizing director David Cromer's approach to his material is manifest, as well as
Seanachaí's attention to detail, down to the accents conferred on the soldiers by consultant
Susan Murray Miller and the low rumble of distant artillery fire (that just happens to coincide
with the El trains passing) supplied by sound designer Josh Schmidt.
The intensely focused ensemble features Coby Goss as the haunted Stanhope, with sturdy
support by Jeff Christian as the avuncular Lt. Osborne, Dan Waller as the faltering Hibbert and
Stephen J. Rose as the cheerful Lt. Trotter. Their combined industry conjures a poignant
reminder of the slaughter that—if not quite 'the war to end all wars'—changed the face of
international conflict forever.
The Way Of The World
Playwright: William Congreve
At: Mom and Dad Productions at the Heartland Studio, 7016 N. Glenwood Ave.
Phone: (773) 549-5504; $15
Runs through: June 28
BY MARY SHEN BARNIDGE
William Congreve wrote his play in 1700, but no periwigs or panniers figure in Mom And Dad
director Joe Feliciano's concept for this production. The stage is decorated to resemble a
Monopoly board, the locale is understood to be 1980s London, and the motifs reflect the
fashions of that period (note the Madonna, Elvira and Cindy Lauper references). 'Sex, Drugs
and Rock and Roll' proclaims the playbill, 'Business As Usual.'
The comparison is not invalid. In 1660, with the Puritans ousted from English government and
the hitherto-outlawed theaters re-opened, audiences were hungry for a good guilt-free time.
Congreve answered their plea with comedies in which marriage is more about the exchange
of property and the convenience of adulterous liaisons than marital affection, the preservation
of reputation under a veneer of respectability taking precedence over cultivation of genuine
moral behavior. This, declares the author, is 'the way of the world.'
It's also the occasion for a text rife with hypocrisy, intrigue and wordy witticisms. And the
cast's uniform youthfulness, compounded by costumes from an era when 'dressing one's
age' was a precept largely ignored, impedes speedy identification of individual personalities.
So it helps to know in advance 1) that Mr. Fainall married for money, and Mrs. Fainall, to
facilitate her trysts with fuck-buddy Mirabell—but now her greedy husband wants to elope
with his mistress AND keep his wife's fortune. 2) that Mr. Mirabell now wishes to marry Miss
Millamant—a deed that cannot be accomplished without blackmailing his prospective bride's
aunt, the merry Widow Wishfort, into giving consent. In the end, such Love as may be found in
this amoral universe wins the day and honesty in deception—now THERE'S an oxymoron!—is
reaffirmed as the best policy.
The difficulty of fitting this intricate text to the undersized Heartland Studio space take its toll on
the production, the acoustics and heavy dialects often muffling the characters' speech. But
any flaws are redeemed in full by earnest, if a trifle shrill, performances from a hard-working
company led by the fearless Jamie Mayhew, a diva with the presence of a parade float, as the
hot-to-trot Lady Wishfort.
