Playwright: Eduardo Machado. At: Goodman Owen Theatre, 170 N. Dearborn . Phone: 312-443-3800; $10-$38. Runs through: Nov. 18
Time stops in the first scene of the Goodman Theatre's warmly compelling production of Eduardo Machado's The Cook. It's almost midnight on New Year's Eve in 1958, Havana. Before 1959 debuts, Che Guevera and Fidel Castro will march down from the mountains and establish a communist rule that will last for the next 40 years and beyond. But before their world turns inside out, in the lavishly appointed kitchen of a wealthy Cuban family, servants scramble to turn back the clocks. The master of the house is running late, so on orders from his beautiful, bejeweled wife Adria, midnight will have to wait.
The symbolism is heavy-handed but it works. For Adria's cook, Gladys, the next 40 years are spent in a self-imposed suspension that begins just before midnight. It's then that, fearing for her life under a Castro-led regime, Adria flees, dashing out to meet her husband and escape to the United States. But before she goes, Adria extracts a promise from Gladys: The cook will keep the house ready for the family's return. And so Gladys transforms herself into an eternal lady-in-waiting, slavishly protecting and preserving, living for the moment Adria will come home.
Directed by Henry Godinez, The Cook is a rich slice of history boiled down to an intensely personal level. The complex, global impact of Castro's regime, the toxic politics of skin color and economic gradations, and the infinitely intricate reverberations of a history rooted in slavery play out as a series of intimate interactions around a kitchen table. The core political conflict shows up in Todd Rosenthal's marvelously detailed copper-and-adobe-toned set: On one end of the kitchen is a portrait of Che; on the other, a portrait of Adria's beautiful, bourgeoisie mother.
To be sure, some elements of the plot provoke a bit of eye-rolling. Among them: Gladys' abject willingness to become the victim of a past that belongs to someone else. We just don't get enough of the relationship between Gladys and Adria to buy into the belief that the cook would rather let a close blood relative die than allow her long-gone employer's home fall into disarray. As Gladys, Karen Aldridge exudes grace, nobility and wit; she's just not the sort of woman who would spend 40 years serving somebody who wasn't there.
Even so, The Cook is a recipe that works thanks in large part to its top-notch cast. As Gladys' husband, Edward Torres is completely captivating, roaring through the emotional spectrum from youthful lothario to ruthlessly macho domestic tyrant to a crotchety elder. Equally strong is Phillip James Brannon, heartbreaking and charismatic as Gladys' doomed gay nephew. As for Aldridge, she's an understated powerhouse, the fierce foundation of a tale that's both tragic and triumphant.
