Playwright: Yehuda Hyman
At: Piven Theatre, 927 Noyes, Evanston
Phone: 847-866-8049; $25
Runs through: June 24
By Jonathan Abarbanel
Judaism, Catholicism, Protestantism and Islam all have marginalized or suppressed their ecstatic practitioners—among them Hassids, ascetics, holy rollers and dervishes—in favor of respectable, assimilationist orthodoxy. Music and dance, the traditional portals to religious ecstasy, have been curtailed, with music reduced to hymns and liturgies and dance—mainly a male preserve—virtually eliminated.
Jewish ecstatic practice survives among some orthodox sects, mystical Kabbalists and in the cultural heritage of the Sephardic ( Spanish ) Jews whose checkered history put them in close contact with Islam, Hinduism and Buddhism. It's the Jewish ecstatic experience, channeled through dance and music, explored in The Mad Dancers. The Piven Theatre production is well-acted, well-danced and sometimes lilting with flourishes of Sephardic and Hebrew song, but is limited by the play itself.
In Yehuda Hyman's classic tale of spiritual quest, the reluctant hero is Elliot Green, a 21st-century gay man and lapsed Jew inexplicably drawn into the parallel universe of a Hassidic rabbi in 1810. The rabbi tells a mystical tale of an unknown prince born in the future that sets Elliot on a regressive journey, guided by seven beggars ( armless man, legless man, hunchback, mute, etc. ) . In a hagiographic complication, Elliot is renamed Eliyahu, the prophet whose appearance will herald the Messianic Age.
The Mad Dancers could be a splendid 100 minutes without intermission, but Hyman's too-long, two-act script isn't poetic enough for the rich material. In a classic quest, the hero at some point must fully embrace his destiny and singularity and drive the story forward. Elliot never does. He remains a whining, fearful and passive mope throughout, never gaining wisdom or stature. Rather than giving him tools to figure things out, his guides talk him through everything. Paralyzed by inaction, Elliot takes two steps backward for every two steps forward.
Hyman sets up major expectations without payoffs. We're told Elliot is a prince who must save a princess. That sets up expectations, since we know contemporary Elliot is gay. When he saves the princess, she doesn't say one word and promptly disappears. What's the point? In mid-play, Elliot is told the world's survival depends on his actions. We say, 'OK, this is the main theme.' But Elliot saves the world ( with audience help ) , and that theme disappears, too. Even the villain is ill-defined. Who is he? What does he want?
The principal actors have passion and charm: multi-inflected Ravi Batista as the Rebbe ( and others ) ; the always-interesting Bernard Beck as the villain; and Dieterich Gray emoting his heart out as Elliot. Under director Jennifer Green, the lithe supporting ensemble play and dance ( Allison Kurtz, choreographer ) well in Betsy McKnight's oriental-flavored costumes. Still, they can't entirely dispel the play's stodginess. There's an enchanting story here awaiting release in a better script.
