The Chairs
Playwright: Eugene Ionesco,
translated by Martin Crimp
At: Court Theatre, 5535 S. Ellis Ave.
Phone: ( 773 ) 753-4472; $28-$40
Runs through: Dec. 9
by Mary Shen Barnidge
NIGHT SKY
ORPHEUS DESCENDING
From Both Hips
EMBRYOS ON ICE! OR FETUS DON'T FAIL ME NOW
Jeff Still and Hollis Resnik in The Chairs.
The challenge when staging The Chairs is not that of insight into its "meaning"—scholars have been debating THAT since its premiere in 1957 ( the playbill lists some possibilities ) —but how to keep the action interesting for over an hour with only two characters uttering what appears on the surface to be complete nonsense. Especially when those characters are a decidedly unattractive pair of geriatric stereotypes ( called only "Old Man" and "Old Woman" ) dwelling in what appears to be a warehouse on what we are told is a remote island ( accessable from the unnamed mainland only by water-taxi ) .
Director Martin Platt confronts these obstacles with the artillery provided by Court Theatre's extensive budget: Geoffrey Curley's monochromatic set, colored an uncompromising magenta, incorporates no less than eight doors, one of them a corrugated-steel freight entrance, each with its own bell and flashing light. Lindsay Jones' sound design, before the evening is over, will replicate the approach of several boats of various sizes and speeds, climaxing with a private helicopter landing on the roof. And then there are the chairs—dozens, of all descriptions—dragged forth to seat the scores of invisible guests who have arrived to hear a lecture revealing the Old Man's solution for World Peace, or something.
The most formidable weapon in the production's arsenal, however, are the talents of Hollis Resnik and Jeff Still in the roles of Old Woman and Old Man. Rather than attempt to conjure a subtext of marital rapport, Platt plays his actors' individual strengths. Done up like an aging flower-child ( or a Japanese ghost, depending on your cultural orientation ) in flowing white tresses, Resnik charms us at first sight—or, rather, first sound, as she warbles along with a scratchy phonograph recording of Maurice Chevalier and Hermione Gingold singing "I Remember It Well." Still, on the other hand, endows the Old Man with a stubborn resiliency despite the text requiring him, at one point, to break down and blubber like an infant. And in the cameo role of The Orator, Brendan Averett projects an appropriately clueless composure.
Their choices, at the preview performance I attended, made for a conceptually entertaining, if intellectually ambiguous, spectacle whose technical expertise more than redeems its enigmatic universe.
NIGHT SKY
Playwright: Susan Yankowitz
At: Boxer Rebellion Theater; $15
Phone: ( 773 465-7325
Runs through: Dec. 22
by Rick Reed
In this Chicago premier, directed by Michael S. Pieper, audiences are confronted with two deep mysteries: the cosmos and the human mind. In playwright Susan Yankowitz's smart, economical script, we explore, perhaps surprisingly, how the two are linked and ultimately, how little we really know about each.
Anna is a whip smart astronomer, college professor, and mother. Her home life belies the powerhouse of knowledge and eloquence she displays in her professional life. Married to a lazy, yet aspiring opera baritone, and mother to a paradoxically ( and typically ) timid and rebellious teenage daughter, Anna's domestic life is full of discord, arguments, and sometimes insurmountable pressure. The love that exists between the members of this small family unit is apparent, but it's being undermined by an almost overwhelming desire by each member of the family to put forth their own personal agenda. One night, Anna, seeking to escape her tumultuous home life, is involved in a serious auto accident. When she awakens in a hospital, she is frustrated and horrified to discover that all that will come out of her twisted mouth is gibberish. Anna has been afflicted with aphasia, a disorder of the brain that is responsible for language.
This disorder is the thread upon which Night Sky is built. For Anna, the disorder is sheer hell; losing language would be hard enough on anyone, but it's perhaps even more frustrating for someone who so prided herself on her ability to communicate deep thoughts, a true intellectual, renowned for her teaching abilities and relentless probing into the universe's mysteries. For her family, Anna's disorder is the stuff of nightmare. Gone is the wife and mother Anna's husband and daughter once knew. They know she is locked within this inarticulate shell, and that makes their fears even more terrifying. Yankowitz charts the family's togetherness with precision, and is smart enough to let us see not only their despair and sympathy, but their rage at having the center of their world taken away. But, ultimately, we witness hope and the redemptive power of love, as Anna struggles to make her way back to a semblance of normalcy.
Night Sky is an excellent play, an intelligent articulation that dramatizes the loss of that same ability. Boxer Rebellion has given the piece an uneven, yet compelling production. As Anna, Kerry Cox is a revelation, showcasing despair, anger, longing, and loss with eloquence and, most importantly, without words. It's the kind of role a talented actor can transform into a showcase, and Cox never disappoints.
Boxer Rebellion has built an adequate shell around Cox's incredible performance, and director Pieper keeps the emotions flowing deftly, but the production can never match Cox's artistry. Craig Choma's scenic design, in particular, is a disappointment: curving panels of paint-splattered fabric and multi-tiered platforms, while serviceable, end up looking amateurish. On the other hand, Justin Stone's lighting and Bob Rokos' sound design add depth to the story; both are economical, evocative, and smart.
Boxer Rebellion is to be admired for their ambition in mounting this very moving and probing play. It's definitely worth a look.v
ORPHEUS DESCENDING
Playwright: Tennessee Williams
At: The Artistic Home, 1420 W. Irving
Phone: ( 773 ) 404-1100; $15
Runs through: Dec. 23
by Jonathan Abarbanel
Drawing on both Greek mythology and Christian iconography, complete with a blind seer and a Cassandra figure, Orpheus Descending is one of Tennessee Williams' most challenging plays. A 1955 reworking of much earlier material, it retains hallmarks of inexperience, chiefly in characters who appear briefly to provide southern small town flavor, but do not contribute materially to the story. Straddling Southern Gothic, melodrama and poetic realism Orpheus Descending falls flat as naturalism, and becomes laughable if overplayed.
Director Dan LaMorte finds the right balance at the Artistic Home, compressing this sometimes-lurid play into a tiny, in-your-face storefront theater. On the one hand, he doesn't hold back. His actors play the big moments very large indeed, whether the flaming visions of the repressed and hysterical sheriff's wife, the rages of shop owner Jabe Torrance or the explosive passion of his wife, Lady, as she throws herself at the handsome stranger, Valentine Xavier. But between the passion LaMorte reigns things back, never pointing the dialogue too much, keeping it brisk ( at just over two hours, this Orpheus Descending is swift ) with casually overlapping dialogue. Some symbolism and some humor are lost, but it's a fair trade-off for this play in this space.
The biggest reason it works is that the actors—many of them members of the Artistic Home Ensemble—have the chops, especially Kathy Scambiattera in the lead as Lady Torrance, the passionate Italian in a crushing and loveless marriage. Their tight focus—their eyes never flit to the audience only inches away—ignores the small confines of the house, so they are able to play a larger spatial reality. For example, viewers understand when characters are supposed to be out of earshot of each other, even though they stand nearly cheek-by-jowl.
As Val Xavier, the itinerant musician who represents both sexuality and purity, Dana Marini leads with his pelvis and cuts a lean, square-jawed figure of preternatural innocence. Too bad he can't really play the guitar, for the work cries out for more music from its Orpheus figure; easy to fake in a large theater, but difficult in a small space. As Lady's dying husband, Jabe Torrance, Mark Dillon is a study in pasty-faced malevolence, making his brief but crucial appearances memorable. Among supporting players, Kerry Brett as rich, fallen Carol Cutrere and Gillian Kelly ( alternating with Julia Cronin ) as the sheriff's wife are particularly vivid.
William Mayer's costumes—largely a matter of women's dresses—appropriately place the action in the 1950s, complimented by period details of James Treacy's set, which does what it can in a difficult space. But this Orpheus Descending is not about the designs, it's about the acting.
From Both Hips
Playwright: Mark O'Rowe
At: Mary-Arrchie Theatre Company at Angel Island, 731 W. Sheridan
Phone: ( 773 ) 871-0442; $10-$15
Runs through: Dec. 16
by Mary Shen Barnidge
Don't be fooled by the grim premise—the playbill calls this "an Irish COMEDY" and that's no lie. But we yanks are accustomed to regarding police shootings as weighty matters and the victims of such as saintly martyrs—a cultural prejudice that impedes our grasp on the universe presented by playwright Mark O'Rowe in From Both Hips.
Take the play's hero, for example: most men ( in fiction, anyway ) are changed for the better by recovery from traumatic injury, but not Paul Boulder, a blue-collar curmudgeon saddled with a mentally fragile wife, a pushy sister-in-law, and a mistress who loves her dog more than she does him. Is it any surprise that getting accidentally shot by a rookie cop in the course of a drug bust only makes Paul a bigger badass?
When officer Willy comes to Paul's house demanding that the latter's harrassing phone calls to the former's family cease, we anticipate shouting, fisticuffs and maybe more gunfire. Instead we get a remorseful penitent who proposes to settle the score by means so absurdly draconian that even the vengeful Paul is taken aback. Oh, a gun makes its appearance, but it becomes quickly apparent that nobody's going to sustain any serious damage.
The success of this dynamic relies on its raising our expectations of melodramatic conflict, but not so high as to impede its sudden descent into farce. Director Jay Paul Skelton deftly resolves this delicate balance ( as well as the purely logistical problem of keeping the stage picture varied with only six characters, no more than four of whom are ever onstage at the same time ) . As played by Jeff Buelterman, our initial impression of Paul is less that of an abusive sadist than a chronic grouch, making plausible his hesitation at having his bluff called.
Randy Goetz likewise endows Willy with a boyish desperation, intensified by Niki Williams' relentlessly maternal Mrs. Willy. Tori Hinkle and Karlie Nurse—Paul's wife and mistress, respectively—struggle to find the through-lines in personalities constructed chiefly as plot devices, while Jennifer Barclay's capable and outspoken Liz provides a welcome anchor to a populace awash in ambivalence.
EMBRYOS ON ICE! OR FETUS DON'T FAIL ME NOW
Written by: Second City ensemble
At: The Second City, 1616 N. Wells; $17
Phone: ( 312 ) 337-3992; Open run
by Rick Reed
Although it doesn't quite have the over-the-top edginess of previous revues, Second City's 87th mainstage outing still has enough laughs to make its $17 ticket price one of the best bargains in town. As a result of a more somber mood in the country, this show is just a little tamer and quite a bit less, well, irreverent. And that's a smart choice.
But don't let the above disclaimer dissuade you from heading to Piper's Alley. Second City is still unrivaled in its comedy, its satiric edge, and its wit. It sure as hell beats anything you'd see on Saturday Night Live or Mad TV.
Take the opening, for example. In a paparazzi rush of celebrities, we get to know the real truth behind the star headline-makers as they freeze in the frenzy and tell the truth behind the propaganda they feed the press. For example, the extremely funny Nyima Funk ( in her mainstage debut ) rolls out the "nothing unnatural goes in this body" to the press and her admirers, then reveals the truth, "except crack, smack, barbiturates" and a whole catalog of drugs. Another leading man reveals how he retains his youthful glow: lots of water and rest, then the truth: "I've had so many face lifts, this cleft in my chin is actually part of my nut sac." While the political edge has been tempered, there's still plenty to poke fun at. We see two high school nerds go ballistic, pulling out guns and hand grenades. But even this extreme move is thwarted when their classmates treat their potentially murderous rage no differently, including playing monkey in the middle with one of the assault weapons. The nerds can never triumph. And so it goes, with the ensemble cheerfully and energetically holding up for ridicule everything from movie focus groups ( "I think this film is very anti-Semitic," one smiling airhead opines, "and I like that." ) , to the recent national census, to, of course, designer-made babies.
Describing the humor on paper just doesn't cut it. But trust me: the talented ensemble, including returning mainstage members Craig Cackowski, Ed Furman, Martin Garcia, Sue Gillian, and David Pompeii, along with a talented pair of newcomers to the big stage ( Debra Downing and Nyima Funk ) still know how to lampoon some of our most sacred cows, and do it with the kind of verve that makes The Second City one of the greatest venues for comedy in the country.
