The Mother (Oracle Productions)

You know how we are always talking about the Bolshevik Revolution?

Well, this play is about how it got started! Or ended? This is before it started, actually. I think?

Let's start at the beginning.

I have spent a lot of time at Oracle Theatre. They are a proud group of guys and gals that put on good plays and are dusting your theatre with technology. They are way ahead of you as far as use of technology in theatre goes, unless you are the Goodman or Blue Man Group. So it was disconcerting to walk into the theater and see lots of work tables and tons of actors dressed up like poor people sleeping everywhere.

"What the hell is this?" I said to the usher. It was sort of like I was in a work camp. I thought those were only in the Holocaust in Germany, so I thought that was where this play was set. There was this blonde lady dressed up like Else the Nazi from Indiana Jones (an incredible and chilling DeChantel Kosmatka) , and she was sort of walking around and telling these actors in poor people clothes to stop sleeping.

They were walking on these tables that are all over the  theater. Stepping over our heads. On the screens are projections of worker camps. Sick people on the screens, mean people on the tables. No drinks. "This is like a slow Tuesday night at Coyote Ugly, eh?!" I joked to a stranger next to me. No answer.

"Take off that Nazi uniform!" I screamed at Else from Indiana Jones. No answer. "Oh great." I laughed to another audience member, "This broad is stay in character for this whole show." Again, no answer. Am I even alive? Is this a dream?

Then they closed the door and the show started!

It started with this incredible song. I mean, it was really beautiful. It was about all the problems that these people have. Now, there are tons of people on stage. They are all dressed like Oliver with the gloves and grubby hats.

* A note to all costume designers- If you want to show us a poor old-timey white person, they MUST have fingerless gloves.  

So these guys are all singing about the problems in Russia (not Germany) and how poor they are. I don't know anything about Russian history, really so this was pretty interesting. What sort of problems do they have?

Once the song ended and the dialogue began, one lady (a super attractive for a poor old mother Katherine Kebelein)  explained to us that she only had a little tea left, and that if she had to make tea for everyone, it would probably be a little weak.

"What the hell? Is this going to be a show about white folks complaining about tea? Come ON."

But no. See, her son is a leader of this group that hands out leaflets to people at worker camps. The leaflets say things like, "Rise Up, Workers" and stuff. I am not totally sure why, but I think they weren't being paid well. Or they made them be there? Should you revolt from a place that you don't even have to be at?

Well, it sort of got me thinking about the leaflets. These little flyers that they are sneaking to people. These were often called "propaganda" because they spoke for a side of a political party. So it made me think about....what if we had propaganda things nowadays? They would have to be internet memes. So I made a few to show you what they are a little better.

People would really get behind this one:

and now that we know that people love cute animals more than crazy pictures of Stalin, this would have been  better:

and this one would still be useful even today:

So basically, these poor factory workers were spreading memes all over town and teaching people to read (which is an important step in the spreading of information), and the other political party were so sick of it, they decided to kill them. 

So that's what this play is about. It sounds heavy, I know. It WAS heavy, but it is also a Brecht play, so there are songs and familial relationships that make it seem...almost cartoonish in the best possible way.

Brecht (if done correctly) can tell us huge, complicated stories with standard 2 Dimensional characters. The names, the movements, the non rhyming songs, are all tools he uses to make everything seem familiar. That is why he has survived and also why people still love to do his work. Except for Mother Courage, because that play is boring as shit. 

These characters are larger than life and symbolize all of our struggles for all generations, not just these Bolsheviks.

Max Truax has cast this thing perfectly. The voices, faces and table walking abilities are second to none.

I wouldn't have minded a live band, but who am I? Burt Reynolds? I don't need a live band everywhere I go.

Go and see this play. Seriously. It is a really good time, disguised as a lousy time. Also, they hand out free paper at the end.

A+

-Anderson Lawfer, Eric Roach

Catch Me If You Can: The Musical (Guest Reviewer Tom McGrath)

Let me spoil the ending of this story for you: Catch Me If You Can was a catastrophically uninteresting way to convey interesting material.

The Lady of the House and I went Downtown for an Evening Out. On a Friday. You know, like Normal Adults Who Live In, Say, Barrington might. (However, They probably drove their Volvo and paid many Dollars, whereas we took the Brown Line, because we are not Cowards. Workers, put your bodies on the Gears, and all that. But I digress.) We even went to dinner at La Madia, after considering and discarding Rock Bottom, because, as I said, we're attempting to hold off the Icy, Creeping Hand of Suburbia. And because it was crowded.

Here, I divert from the ostensible narrative and criticism of Catch Me if You Can in support of La Madia: they give you free Prosecco if you sit at the bar bit where you can watch people make the pizzas and salads and whatnot. Also, we had a delicious crisp, fresh salad to start - everyone should roast their grapes and that is not a euphemism - and followed that with a goat cheese pizza with prosciutto. The wine list was more than sufficient, the portions were sizable and well-presented, and all that good stuff that Padma et al talk about when they're not talking about Failures of Leadership or whatever on Top Chef.

Again, forgive the digression. (I digress, because I am loathe to talk about Catch Me If You Can, as it is difficult to describe a yawning, black expanse of Absence.) (Though I think I may have just done so.) (Anyway.)

Here's where our story takes a turn: the service was perhaps not the most brisk, and we were perhaps running a bit late. PERHAPS I saw a crostada being prepared in front of us for another table and PERHAPS I had an Old Fashioned (also recommended at La Madia, by the way), and PERHAPS I ordered that and had a 15 minute walk ahead of me, and therefore had to inhale a dessert (certainly above average, though I would've enjoyed a warmer pastry), stuffing several crumbs into my inelegant gob as we exited the restaurant.

Oh, I'm going to have to talk about this play now, aren't I? Well... we walked down Clark Street, and made fun of each other and passers-by, and we laughed at how I pretended like buying movie tickets for her parents when we were visiting was an act of Great Largesse... I got made fun of for my crostada. Which again, I do not regret.

In any event, we arrived at the Cadillac Palace where, as we climbed up to the furthest reaches of the building, we passed several deep lines at the concession areas. Yes, Consumers, purchase Cocktails: they will be required, if for nothing else, as an excuse for why you can't remember anything that happened in this noisy, bright, energetic quantum singularity of a musical, which may be remembered as beautiful while trapped inside the single atom of existence, but no light will ever escape to aid in the retelling. We found our seats just as the curtain grudgingly trudged up. The tune: catchyish? I can hum four notes for you, probably in the right order. The lights: extremely luminous. People were on stage! They were terribly energetic! There were kicklines! Empty, vacuous kicklines! Earned by ... I don't know! Just have a kickline to distract the masses from the Encroaching Darkness! 

The girls seemed pretty! The guys seemed handsome! (Though, due to our cutting-it-closeness, we just grabbed seats in the last row, so the girls could have been cleverly constructed bags of eels, and the guys could've been manatees in suits.)

(Don't steal that. That's my idea now.)

Listen: I saw the movie. You saw the movie. Your mom saw the movie twice, because it only has a little swearing in it, and Oh, But That Leonard Caprio Fellow Is Charming, and Tom Hanks Is In It! And That Unsettling Guy, No, Not Willem Dafoe, the One Who Talks Weird - Did You Know He Was a Dancer, No Not Christopher Walken. Oh, Yes! Christopher Walken. Yes.

Some of us read the book.

Some of us thought that the movie or the book would translate strangely to the stage, but whatever, it's the 60's! You throw a couple of tunes in - I'm always game for an orchestra on stage, by the way - and a couple clever chase-y bits, and away you go. The guy committed escaped custody twice before he was 21. He spent his late teens posing as a pilot and committing bank fraud. COME ON, HOW IS THIS PLAY SO BORING? How? Nothing is memorable. The actors will all get work forever, because they either have legs or pipes or just have that thing where there's no compunction against throwing themselves 110% into whatever multi-hour noisy 60's-ish-themed Zumba class they get paid to put on.

Note: Please, pay me to throw myself into a brightly-lit non-event with a bitchin' jazz ensemble.

Everybody is super-energetic and is clearly working really hard, but it's like you wanted to bake cookies, and took out all the ingredients, and made sure they were just so, and then, instead of baking cookies, you put all of the ingredients into the oven, and then buried the oven in a quarry somewhere, and when people asked where the cookies were, you found a lady to dress up in a Sexy Swiss Army Knife costume and shine bright lights in your eyes, and hand you a adorable, if dumb, puppy. Named "cookies."

You might ask, "What happened to my cookies?" And some guy would give you horse tranquilizers and throw you into a cab.

Full disclosure: we left at intermission. Be good. Hell, be bad, just don't commit the sin of being dull, because I have too much shit to do.

- D

-Tom McGrath

Big Fish (Broadway In Chicago)

"The sets were incredible!" "I loved the projections, I mean really loved them." "Look at how many people were here!"

These are things you should practice saying if you happen to know someone in Big Fish:The Musical playing now at the Oriental Theater.

Now, because all the big papers have a stake in Broadway In Chicago's success, you won't hear any truths from them about this show. In fact, I bet CJ throws this thing 2 1/2 stars.

The problem isn't with the acting, in fact, everyone seems mostly capable. The projections really are beautiful. The lights really are cool.

The problem with this show is in the hands of the composer, the script, and the director.
The staging is lazy, the songs are dumb, and the script is boring.

I remember liking the movie when it came out about 10 years ago. I think? I remember liking the previews and wanting to see it, but then, when the play started, I remember a little more clearly.

The advertise this thing like it is the dang Odyssey, the greatest collection of stories ever told, so let me tell you what it is really about.

This kid named Will comes home to marry some French lady and that means he has to spend time with his dad named Edward, whom he doesn't like because he likes to tell stories that may or may not be true.

"I'm not gonna die this way, because a witch told me differently"- cut to a scene where a witch is singing a song that no one could understand the words to, and then back to the story.

There are a lot of stories like this.
One is about a fish that ate his wedding ring, one is about seeing a mermaid in a pool, one is about meeting a giant, one is about joining a circus, one is about going to college at Auburn University, and then I left at intermission, so I don't know the rest.

But let me tell you, if the craziest story that happens is that a southern guy in the 1950's joins a circus and then goes to Auburn, then you need a couple new stories, brah.

And that kid Will needs to take it easy on his Dad, who is also dying of cancer.

Is this play about a man's love for his father and the complicated way look up to them?
Beats me. It seemed like it was about this whiny kid who has had everything he ever wanted complaining about stuff.

Now, I do understand that this is a preview, which is why they stopped and restarted once, and that maybe the staging isn't done yet (I hope), but I also know what tickets cost ($200 for a couple) and if anybody came to see my show that cost $200 and saw that thing, I would be very upset with myself.

The first act ends with the dad singing a song to the mom about daffodil flowers. Do you know what the words to the song are?

"Daffodiiiiiiiiiiiils, Daffodiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiils, Daffodiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiils" and then daffodils pop up out of the stage.

So...

There ya go.
I can't spend any more time talking about this.


-D+

-Anderson Lawfer, Eric Roach

A Stark Perspective: Things I Will Not Do (Kevin Stark)

Local Actor/Drunk Kevin Stark first warmed our hearts in the role of Screw Up Son in some play with Ora Jones at Steppenwolf and warmed our hearts again in the role of Screw Up Son in some play with accents at Steep. His new column "A Stark Perspective" will be a chance to catch up weekly with this huge talent before he moves on to bigger and weirder things.

Did he steal that watch off a bum?

First Off, I do NOT do Shakespeare. If you ask me for a pair of contrasting monologues, I WILL NOT BE PLEASED! I don't work for free anymore and refuse to perform in cafes, or God forbid, someone's apartment. Also, I don't do open mikes. Also, I will not be expected to memorize lines.

 I will not work at a theatre that isn't directly off the red or brown line without compensation for my travel, or you could pick me up.

 I do not do stylized violence or learn lines “verbatim”, as I go strictly on impulse.  I do not take direction from assholes with degrees from Northwestern, that whack off to hanging with Liev Schreiber and

rapping about his "process", you piece of shit.

 I will not cow-tow to Stage Managers with their various “line notes”.

 I am a real motherfucker with balls of steel, that understands that stage sex is part of the game, dude. I am SO SICK of stealing the spotlight. No one cares how you hold the fucking teacup, hit your mark and tell the fucking truth! Don't be one of those pussy actors in the corner beating their limp, taffy dick, asking if they can stick it in too.

 NO!!!

 You get that dick hard and fuck the stage with me, pussyboy.

 -Kevin Stark

 From your lips to God's ears, Kev.

Join us next week for A Stark Perspective: Surefire Ways To Bang Your CoStar

A+

What the Bulls Win Meant For Me (A Personal Essay)

Sometimes in your adulthood you doubt everything you have decided to do with your life. Your life in the arts (or whatever it is for you) that is seemingly going nowhere, your career choices, what blue jeans you wore that day, etc.

You may stay up all night worrying about a single decision you made the day before. Maybe you said something that could be construed as impolite or rude to a colleague. Maybe you are getting too old for all this bullshit. Why are you still getting zits at this age? Why is everyone that you are PAYING for their services so fucking unreliable? Why can't it just be the weekend so I can be home, not look in a mirror and I can cover my head with a blanket for a few days and just try to recuperate from my own self doubt the constant let down of others. Why did the CTA prices go up if they are just going to cut service? Why are they closing all these goddammed public schools? Where are these kids gonna go? Why is this Gay Marriage thing a big deal?

WHY DON'T WE WANT OTHER PEOPLE TO BE HAPPY?

and why is it still so cold? Cloudy and cold and dark all the time. Is it worth living in this city at all? I know there are other places to live that probably would be HAPPY to have a guy like me in their town. Someplace warm with a nice little community theater and people willing to help you achieve.

Selfless, reliable, happy.

You get home from another rough fucking day full of disappointing phone calls and more headaches.

"Well sir, we still can't tell ya what's wrong with your car, but we charge $80 a day in storage."

"That package you ordered got lost in the mail AGAIN, so expect it to be another 3 weeks."

"This CTA train will be delayed for another 30 minutes."

You get home and just want to watch your Chicago Bulls play a game so you can relax and what do you hear?

"At a press conference, Derrick Rose said that while he is ready to play, he still will not."

"Joakim Noah and Marco Belinelli, who were expected to be game time decisions, will be sitting out tonight."   

"Rip Hamilton's old ass is hurt again."

Which sounds like a typical end to a Chicago sports team season.
Our motto should be:

"Everyone is hurt, the future looks terrible."

Well, that's just par for the course, I guess.
What's that? Oh, we are playing the Miami Heat on a 27 game winning streak? Oh great. That sounds about right for our city right now.

Then what happens?

Nate Robinson hits a couple threes. Luol Deng matches rebounds and assists with LeBron James. Carlos Boozer pushes back for once. Kirk Hinrich rips that fucking ball out of Chris Bosh's hands!

Wait, are we winning? Are we going to win?
Why is everyone cheering? Did something good happen?

And then the buzzer sounds, and the game is over, and the Chicago Bulls have
beaten the unbeatable Miami Heat.

For the first time in a month you can go to sleep without worrying because you saw what can happen when you just stick it out with your team. When you fight, you can win.

Just don't give up. Quit thinking about giving up. Stick to the plan, however impossible or ridiculous it may seem.

Just grow some balls and elbow a motherfucker in the chest and keep walking.


and what's this?

The sunshine is out.



-Anderson Lawfer, Eric Roach

Kill Shakespeare (Strawdog Hugen Hall) (Review by Anthony Tournis)

I was sitting on a beach drinking a Margarita. I was out. Gone. Never going to write

another review again. “Good riddance” I mumbled. It had been a while since my last review but

the image was still burned in my mind. The deadlines…the screaming…the sexual harassment.

As the sound of the surf gently lulled me into a much anticipated slumber I could make out a

man in a white suit coming towards me. This did not bode well. The concierge approached, my

palms started to sweat. “Phone for you, senor” he said with an almost innocent quality. He

didn’t know who was on the other line, and if he did he would probably pray to the god that he

held so dear that this phone call was quick. As he handed me the phone I could see a bead of

sweat trickle down the side of his forehead. That bead of sweat sealed my fate. I put the

receiver to my ear, “It’s time.” That was all that was said. The concierge looked at me with pity.

I looked at him as I rose from my cabana chair, grim determination in my eyes. “Pray for me,

Joaquim. Pray for me.”

On Monday night I saw the latest offering by Strawdog Theater in the form of a graphic

novel come to life…Kill Shakespeare. I read the Kill Shakespeare books when they first came

out. In fact, I reviewed them. I liked them a lot. Read my original view if you want my take on

the story. This version of Kill Shakespeare is unique in its own right. I have never seen anything

like it before. It has the charm of a radio play, the beauty of an art exhibit, and the communal

feeling of a silent film. A lot of thought and technical prowess went into developing this

experience and it really shows. This show is a multi media monster which is tamed by the

incredibly capable designers and crew. From the top notch vocal performances to the insanely

great original music, I and my fellow audience members were thoroughly entertained. This is

the point in the review when I would single out certain performances that I enjoyed more than

others but I can’t do that. Everyone who lent their vocal talents to this show should be

commended on a fantastic job. This is the true definition of an ensemble. The art is absolutely

stunning as well because it is the original art from the graphic novel, only projected in HD. It’s

beautiful. The staging is interesting to say the least. The audience faces two white screens

which have the panels of the comic book projected upon them. The actors stand at the back of

the space and watch the panels as they give their lines to match the panels. It does take a

second to get used to if your brain isn’t trained to read the panels of a comic book, but you pick

up on it quickly and are really able to follow the story.

This shittiest part of this show is that it is coming to an end. I wish that I had seen this

show sooner so I could tell you all to go and see it right now. If this show ever has a second

incarnation, run to see it. If you don’t, then you’re dumb.

Pulling me out of retirement – D

Show rating – A

-Anthony Tournis

Sugarward (The Side Project) JOHN TAFLAN REVIEWER

Sugarward, the boringly mesmerizing new play by Sean Graney (though not directed by Sean Graney; directed by Geoff Button), strikes that delicate balance of being almost impossible to follow if you aren’t paying attention at all and being about several things it’s not ostensibly about.

In four terrible but excellent performances, John Henry Roberts (as Colonel Parke) and Joel Ewing (as manservant Thomas Kirby, former Governor Christopher Codrington, and corrupt sugar baron Edward Chester) have obviously memorized their lines.  And what lines they are!  To be honest though, I didn’t immediately understand some of the words in those lines until I thought about the context in which they were used.  Having then gleaned their meaning via a process of brain engagement, it was exciting because the writer (Sean Graney, who didn’t direct the play) would use them again and again and it was like getting a little treat every time you heard them because you had learned something earlier that you didn’t know before but now that you had learned it it was fun to be in on the joke and all of the sudden realize that a play can be about something other than people just sitting around complaining about a playwright’s loosely fictionalized friends and relatives.  (Also: don’t worry if you’re hard of hearing or feeling, because Joel Ewing projects at Metallica concert-like levels, accompanying every plosive with a justly infused shower of spittle.  [As alluded to above, Joel Ewing does play several different parts which is confusing unless you just accept it.]) 

Geoff Button directed this play as well as he could…which was actually really, really, really well.  He did an awesome job with it.  He spots Roberts and Ewing’s verbal calisthenics when they’re at the polysyllabic pull-up bar and holds their feet when they’re doing emotional sit ups.

Alright.  Let’s get down to brass tacks here.  No more smarming around.

There’s no need for a plot summary, just go see the play and know that what makes it so damn interesting is it’s assertion that the drive to obtain and ultimately possess power is, in fact, less dangerous than the desire men and women have to believe in those who pursue that power.  Oh, and it’s also about sugar.

A

-John Taflan