Wrote over 100 reviews of productions across Chicago for international magazine franchise. Covered theatres ranging from start-ups to Chicago's largest union houses. Samples are included below and more reviews are available upon request.
EURYDICE and ORPHEUS Filament Theatre Ensemble
To kick off its 2011 slate, Filament presents a two-show evening, which begins with [Sarah] Ruhl’s EURYDICE—a loose, contemporized adaptation of the Greek myth—and transitions, after a break, into [Omen] Sade’s “rave” adaptation of Orpheus, a movement-based piece which, fidelity-wise, makes Ruhl’s play look like Seneca.
It’s no surprise that Ruhl’s wistful adaptation of the Orpheus and Eurydice myth stirs directors’ hearts. The piece is rife with florid language (“I will always remember your melody! It will be imprinted on my heart like wax!”) which gets actors pitching their emotions high, if vague, from the get-go. More important, perhaps, it offers compelling theatrical puzzles. At one point in the script, Eurydice emerges from a rain-filled elevator; at another, she dips herself in the River Lethe. But how to stage it?
Ritchey’s competent production doesn’t tackle the material with particular flair. Despite taking place in a gargantuan warehouse, the action unfolds mostly in an alley setup at the room’s center, rendering the architecture largely irrelevant. The pretty cast—the actors look as if they could’ve walked straight out of a CW drama—commits to the material. But, in casting as in design, one can’t help but wish that this production had a stronger eye for the off-kilter, the unusual.EURYDICE takes place in hell, after all, rather than Wilmette.
Those looking to relive their halcyon bar mitzvah days can stick around post-EURYDICE for ORPHEUS, a dance-party version of the same myth, which uses booty-shaking pantomime and creepy commedia (all set to the spins of DJ Puzzle) to weave its yarn. The largely wordless narrative—which begins in earnest after several minutes of compulsory audience dancing—makes solid use of the space by moving actors around the perimeter and illuminating the warehouse at striking, creepy angles. DJ Puzzle’s soundtrack treads a familiar, vaguely ironic line between hard rap and Ratatat. But there are homespun highlights—including live music provided by Kevin Barry Crowley as Orpheus, and excellent clown work from Jack Novak, Nathan Paul and Lindsey Dorcus—to compensate.
(Click here for the original review)
Liberal Arts: The Musical
Underscore Theatre Company
Imagine High School Musical without the soul or Glee with less profundity and you’ll have a pretty clear picture of Liberal Arts, a new musical that follows a group of college freshmen through their first year in what distinctly feels like real time.
Set at the fictional Secular Liberal Arts College—perhaps inspired by the authors’ alma mater, Minnesota’s Carleton College—the piece trains its eye on the expected foibles: drunken hookups, sudden breakups, sexiling. The songs (“I Didn’t Do the Reading,” “The Facebook Song”) are poppy, mediocre and indistinguishable, but they’re a welcome respite from the dialogue, which is often eye-clawingly bad. One scene features a character analyzing what might motivate a girl to post provocative pics on Facebook. Options include “nostalgia,” “art” and a need for “validation.” The scene goes on for ages, it’s vaguely offensive, and it lacks even a hint of wit.
The staging doesn’t help matters much. The orchestra (five pieces, including two keyboards and a keytar) often overwhelms the voices, and the seating arrangement (audience on both sides) promises that we lose even more of the words. The cast is enthusiastic, and some have legitimate chops. Over two hours in, though, I found myself intrigued not by the competent actors in Type A roles (most of them), but by the very odd ensemble member Chad Michael Innis, whose bulging eyes and awkward lope added some quirk to an otherwise beige evening.
(Click here for the original review)
Set at the fictional Secular Liberal Arts College—perhaps inspired by the authors’ alma mater, Minnesota’s Carleton College—the piece trains its eye on the expected foibles: drunken hookups, sudden breakups, sexiling. The songs (“I Didn’t Do the Reading,” “The Facebook Song”) are poppy, mediocre and indistinguishable, but they’re a welcome respite from the dialogue, which is often eye-clawingly bad. One scene features a character analyzing what might motivate a girl to post provocative pics on Facebook. Options include “nostalgia,” “art” and a need for “validation.” The scene goes on for ages, it’s vaguely offensive, and it lacks even a hint of wit.
The staging doesn’t help matters much. The orchestra (five pieces, including two keyboards and a keytar) often overwhelms the voices, and the seating arrangement (audience on both sides) promises that we lose even more of the words. The cast is enthusiastic, and some have legitimate chops. Over two hours in, though, I found myself intrigued not by the competent actors in Type A roles (most of them), but by the very odd ensemble member Chad Michael Innis, whose bulging eyes and awkward lope added some quirk to an otherwise beige evening.
(Click here for the original review)
Crossed (Or How Going South Flipped Our Script)
Teatro Luna
Last Friday’s performance of Crossed began with a caveat: Teatro Luna’s plans to co-create a piece with Bailiwick Chicago fell through earlier this fall, so the company decided to regroup, fast-track a writing process, and present Crossed, a work-in-progress.
The resulting piece explores the rather colossal issue of “border crossing” through direct-address monologues, sketches and dance. Glimmers of interesting material appear throughout. One or two songs have simple, sultry choreography and catchy beats. Paula Ramirez brings an appealing perkiness to several roles. But the piece lacks both focus and narrative momentum. Goofy leitmotifs (an airport security announcer sorts travelers by categories including genital hue) get too-frequent airing. Meanwhile, monologues and skits—on topics ranging from the Gabrielle Giffords shooting to vigilante border patrol—have no discernible arc or connective tissue.
The piece suffers most from its shallow investigations into the issues it claims to probe. At one moment, a black character announces she doesn’t like watermelon and collard greens. At another, a character of Puerto Rican descent points out, “Not all Latinos are Mexican—shocking, I know.” Crossed expends far too much energy airing, then lambasting, ludicrous stereotypes about race and borderlines—to an audience that already (presumably) finds them preposterous. The tactic makes for some light laughs, but it keeps the play from ever homing in on a theme, let alone an insight.
(Click here for the original review)
Henry V
Promethean Theatre Ensemble
Images of Uncle Sam, World War II and the Vietnam Memorial cycle across an upstage screen throughout this Henry V. The attractive montage proves something of a metaphor for the production, which, though pleasant to look at, hasn’t landed on any consistent visual metaphor, organizing principle or discernible answer to the question: Why?
Henry V follows the newly crowned king’s victory over the French. In this production, the most intriguing moments are Henry’s—when he enters the trenches in disguise to hear what his subjects have to say about their king, or plans how to graciously announce England’s triumph. Nick Lake makes an earnest, appealing and inquisitive king, truly curious to root out the proper relationship among sovereign, subject and state.
The script’s non-Henry portions are full of battle scenes and Shakespearean buffoons, none of which comes off to great effect here. The fight scenes (largely one-on-one) never quite convey the scope of war, and Henry’s St. Crispin’s day’s speech feels slightly goofy when delivered from atop a chair to an onstage crowd of half-a-dozen. The comic Mistress Quickly and her cohort are eminently forgettable. In the French court scenes, director Brian Pastor leans hard on light-in-loafers francophone stereotypes—especially in the case of the Dauphin (a dandyish Jeremy Trager), the script’s chief villain. This makes for a giggle or two, but there’s no real drama in pitting Henry against a crew of lightweights.
(Click here for the original review)
The script’s non-Henry portions are full of battle scenes and Shakespearean buffoons, none of which comes off to great effect here. The fight scenes (largely one-on-one) never quite convey the scope of war, and Henry’s St. Crispin’s day’s speech feels slightly goofy when delivered from atop a chair to an onstage crowd of half-a-dozen. The comic Mistress Quickly and her cohort are eminently forgettable. In the French court scenes, director Brian Pastor leans hard on light-in-loafers francophone stereotypes—especially in the case of the Dauphin (a dandyish Jeremy Trager), the script’s chief villain. This makes for a giggle or two, but there’s no real drama in pitting Henry against a crew of lightweights.
(Click here for the original review)
