Back in simpler times, what seems like decades ago, during a global pandemic, I remember watching an NPR Tiny Desk Concert featuring the Broadway cast of Little Shop of Horrors. In the middle of the string of incredible songs from the show, the songs’ composer Alan Menken sat down at the piano and, before playing it, discussed how “Somewhere That’s Green” was a classic “I Want” song, one that enlists us, the audience, on a journey to fulfill a dream.

“Somewhere That’s Green.” “Part of Your World.” “Sante Fe.” Some of my favorite songs, all written by Menken and Howard Ashman. All of them, the spunky upstart in a big, bad world dreaming that the sun’ll come out tomorrow. That things’ll get better. The sort of dreamy songs and dreaming characters and dreamed up worlds that are the reason we go to the theater—the sort of theater that the Marriott Theatre always does right and certainly does in their current production of Little Shop of Horrors.

That dreaming—sweet, delusional, stubbornly human—sits at the heart of this production, anchored beautifully by Jackson Evans’ Seymour. Evans plays Seymour as a cartoonish nerd, yes, but also as an everyman in the truest sense: gentle, unsure, but never empty. His Seymour is the kind of guy you root for, because Evans lets us see the decency beneath the desperation. Even as the body count rises and the moral compromises pile up, there’s something achingly recognizable about his Seymour. He’s all of us.

Opposite him, Maya Rowe delivers a quietly devastating Audrey. “Somewhere That’s Green” lands here not as a kitschy parody of 1950s domestic fantasies, but as a heartbreakingly sincere confession—and at the end it felt and looked like she was singing it right to me. Rowe resists the temptation to overplay Audrey’s quirks, instead grounding her in a bruised realism that makes her longing feel earned. When she dreams of a life that includes frozen dinners and a plastic sofa, Rowe is reminding us that while Little Shop of Horrors may be funny and absurd, it’s also a story about people like each of us, people dreaming of something better. (Side note: A chance encounter in a theater hallway post-show found Rowe’s actual persona as sweet as her onstage Audrey—taking a moment to take a photo with my young daughter and offering words of encouragement to her about her own theatrical dreams.)

Seymour and Audrey’s grounding make the production’s comedic turns all the more effective, particularly when longtime Marriott favorites Andrew Mueller and Mark David Kaplan enter the fray. Mueller brings infectious energy and sharp comic timing—not only to Orin, the biker/dentist/villain whose portrayal by Steve Martin delighted me as a kid), but to a slew of other characters, while Kaplan once again delights with his own comedic and vocal talents. Their work fills out the Skid Row world that we inhabit for a couple of hours without ever pulling focus from its emotional center.

And then, of course, there’s Audrey II, the most iconic carnivorous plant in musical theatre history. The combination of Lorenzo Rush’s velvety, menacing voice work and the precision of the puppet operation is nothing short of thrilling. The puppeteers both sink into the background and provide their own characterizations as leafy parts of Audrey II’s anatomy. The plant feels alive in an unsettling way, its charisma as seductive as its hunger is terrifying. Rush’s performance finds the perfect balance between playful swagger and genuine menace - the audience enjoying the sound of the voice even as we recoil from what it represents. (Although Audrey II’s hilarious pre-show no-phones-or-posting warning seemed to have been unheeded by several oblivious influencers on opening night.)

Still, the beating heart of this Little Shop belongs to the trio of Crystal, Ronnette, and Chiffon. Lydia Burke, Daryn Whitney Harrell, and Miciah Lathan deliver a masterclass in ensemble performance, functioning as Greek chorus, Motown girl group, and omniscient narrators all at once. Their 60s-period-correct harmonies are immaculate, their energy is electric, and each of their vocals are utterly commanding.

All of this talent is corralled and focused by Tommy Rapley’s direction and choreography, which keep the production moving, with the intimacy and magic unique to the Marriott’s in-the-round design. The set design creates a mid-century Skid Row that’s a world where our heroes live. And all of the characters - heroes or villains - are beautifully costumed by Amanda Vander Byl, with amazing wigs and makeup by Miguel A. Armstrong being especially delightful. Meanwhile, the orchestra - so often an unsung hero at the Marriott - delivers Menken’s score with precision, swelling where it should and pulling back when restraint serves the story better.

What ultimately makes this production of Little Shop of Horrors resonate is its refusal to treat the show as a novelty. Yes, it’s funny. Yes, it’s outrageous. Yes, it involves a singing plant from outer space. And yes, the stage ending’s a bit different than the one I remember at the movie theater from my own childhood. But Marriott’s production understands that behind all of this, Little Shop of Horrors does what all great musical theater should do - take its audience on a beautiful journey through a world populated by talented artists whose dreams and desires aren’t that different from our own. Come journey with Marriott Theatre to somewhere that’s green, as Little Shop of Horrors runs now through March 15.

While I might have been born too late to experience Beatlemania or Woodstock or the Jazz Age in real time, I’ve been fortunate enough to live through plenty of moments that have already become milestones in our cultural consciousness. One of those was what’s now called “The Disney Renaissance.” I can still remember sitting in late 20th-century theaters and experiencing The Little Mermaid and Aladdin and The Lion King and being blown away by the songs and the characters and the worlds that that particular generation of Disney creatives imagined. Now that I think about it, those movies were perhaps the biggest inspiration for my own career in children’s books.

Maybe the best of those movies was Beauty and the Beast—it was bigger and more beautiful than about any other movie I can think of, animated or not. Its songs and its moments have been and are still referenced just about everywhere. And I still remember sitting there, experiencing all of it on the big screen.

So it was a real treat to experience that very same wonder all over again, all these decades later, on the stage of Broadway in Chicago’s Disney's Beauty and the Beast: The Musical at the Cadillac Palace Theatre. And it was just as thrilling to watch my youngest daughter and so many others who missed out on the original movie’s theatrical run experience it, too. The songs, the characters, and the whole world they build are right there, like it’s 1700s France (via 1990s America), for 21st-century children of all ages to hear and see and visit.

The talented cast of this touring production—directed and choreographed by Matt West—bring the songs and characters and world to life and to the stage. Of course we have the titular beauty and beast. Kyra Belle Johnson’s every bit the Belle the audience came to see—independent and animated and confident and tender. Fergie L. Philippe is a fine Beast, too—fearsome when he must be and princely when the story allows.

But, just like the film, it’s the populace of Belle and Beast’s world who make it so magical. It’s Danny Gardner’s Lumiere, the flashy and flirty candlestick. It’s Cameron Monroe Thomas’ giggling, wiggling Babette. It’s Kathy Voytko and Levi Blaise Coleman as sweet Mrs. Potts and her charming little Chip. It’s Stephen Mark Lukas grotesquely strong-jawed Gaston and Harry Francis’ slapstick sidekick, Lefou.

And it’s the impressive—in size and especially in talent—ensemble who really do the heavy lifting of the world building. Whether it’s Belle’s provincial village or the Beast’s fantastical castle, the cast become villagers and cups. They tap-dance and cancan and waltz. And they bring the show’s songs to life, making me appreciate them every bit as much as the first time I heard them, the bawdy barroom singalong “Gaston” wowing me, only to be immediately eclipsed by “Be Our Guest” (one of the few times in all of my theatergoing that a performance had to pause for a standing ovation during the show).

So, if like my daughter you didn’t get to experience the magic of Disney's Beauty and the Beast when it originally happened, you’ll get to experience it now. And, if like me, you want to feel the same way you did when you first heard Menken and Ashman’s classics brought to life by Disney’s renaissance men and women, check out Broadway in Chicago’s Disney's Beauty and the Beast at the Cadillac Palace Theatre, now through August 2.

*This review is also featured on https://www.theatreinchicago.com/!  

I’m not a fan of board games. I’ve never finished a full game of Monopoly. Risk? No, thanks. But Clue? I’ve loved it since I saw the ‘80s film version as a kid. And ever since, the movie and the game have been inseparable and intertwined in my mind.

The first time I brought my youngest child to a theater production of Clue, she was also transfixed—with the show and the game—and so we were both eager to see Broadway in Chicago’s current touring production of Clue—Live on Stage!, directed by Casey Hushion and playing at the CIBC Theatre until March 2.

First off, I forget how cozy the CIBC Theatre is. I adore each of the 1920s Rapp & Rapp palaces, and I love the much-older Auditorium the most of any Chicago venue, but the turn-of-the-century-ish Vaudevillian vibe of the once-Majestic CIBC is its own thing altogether. And it sure bundled us all in and enveloped us for an evening of murder, mystery, and maniacal merriment—just like the movie and just like the game, but playing out live.

In the film, Tim Curry is Tim Curry—the thief of any scene, the star of any moment the camera catches him—as Wadsworth does the heaviest lifting. Onstage, Wadsworth the butler carries the story and the action. Jeff Skowron’s Wadsworth received the largest and loudest ovation at show’s end, and it’s because he kills it—literally and figuratively. He makes the butler his own, and relishes with impish glee the evening of horrors he’s there to present to the six guests.

Wadsworth is joined in his service to the night’s slayings and silliness by Elisabeth Yancey as the French maid, Yvette. I recall as a boy being enamored of Yvette on the silver screen, and it’s no different all these years later. Yancey’s enamoring while still being a riot—playing the trope for all the provocativeness and physical comedy she can wrench from it.

Speaking of physical comedy (not to mention, wrenches… lead pipes, candlesticks, etc.), in all my years of attending live theater, I’ve rarely seen a physical comedian as gifted as John Shartzer, who plays Mr. Green. Shartzer’s arrival at the doorway of Boddy Manor is a flop—in the best sense of the word—and in the hour or so that follows he continues to one-up himself with slithering, scooting, being squashed, shrieking, screeching, squawking, squealing, and a really cool slo-mo scene, all while waiting to deliver the show’s coup de grace.

The other five dinner guests/game pieces are equally as memorable and enthralling. David Hess imperially bumbles and balderdashes through the evening’s proceedings. Christina Anthony’s Miss Scarlet’s the sadder but wiser woman of the night. Donna English, who originated the role of Mrs. White onstage, continues the role with calculating cool. Jonathan Spivey’s abrasive know-it-all Professor Plum might annoy his fellow houseguests, but the crowd thoroughly enjoyed him. And my daughter pointed out as soon as Joanna Glushak took the stage as Mrs. Peacock (my daughter’s favorite Clue character) that she was the “perfect Mrs. Peacock.”

Indeed, with this production’s impressive set pieces, lighting, and stage choreography—not to mention its intermission-less wham-bam runtime, and its spot-on setting during American times of distrust, untruth, and turmoil—Broadway in Chicago’s current production of Clue—Live on Stage!, at the CIBC Theatre until March 2, is a great escape.

For more info visit https://www.broadwayinchicago.com/shows/clue/.

Unlike many of the shows I review, which I’ve often seen in other productions elsewhere, I went into Music Theater Works’ current production of Legally Blonde blind. Other than the couple-decades-old movie the musical is based on, along with a covid-era TikTok fascination that my daughters had with a particular song from the show, I knew nothing about it. That’s always kind of refreshing, isn’t it?

Well, I went into the North Shore Center—always an enjoyable place to see a show—pretty much clueless and I left entertained.

You can tell director Mandy Modic has a real knowledge of, and love of, the source material and the show. Everything is thoughtfully laid out and beautifully executed. This is a put together show, just like the main character, Elle Woods.

Kayla Shipman, starring as Elle, has high heels to fill but she fills them well. As Elle grows and learns about herself, Shipman’s performance becomes more confident and assertive as the show progresses, making this the Y2K roman a clef the story calls for. The supporting cast sings, dances, and acts as Elle takes her journey—filling the show with the memorable people she meets. Korey White looms over proceedings as authoritative and suspect Professor Callahan. Amanda Handegan’s fitness-queen-turned-accused-murderess Brooke Wyndam brings us back to the days of the aerobics DVDs she’s shilling—before launching the show’s uproarious second act with an orange-is-the-new-black prison jump rope number. And Khaki Pixley’s hairdresser Paulette Buonofonte takes us to a whole other world every time we enter her salon, a realer world far from snooty tweed higher education or Greek life.

Each of the worlds we enter in this show are beautifully created by Scenic Director Shane Cinal. From Elle’s sorority house to the hallowed halls of Harvard to Paulette’s beauty parlor, each set pops visually and transports the audience.

But, like many good shows, it’s the ensemble that makes this one. Each and every member of this cast gives it their all. From sorority sister singalongs to a Greek chorus, from folks getting perms to a courtroom full of plot twists, the ensemble created each scene and populated it with movement, humor, talented vocals, and humanity. And each member received their moment to make the audience hoot and holler—with Isaiah Engram’s deliveryman Kyle getting the most hoots.

The movement of the show is thanks to the ensemble’s talent, but also features wonderful choreography by Mollyanne Nunn—she puts all of this talent to work in dance after dance and showtune after showtune, filling the stage and catching our eyes from every part of it.

Oh, and that TikTok song I mentioned before? That’s here, too. Morgan Schoenecker leads Elle and the ensemble through the “Bend and Snap,” and the number hasn’t lost any of its charm—for the audience or for the aforementioned daughter who was watching Legally Blonde with me.

Like other shows I’ve seen at Skokie’s North Shore Center, this was a thoroughly enjoyable production. Music Theater Works and Mandy Modic take their audience back two decades to tell us a timeless tale, one you’ll find in Legally Blonde, playing now until December 29.

I arrived at the Goodman Theatre for the opening of its 47^th annual production of A Christmas Carol, directed by Jessica Thebus, like many of us—not really feeling the upcoming holidays. I’m usually a real Pollyanna, trying to put on the happy face. I’m usually Bob Cratchit, the good soldier. I’m Tiny Tim Cratchit, even, throwing around “God bless us, everyone” like it’s tinsel. But not this year. This year, I got to the Goodman feeling like a regular Scrooge. And then I walked into the lobby and the whole thing hit me like a series of middle-of-the-night spectral visits upon a four-poster bed. It changed me.

From the balcony above we were greeted by Benet Academy’s Madrigal Singers, sprinkling down on us carol after carol. Seated next to a large, unlit Christmas tree was William Buchholtz, a Native American flautist and a haunting caroler himself. Thebus, back for her fourth Goodman production of this holiday favorite, addressed the audience, lighting the tree and spreading some cheer—and we hadn’t even found our seats yet.

Once the show began, the sets by Todd Rosenthal transported us back to a different beautiful but bleak era—Dickensian England. All of the trappings one expects of A Christmas Carol are there. Muffed carolers, chestnut peddlers and poultry peddlers, and Scrooge & Marley’s beckoning lending house. There we meet Christopher Donahue’s Ebenezer Scrooge—mutton-chopped and hunched and as unhappy as we expect Scrooge to be. But that darkness, very real and very dark, is constantly counteracted by the radiance of the rest of the cast. Anthony Irons’ Bob Cratchit, cheerful charity collectors played by Penelope Walker and Wai Kim, and Dee Dee Batteast’s ever-loving niece all fend off Scrooge’s glare and gruffness by not even acknowledging his grinchiness—their world, while perhaps less financially happy than Scrooge’s, is a completely separate and better world emotionally than his, down to the vibrant colors of their costumes.

(L-R) Anthony Irons, Christopher Donahue, Ava Rose Doty, Xavier Irons, Henry Lombardo, Isabel Ackerman, Viva Boresi, Tafadzwa Diener and Susaan Jamshidi.

Once back at Scrooge’s house (whose ghastly door knocker made both me and my young daughter jump, even though I knew what was coming) we are surrounded by this bleak world this miserable old miser’s made for himself. It’s drafty and dark and dusty and the perfect place for the jarring arrival of Scrooge’s long-dead partner, Jacob Marley, played by William Dick.

The sights and sounds of Marley’s visit are frightening, even when expected, but they contrast the joy and light spread by the first two spirits who visit Scrooge once Marley departs. Lucky Stiff’s Ghost of Christmas Past is buoyant and bright and over the top—meant to get Scrooge’s attention and ours. The spirit transports us all back in time where our hearts break along with a young Ebenezer Scrooge, portrayed brilliantly by Henry Lombardo, and then leap across the hardwood of Fezziwig’s warehouse-turned-dancehall, only to be broken again by Scrooge’s interaction with his true love played charmingly by Amira Danan. We see all the light Scrooge has lost—and it only makes him and the world he’s created that much darker.

Scrooge’s present is as sad as the present world around him is resolutely jolly, made all the more so by Bri Sudia’s Ghost of Christmas Present. The Cratchit children—Isabel Ackerman, Viva Boresi, Xavier Irons, Tafradzwa Diener, and Ava Rose Doty as Tiny Tim—counter Susaan Jamshidi’s tired and realistic Mrs. Cratchit, just as Batteast does at an evening party attended by other folks who are over it.

While Marley’s ghost was truly terrifying, this Ghost of Christmas Future was less scary and sadder—a dead flower, a faded dowager. But, of course, it’s the specter of a sad future that finally snaps Scrooge out of his life of being a scrooge.

And Donahue’s transformation is very real. We’re all used to a claw-handed and clench-jawed Scrooge from film after film. And we know the change to come—to that of a heel-clicking distributor of charity and cheer. But seeing it happen right there, before our eyes, was as magical an effect as any of the magic on display. A real Christmas miracle.

Now, I have no clue if transforming a Scrooge-like audience was Thebus’ intent (or Dickens’), although I’m sure that’s what both were aiming for. But just like the Victorians who Dickens was addressing, our world today could use some hope and some cheer. And just as Donahue’s Scrooge did onstage, I found myself leaving the Goodman Theatre a little more hopeful and a little more cheerful. I have no idea if you’ll experience the same transformation as I did, but I can promise you that this production of A Christmas Carol, at the Goodman Theatre from now through December 30, will at the very least entertain you and warm your heart this holiday season.

In the midst of the bustle and busyness of several stunning song-and-dance routines in Some Like It Hot, beautifully directed and choreographed by Casey Nicholaw, we witness a transformation.

Of course, transformation is what this show—and the classic Billy Wilder film on which it’s based—is all about. You know the story: two jazz musicians in Prohibition-era Chicago—both of them male—are forced by dangerous circumstances to disguise themselves as women in order not to be murdered by the mob.

The transformation in question comes as the two are on the run from South-side gangsters and scurrying to save their own hides by hiding their identities—luckily while hiding in a speakeasy dressing room full of garish outfits. While Joe and Jerry—played by Matt Loehr and Tavis Kordell—evade the killers and the band plays and the choreography is nailed and the show goes on, they also transform right in front of our eyes.

Loehr’s Joe—a classic old-timey wisecracker who’d have fit right in with Jack Lemmon and Tony Curtis in the original movie, or even in the Depression days when both shows are set—becomes Josephine, whose unnatural unease in his new ‘fit mirrors the tone of the ‘50s Hollywood production and makes him the butt of running commentary and jokes by the rest of the cast.

And Kordell’s Jerry becomes Daphne—a role which J. Harrison Ghee originated and for which they won their second Tony. Loehr and Kordell’s chemistry as a song, dance, and comedy duo is right-on from the start, with Loehr, as I said, being the goofier of the two and Kordell being the straight man with the more traditional, physical leading man looks. Then, right before our eyes, Kordell transforms into stunning Daphne.

Both of these transformations happen as smoothly as Loehr and Kordell’s terrific tap-dancing, so practiced and so part of the production that we don’t even notice. Until we do notice that Joe and Jerry are now Josephine and Daphne, and safe from danger… for a bit, anyway. But it’s that one moment—among many amazing moments in this production—that really stunned me, that really seemed magical. In fact, it was like one of those magic tricks when the magician tells the audience what they’re going to do—and then stun the audience with the magic they just supposedly explained away. The audience of Some Like It Hot knows the story that’s about to play out. They know the transformation that needs to happen. But when it does happen, it’s still surprising to see it.

While the whole show hinges on this one moment, all that comes before and after makes for a wonderful evening at a show, too. As I said, Nicholaw’s choreography is killer. The entire ensemble can dance—from railway station numbers to nightclub high-leg kicks to an uproarious piece in a hotel lobby led by Edward Juvier, the audience could hardly hold back their delighted applause until each song’s finish.

The cast of Some Like It Hot at Cadillac Palace

Tarra Conner Jones—a relative newcomer to the stage, as she spent more than two decades as a schoolteacher—commands the attention of the audience, and of the fictional ladies’ band she conducts, as Sweet Sue.

And Leandra Ellis-Gaston takes on perhaps the most daunting role in the production, playing Sugar Kane. Tasked with filling such high heels as those originally worn by Marilyn Monroe in the Wilder film, Ellis-Gaston makes Sugar her own—beautiful as a leading lady in the show and in the show’s traveling band, but also vulnerable and approachable, both qualities displayed in the tender nostalgia of “At the Old Majestic Nickel Matinee.”

Some Like It Hot is an absolute joy—brimming with sharp wit, hilarious moments, and timeless charm. This production is full of tender nostalgia—with its setting in an era none of us were ever alive to know and its adoption and adaptation of a beloved cinema classic. But it’s also a very honest and modern take, using the past to address the present. It’s all of these things, it does them all well, and you can see them happen in Some Like It Hot, running now through November 3rd at the Cadillac Palace Theatre. 

Every time I’ve had the pleasure and the privilege of attending a show at Black Ensemble Theatre, once the experience has sunken in and I’ve had time to think about what I witnessed, I realize something. I realize that Jackie Taylor—actress, singer, writer, historian, founder of the Theater, and writer and director of this production, Blue Eyed Soul Sung by Brown Eyed People—is also a sneaky teacher, which is the best kind of teacher.

Because every show I’ve seen at Black Ensemble Theater, after I’ve gotten over the wonderful performances of equally wonderful music, after I’ve stopped tapping my toe and singing along but have not stopped smiling, I realize that Jackie Taylor has taught me something. She’s made history—and learning—not just immersive and impressive and relatable and digestible. She’s made it joyful.

But that’s just part of Ms. Taylor’s secret formula. Her audiences can’t help but be invested when presented with art that is historically significant, but that is also emotionally significant—I bet one or two or ten of these songs brings back a memory, a feeling, or a moment for each and every member of the audience. And this audience can’t help but be awed when artist after artist presents this historical and emotional art so skillfully and so joyfully.

I keep using that word. Joyfully. Joyful. Joy. Joy is the feeling I get the moment I walk into the Black Ensemble Theatre’s foyer. It’s a community. A joyful community is what I feel I’m part of as I’m shown my seat (an aisle mate of mine mentioned how there’s not a bad seat in the house; as true here as anyplace I’ve been).

And joy is the feeling I got as Blue Eyed Soul Sung by Brown Eyed People began. The band is killer. Even though I’m a musician myself, if I wasn’t watching the four of them play, I wouldn’t guess it’s just a four piece. Conducted by musical director Robert Reddrick who’s also front and center at the drumkit, Adam Sherrod on piano paints with a wide palette of sounds—smooth electric piano, sacred organ, sensual keys. Oscar Brown Jr. on guitar adds more—effortless soul, reverberating rockabilly, Spanish classical, psychedelic fuzz. And Walter Bass—on bass—brings the hook to so many of the songs they perform, the hook that has hooked millions of listeners for generations now, and for generations to come.

Yes, the songs. I won’t give too much away, but you’ll hear songs sung by Dolly. And Whitney. And Mariah. And Christina. And Tommy. And Tom.

The songs are sung by Black Ensemble Theatre’s talented ensemble. Vincet Jordan—who transformed into Chuck Berry in a previous production on Berry’s life and work—shows his range, from falsetto to harmonies to duet partner to charismatic frontman. LaRon Jones has a stunning voice, and he gets song after song that seem written to show it off. Taryn Welch’s voice also left me stunned—I’m still trying to figure out how she pulled off one extended run. Trequon Tate and Dennis Dent provided humor and charm and spot-on backing vocals, alongside Raeven Carrol.

It's Carrol who provided one of the understated highlights of the show. “If I should stay, I would only…” She begins a classic song, a song everyone knows. She sings it tenderly and warmly and beautifully, as it was meant to be sung. Then she’s joined by, and overtaken by Britt Edwards—who has so many wonderful moments throughout the show—and this song is one where Edwards SINGS, because that’s what someone has to do if they sing this song.

So, Edwards SINGS. As good of a performance of this song as you’ll hear. But then there’s Carrol’s voice, back again. Tender and warm and as beautiful as Edwards’ voice. Each voice perfectly their own.

And these two singers, and the entire cast and crew, show you that this song—and any great song—is one that can be sung by different voices, in different ways, and it will always be a great song that can be sung and shared and bring joy.

Come listen and sing along, smile and learn, and be part of a joyful community at Black Ensemble Theatre’s production of Blue Eyed Soul Sung by Brown Eyed People, now until November 10.

While I’ve read the books and seen the movies, I’ve always stood on the outside of the world of Harry Potter. And honestly, I’ve always been a little bit envious of that world—and those who have embraced it and understand it and love it. There were plenty of those folks in attendance at the James Nederlander Theatre on Thursday night for the opening of the Broadway in Chicago production of Harry Potter and the Cursed Child, but there were also plenty of folks like me—outsiders to the world of wizarding and whatnot.

But this show was made to be enjoyed and appreciated by all—the hardcore fans and those of us who just enjoy a good story, good theater, and a really great production.

What began as two productions, in the days before the pandemic, was “shortened” into one play (yes, this is a play, not a musical) after live theater returned. It’s lengthy—three hours, with a twenty-minute intermission between its two acts—but it does what the books and movies did, immersing and losing its audience into its world so time seems to stand still.

The world we find ourselves in is 19 years past end of the final Harry Potter book. Written by Jack Thorne—based on a story by Thorne, director John Tiffany, and J.K. Rowling—this is an original story, featuring the books’ and films’ beloved characters—and new characters, too, as well as stage versions of the Hogwarts world.

John Tiffany, whose 2016 London production of the play began its run, directs this production, as well, and it is magic. Like, actual magic. There are sparks and flames and levitation and disappearances—all of the magic that your mind could conjure while reading a novel or your eyes could be tricked into believing by Hollywood’s CGI. But seeing these illusions happen in person, onstage, in real life is the true draw of this show. I’ve seen a lot of theater, but some of the stuff I saw from the James M. Nederlander’s dress circle seats blew my mind. Tiffany—along with Set Designer Christine Jones and Jamie Harrison, credited with “Illusion & Magic”—is a wizard who left us muggles in attendance asking “How’d they do that?”

The cast that Tiffany directs also helps build this magical world. Local talent Matt Mueller, last enjoyed by this reviewer when he starred as Gerry Goffin in the Marriott’s Beautiful, here co-stars as Ron Weasley. Chicago legend, Larry Yando plays multiple roles, all of them important, but his elderly Amos Diggory was a favorite of mine. Julia Nightingale delights as Delphi Diggory, and Mackenzie Lesser-Roy steals her scene as frolicking phantom Moaning Myrtle. Of course, John Skelley as Harry Potter and Ebony Blake as Hermione Granger also nicely bring the series’ big names into the action.

Again, it’s the sets and the action that really left me bewitched. I sit here writing this review still puzzling over how I saw some of the things I actually saw. And that is the draw of this show, which runs until February 1, 2025, at the James Nederlander Theatre downtown—you come for this world that’s been imagined into existence and into being beloved by millions, and not only do you get to meet these characters who populate and make this world so special, you get to be as amazed as they are by the magic and tragedy and human (or wizard) drama that makes it a world.

Brought to life on the big stage, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child is a triumphant return to Wizarding World!

Harry Potter and the Cursed Child is being performed at the James M. Nederlander Theatre through February 1^st. For tickets and/or more show information, click HERE.

You got trouble, my friends, if you’re going to put on Meredith Willson’s The Music Man.

If you’re going to stage a show that’s been staged ten thousand times since its 1957 Broadway debut—from Hugh Jackman on the stage to Matthew Broderick on the screen to every doggone high school from Clear Lake to Mason City.

A show lovingly recreating an era (Willson was born in turn-of-the-century Iowa) and themes (Willson’s virtuosity on the piccolo found him playing in John Phillip Sousa’s band and Toscanini’s New York Philharmonic) that aren’t quite old enough to be ancient but aren’t familiar enough not to seem dated.

To try and recreate those songs.

“Trouble”

“Till There Was You”

“Seventy-Six Trombones”

To try and attempt to touch the hem of the salesman’s trousers worn by Robert Preston’s Professor Harold Hill—Preston not only originated Hill and played him for much of the original production’s 1,375-show run and the beloved 1962 Hollywood adaptation, he is Professor Harold Hill. Nobody—not any one of those ten thousand (or more) high school or professional actors, not even Hugh Jackman—can be the band instrument-peddling flim-flam man like Preston was and is and always will be.

My friends, if you’re going to attempt all of that… well, you’ve got trouble.

Unless you’re Katie Spelman, who is directing and choreographing Marriott Theatre’s current production of Meredith Willson’s The Music Man. Spelman’s production lovingly embraces and focuses on some aspects of Willson’s original, while avoiding the pitfalls such an iconic show presents. But what this production does best is it knows its strengths, and it leans into them, giving Spelman’s show its own unique flair.

We see the sort of Harold Hill we’re going to spend the evening with right away aboard the train from Rock Island. In most productions I’ve seen, me and the rest of the audience know the first scene’s big reveal, and our eyes remain glued to a particular passenger despite the cast’s best efforts at the syncopated opening number, “Rock Island.” But even though we spot KJ Hippensteel at the back of the train car, we don’t focus on him. Instead, we focus on the enthusiastic ensemble that everyone—Marriott’s in-the-round setup means it’s always the best seat in the house—sees up close and personal and from all angles. Ron E. Rains, all dolled up like a turn-of-the-country fellow, leads the charge, while his fellow passengers run through Spelman’s clockwork choreography. Right away, I was glad to see a familiar face, Michael Mahler, who brought the same charm to each role in this play as he has in many past.

After Hippensteel’s Professor Harold Hill disembarks from the train to River City, Iowa, this closeness and intimacy we felt aboard the train transfers right into town. This production doesn’t try to recreate River City on a Hollywood scale. But it really focuses on certain things and gives us a good, close look at them, which we might not have gotten on the Broadway stage or the silver screen.

The citizens of River City are each and every one unique. And, as they move around the round, allowing us to see each and every one of them, we appreciate the details of each of their costumes (by Raquel Adorno), we appreciate that each one is someone. Particularly charming are youngsters Emily Ann Brooks and Sam Linda, Janet Ulrich Brooks’ Widow Paroo, Elin Joy Seiler’s Amaryllis, Alex Goodrich’s Mayor Shinn, Melanie Loren’s hilarious Eulalie Mackecknie Shinn, and the spot-on barbershop harmonies of the school board quartet (Matt Edmonds, Quinn Rigg, Michael Potsic, and the afore-mentioned Mahler).

Besides the ensemble’s vocal strengths, the singer who really shines is Alexandra Silber as Marian Paroo, the town librarian. No shrinking violet, no old-maid-against-her-will, and not even Mrs. Partridge (although I do love Shirley Jones’ Marian the Librarian), Silber brings her Grammy-nominated vocals to the fore. This production’s brought Julie Andrews-caliber pipes to the party—Silber’s soprano as she sang of “My White Knight” gave me chills.

But while all of these strengths—the ensemble’s skill, the cast’s charm, the performers’ pipes, the theater’s—are recognized and utilized and add up to a unique and charming take on an old favorite, I’ve not yet addressed KJ Hippensteel as Professor Harold Hill. And that’s because, like the production itself, Hippensteel’s Hill reads the room and knows what the room needs, or he knows how to sell the room what the room thinks it needs.

Hippensteel’s Hill doesn’t try to go toe-to-toe with Preston’s over-the-top traveling salesman—he’d have failed like every other Hill since Preston caught his last train ride. But Hippensteel’s Hill knows his own strengths.

He’s city pretty and, while out of place in a place like River City, he’s a curiosity. He’s slippery, slinking around with an easy physicality that sometimes seems to be at twice the speed of the Iowans moving around him. And Hippensteel’s Hill seems like he might just be a nice enough fellow—while Preston’s Hill, played by an actor who up until then had usually played screen villains, is a bad guy you hope could see the light, Hippensteel’s Hill is a good guy who you hope can right the ship after some bad life choices.

But, because this is The Music Man, a show we music theater folks know and love, Hippensteel’s Hill does give us the flourishes, the hand gestures, the hops, the dips, all the pizazz we came into the theater expecting from the professor. However, Hippensteel does it on his own terms, as his own Harold Hill. Just like the entire charming and unique production of Meredith Willson’s The Music Man does, playing now through June 2 at the Marriott Theatre in Lincolnshire.