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.

I remember when my dad, then a much younger man than I am now, had just lost his first parent. Anything—a TV show or a song or a greeting card or something he’d read—that hinted at aging or mortality could be an emotional trigger and start him crying. Most of the triggers were personal, but I remember the time he rented On Golden Pond on VHS. I don’t remember a thing about the movie—it wasn’t about a time-traveling Delorean or a Christmas Eve skyscraper full of terrorists or a theme park full of velociraptors—except that it was about just those two things—aging and mortality—and that long before the movie was even over, my dad was weeping.

All these years later, with me being much older than my dad, who himself passed away a few months back, I guess I’m now the ideal audience, the prime candidate, the mark, for On Golden Pond. I’d forgotten all about that 1980s video store rental incident until I attended the Skokie Theatre’s current production of Ernest Thomson’s play, directed by Wayne Mell and produced by Wendy Kaplan. But as soon as the metaphorical curtain rose, the real-life waterworks began.

The source material, of course, has such heartstrings tugging as its intent, but it requires a talented and sympathetic cast to make it work. And this cast works.

Bernie Rice’s Norman Thayer is everybody’s aging father (or father-in-law)—that combination of commanding your compassion (pity?) or and respect (fear?) at the same time. Towering, but faltering. Loud, but hesitant. Right, but maybe not as right as he used to be. Henry Fonda might’ve been my grandpa—handsome as all get out, but almost too iconic, too on the nose. But Bernie Rice sure could’ve been my dad—real.

Judy Rossignuolo-Rice’s Ethel Thayer, while dwarfed by her husband, filled the stage whenever she was on it, and played a woman who could be, who should be, a grandma. Her Ethel is just right. Just the right amount of sweet when it’s needed. Just the right amount of wise when it’s warranted. And always the right bit of sass and spunk.

The rest of the cast also fits right in on Golden Pond. Karyn Louise Doerfler’s just the right mix for her role—Ethel and Norman’s somewhat-estranged adult daughter, Chelsea—too. She’s a grown woman, so she doesn’t need any love or validation from her folks. But she’s still their daughter, and still vulnerable enough that she wants it (and, who am I kidding, it doesn’t matter how old we are, we still need that, which is the whole point of the show in the first place).

Chelsea’s stepson-to-be, Billy Ray Jr. is played delightfully and exuberantly by AJ Carchi, themselves a teenager, and one who also convincingly plays a teenager—skulking one second, mischievous the next, and in the end, in need of that same love.

Part of the family for decades is Peter Goldsmith’s rural mailman, Charlie—as quirky and lovable and vulnerable as Norman and Ethel and the rest, but he’s also the heart of the whole thing. Not just because if Charlie loves the Thayers, then we ought to love them, too. But Goldsmith brings a heart and an innocence to Charlie that not only seemed real, but that lit up any scenes he wandered into.

But this cast, and this production, really do create a family—that nostalgic, heart-tugging, greeting card, Norman Rockwell sorta family that maybe only ever existed in our heads. But it exists right now, on the stage of the Skokie Theatre, during their run of On Golden Pond, from now until February 25.

And I’d be remiss to mention the Skokie Theatre, itself. A Skokian of some two decades now, my own self, I’ve visited the charming silent-film-era place during its incarnations through the years. From watching a daughter take part in the long-gone Gorilla Tango Theater to the old black-and-white movies they show in the air-conditioned cool during each August’s Backlot Bash (named for the theater’s surroundings being the location of Hollywood’s pre-Hollywood backlot), I’ve watched it change. The current incarnation—beautifully and lovingly making this theater a home—is celebrating 10 years of creating art, creating community, and creating family, and their current production of On Golden Pond couldn’t be a more fitting way to do it.

At Skokie Theatre through February 25^th.

There are two moments I love most when I’ve seen productions of Beautiful: The Carole King Musical.

First, the audience usually contains a fair number of people who grew up with Ms. King’s songs as the soundtrack to their younger years. And when those songs start being performed during the show, the years since those youthful days disappear and folks start singing along, tapping along, smiling along. The room lightens and brightens somehow.

The second moment happens at intermission. Many of those same people who’d just been transported to their youths declare, “I didn’t know she wrote that song” or “She wrote that song?”

To me, those are two of Carole King’s superpowers—and the reason she’s always been the perfect and most deserving subject of a Broadway jukebox musical. She’s not only the soundtrack to millions of adolescences, to happier days, to young love, to better times (I’ve made the case before that she’s the American Lennon and McCartney, all in one package), but she did it (and still does it, per those surprised comments at intermission) on the sly.

And that—both King’s genius, and the path that genius took to being recognized—is the magic of the current production of Beautiful at the Marriott Theatre, directed by Jessica Fisch.

First off, the production has a wonderful Carole King. Kaitlyn Davis certainly knows the role, having played King in productions both nationally and regionally. But it’s not just that Davis plays Carole King. She really becomes Carole King. I’m a big fan of Ms. King, and Davis’ portrayal—throughout King’s career—is spot-on. Like King, Davis is an accomplished pianist, accompanying herself throughout the show—while also nailing the timbre and tone of King’s voice; seriously, this isn’t a theater person approximating a songwriter’s voice, it’s someone with a warm singer/songwriter’s voice who’s also got Broadway chops.

And Davis does more than just sound like Carole King. She looks like her. As King, she transforms throughout the show, as King ages and lives her life—going from a 16-year-old girl in Brooklyn to a wife and mother who also happens to live at the top of the Billboard charts. And she has real chemistry with Andrew Mueller, who plays husband and writing partner Gerry Goffin. Mueller’s Goffin, Janet Ulrich Brooks’ Genie Klein (Carole’s mother), and Lawrence Grimm’s record producing Don Kirshner (who could’ve easily been overplayed as just a stereotypical music biz exec, but who Grimm gives some nice humanity) all connect emotionally with Davis and make this more than just a jukebox, but a biography.

But, like every Marriott production I’ve seen, the rest of the cast is what takes this show to a whole other level. Stacked with talented actors, the cast transports us back to a certain time and place both sonically and visually. Erica Stephan, always a pro in any productions she’s in, is mid-century elegance as rival songwriter and friend, Cynthia Weil. Weil’s partner in music and love, Barry Mann, provides the show’s comic relief, but Justin Albinder does more than just get laughs—his musical numbers are among the show’s highlights—especially his duet with Stephan on “Walking in the Rain” and his solo electric performance of what would become an Animals hit, “We Gotta Get Out of This Place.”

And that right there is what I was talking about up at the top…

Everyone knows that song. Or, when it comes on oldies radio or a commercial, they remember that they once knew that song. But folks don’t often realize that that song, and so many other hit songs from that era, didn’t just magically appear on vinyl or on the radio waves. No, people wrote those songs. And that’s what this show explores—making people of Mann and Weil and Goffin and, especially, King.

But it then, again thanks to the Marriott production’s wonderful ensemble, puts those songs back into their natural habitat, as hit songs on the charts of a particular era. Songs performed by girl groups and vocal groups and people other than songwriters grinding—albeit beautifully—at an old upright piano.

The group who really brings the King/Goffin and Weil/Mann compositions to life throughout the show is the production's Drifters—Christian Denzel Bufford, Naiqui Macabroad, Yasir Muhammad, and Juwon Tyrel Perry. Each of The Drifters provide lead vocals when it’s his turn, but they all also act as a musical time machine, with their smooth 60s dance moves (choreographed by Christopher Windom), their stunningly coordinated outfits, and their beautifully blended vocal harmonies. These four turn what are great songs into hits.

And so do the rest of the ensemble. Daryn Whitney Harrell stuns the audience (and, spoiler alert, a heartbroken King) with her “One Fine Day.” Ariana Burks does the same with Mann and Weil’s “Uptown.” We see a song go from good idea to great piece of art when that same songwriting duo’s “You’ve Lost That Lovin’ Feeling” goes from Mann plunking around on it himself to Adam LaSalle and Ben Mayne as The Righteous Brothers making it one of the biggest hits ever. And near the end, this comes full circle, as Melanie Brezill, Alexis J. Roston, and Alina Taber provide the soulful backing vocals the audience knows and expects on a showstopping version of Goffin and King’s “(You Make Me Feel Like) A Natural Woman.”

And while Kaitlyn Davis’ Carole King reclaims that song and makes it King’s own, just as she makes this role her own, it is also thanks to the entire cast and crew of Marriott’s production of Beautiful: The Carole King Musical—running now through December 31—that until the end of the year audiences will be transported back to their younger years. And that—the ability to bend time, to break hearts, and to buoy spirits, all through song—shows the beautiful brilliance of Carole King.

For so many children of the ‘80s, the revisiting and repurposing of our childhoods’ intellectual and emotional property is comforting. Maybe I’m more cynical, but so many of pop culture’s attempts to cash in on my nostalgia don’t do much for me. And so, when Tim Burton’s beloved tale of a recently deceased married couple and their debauched and equally dead ghostly exterminator became a Broadway musical, I was unsure about yet another attempt to take my fond memories and put them on the stage.

All that to say, I went into the Auditorium Theatre for Broadway on Chicago’s current production of Beetlejuice the Musical. The Musical.The Musical. a skeptic. And I came out smiling like I haven’t smiled in years.

For real, this is the most enjoyable production I’ve seen since before the pandemic.

It began with the set, which won me over immediately. I’ve found that shows put on in the Auditorium face the challenge of living up to such a large, looming, living house as Adler and Sullivan’s 19^th-century masterpiece. Sometimes it can overshadow shows. Sometimes it can swallow them up. Sometimes it’s just too much, itself. Not in this case. The set, designed by David Korins, already faced the challenge of living up to the zany and iconic look of the film, straight from inside Tim Burton’s head. But the set does live up to Burton’s vision—from the BETELGEUSE sign and spooky lighting—designed by Kenneth Posner—that greets you to the ever-changing innards of the soon-to-be-haunted house that hosts the show, as do the costumes (by William Ivey Long), the projections (by Peter Nigrini), and especially the puppets (by Michael Curry). This production not only recreates the brilliance of Burton’s movie, but it also recreates the BIGNESS of it. This Beetlejuice is a real spectacle, as it ought to be.

The music, too, of this 21^st-century reimagining of 20^th-century classic totally works. Going in, I knew the songs would be good, as my daughters have played the original Broadway soundtrack around the house since it came out in 2018. With words and music by Eddie Perfect, these are really good songs. And the orchestra, produced and supervised by Matt Stine and Kris Kukul and directed by Andy Grobengieser and Julia Sunay, is really tight throughout, something as a musician myself I notice and appreciate.

Yes, if the wonderful scenic and sonic experience I had at Beetlejuice was all I had to talk about, it still might rank up there with the shows I’ve most enjoyed. But I haven’t even gotten to the show’s cast yet. And—as they would be filling roles first played by none other than Michael Keaton, Catherine O’Hara, Geena Davis, Alec Baldwin, and Winona Ryder—that was my main area of concern. Could anyone live up to those names and those performances?

This cast does.

Justin Collette takes on the title role with ghoulish glee. While Collette nails the gravelly voice of the original, he doesn’t try to perfectly recreate the grubbiness of Keaton’s spectral chiseler. Collette’s Beetlejuice is a bit more modern, a bit more fun—more carnival barker or social media attention hound than used car salesman—while every bit as irreverent and foul-mouthed (and actually Rated R to the 1988 PG-rated poltergeist). And Collette can sing. He’s on all night long—all over the stage, interacting with the audience like a standup comic, dancing with the ensemble, shaking a leg, breaking off an arm, evading a sandworm, holding a minute-long note—without breaking a sweat. I was out of breath just watching him, but Collette proved himself a real pro.

Also, a real pro—in her professional debut—is Isabella Esler as poor little broken-hearted gothic girl, Lydia Deetz. Now, again, I’m a 1980s kid. And Winona Ryder will always be everything to me—especially as the original Lydia. In fact, in the clips I’d seen of other performances from other productions of Beetlejuice, Lydia was the one who could never live up to the original. But Esler does that. She not only keeps up with an ever-changing set and never-tiring ensemble, but she also leads them. Confident, coordinated, and with a face so expressive it seems to pop right off the Auditorium’s giant stage and right into the seats, Esler was every bit the star of the show as Beetlejuice. And like Collette, Esler can also really sing—always finding another gear and a higher or more emotionally compelling note—sing like someone who’s been doing this for decades.

The rest of this cast, too, are professionals, or even better than the great professionals I’ve come to expect in such productions. Baldwin and Davis were (and still are) reliable, benignly attractive icons in the film. But as recently deceased husband and wife onstage, Megan McGinnis and Will Burton play up the boring and benign, which only highlights how extraordinarily talented the two are. They sing, they dance, they act as ensemble side pieces when needed, but carry whole scenes themselves.

While those two expand on the film’s characteristics, the two other principal characters are much different, and for the better in this case. The book—by Scott Brown and Anthony King—takes license throughout, even referring to the fact that this isn’t the Beetlejuice many old fans like me might be expecting. Because of the big plot changes, the roles of Lydia’s parents completely change. Instead of sleezy Jeffrey Jones’ standard 80s sleaze he brought to this or other film classics, Jesse Sharp’s Charles Deetz is someone you can—or come to—root for. And as Catherine O’Hara (always the perfect film mom from that era) is inimitable, the show doesn’t even try. Kate Marilley’s Delia Deetz is a completely different character than O’Hara’s, and Marilley is a complete hoot—maybe the most fun physical comedian on a stage that’s full of them during this production.

So, yes, this production, wonderfully directed by Alex Timbers, not only won over this old, pessimistic grump (and completely charmed the audience, regardless of age), it wowed me. From the sights to the sounds to the stars on the Auditorium Theatre stage, Broadway in Chicago’s current production of Beetlejuice—running now through November 19—is an event you do not want to miss.

In the two hundred (and five) years since Mary Shelley jolted to life her eponymous mad scientist and his monster and set them loose, Frankenstein has invaded just about every cross-section of culture. Motion pictures, of course. And literature. Sitcoms and cereal. And, based on the late Liam Scarlett’s production of the romantic novelist’s tale, now "Frankenstein" has found the stage of the Joffrey Ballet for a beautiful reimagining of the heartbroken doctor and the heartbroken creature he creates, one that embraces Shelley’s gothic 19th century original.

Like recent literary reimaginings by the Joffrey (at its old home at the Auditorium Theater), Anna Karenina and Jane Eyre, the set and stage are beautifully done—scenic and costume design by John McFarlane for the Scarlett production. The Joffrey’s staging—by Kristen McGarrity, Laura Morera, and Lauren Strongin, and Joe Walsh—nicely incorporates the ballet’s “new” and cozier home at the Lyric Opera; while the Auditorium’s scale and gravitas might have added their own touches to such a production, the Lyric and the Joffrey are a great match. Gothic scientific projections—programmed by Troy Fujimura—set the feel (which I guess one could call “steampunk,” but doing so might trivialize the vibe. Yet, it’s not all doom and gloom and bloody surgical theaters here, as we also spend much time in happier, more comfortable days with the Frankenstein family at their estate.

Jose Pablo Castro Cuevas, in the lead role of Victor Frankenstein, nicely straddles these two worlds, as his character grows up in one and longs to go to the next—in the footsteps of his father, Dr. Frankenstein, played by Miguel Angel Blanco—Cuevas’ Victor falls in love with the adopted orphan Elizabeth, played by Amanda Assucena, a favorite in past Nutcracker productions, as well as the title character in Jane Eyre. Cuevas and Assucena make a fine couple, as do Blanco and Anais Bueno, in the role of Alphonse Frankenstein’s wife and Victor’s mother, whose sudden demise gives the story its direction, sending Victor off to medical school determined to reverse death.

But before Victor goes to school and begins to amass the knowledge with which he’ll wreak his timeless monster on our world, I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention Christine Rocas as the Frankenstein family’s governess and Jeraldine Mendoza (another Joffrey favorite from Nutcrackers past) as her daughter, Justine. Both bring life to their roles, and I couldn’t take my eyes off either.

I’d also be remiss if I didn’t mention the production’s musical score, by Lowell Liebermann for the original, played by the Lyric Opera Orchestra and conducted by Scott Speck. The music brightens the story when needed, but even more hints at the doom to come, and the gloom always lurking.

And now, on to the anatomy theater at Ingolstadt University, where the doctor creates his monster and where the story creates its mythology, now two centuries old. Devastated by his mother’s death in childbirth, Victor leaves these loved ones (and his newborn baby brother) behind to study medicine. Here, in the same manner he towers over 1893 Chicago each Christmastime for the Joffrey’s Nutcracker as that production’s empresario, Dylan Gutierrez looms over his youthful pupils in the round, the stern and statuesque Professor Waldman.

It is here in the anatomy theatre, fueled by heartbreak, exuberant with youth, and armed with the burgeoning science of the looming industrial revolution, where Victor Frankenstein fashions his monster. The set and pyrotechnics (by Gateway Pyrotechnic Productions) rival the scale in any Hollywood Frankenstein of yore. And the monster, slippery and scarred, is given a grace and humanity many of those silver screen adaptations neglect. Jonathan Dole wonderfully plays the role of the Creature—confused and contorted, a counterfeit creation in a world it can never understand or be understood by. He is there, and then he is gone, and upon his return, we are ready to be horrified, brokenhearted, and amazed by the Joffrey Ballet’s 21st century reimagining of a centuries-old tale of horror, heartbreak, and amazement. See it at the Lyric Opera, now through October 22.

As a Buddy Holly obsessive—glasses tattooed around an arm, email handle for years, a novel and even a podcast someplace or the other—I was beyond thrilled when I learned the fine folks at the Marriott Theatre would be reviving Buddy: The Buddy Holly Story, a show I’ve seen quite a few times over the years. About five years ago, I was privileged to review American Blues Theater’s Jeff Award-winning Buddy: The Buddy Holly Story, still one of the best shows I’ve ever seen. And as I perused the playbill for the Marriott’s current revival, names from that 2018 show jumped off the page and assured me that this production would be in capable hands.

The capable hands of this Buddy Holly are attached to Kieran McCabe, who in 2018 played The Crickets’ drummer, Jerry Allison. Here’s the thing about Buddy Holly—he was young. His very short career—cut short by a fateful winter plane ride from Iowa bound for Fargo—ended when he was just 22 years old. So, while many Buddies have the look, have the guitar chops, have the West Texas drawl, and even have the hiccupping vocals, most of them are grownups wearing Buddy Holly glasses.

Not McCabe. He brings a fresh-faced, boyish energy to the role. He’s no adult cosplaying as a kid. He’s a young rock ‘n’ roller with a pair of dark-rimmed specs on his face, a Fender Stratocaster strapped to his chest, and a whole life of possibilities ahead of him, not a care in the world. As McCabe’s Buddy leads us through Holly’s catalog of songs—did I mention the brevity of the career during which these songs were created?! — with rockers like “Peggy Sue,” “Oh Boy,” and “Not Fade Away” getting us moving, and tender ballads like “True Love Waits” breaking our hearts since we how this story ends, he transports us not just to Buddy’s life in Texas and New Mexico and New York, but more importantly to a simpler, younger time of backbeats and rockabilly. Song after song after song, Kieran McCabe’s Buddy Holly rocks.

Reprising her part from the 2018 production as Buddy’s young wife Maria Elena, Molly Hernandez joins McCabe in bringing confident familiarity to the show. Besides her role as Buddy’s muse, Hernandez also adds to the cast’s musical prowess—providing close harmonies in western girl group numbers, backing vocals throughout, and some really good trumpet playing during the show’s final concert.

Also returning to a role he’d played before is Shaun Whitley as Crickets bassist Joe B. Mauldin. Whitley leads the cast—not just the Crickets, filled out here by Jed Feder as drummer Allison and Michael Kurowski as the “4^th Cricket” (the show’s stand-in for Buddy’s real-life rhythm guitarists Niki Sullivan and Tommy Allsup), but everyone else, too—through a setlist of rock ‘n’ roll classics, from Buddy’s songs to others the audience knew and loved.

Kieran McCabe as Buddy Holly. Photo by Liz Lauren.

The rest of the cast is rounded out by musical ringers, too. Ellie Kahn as Vi Petty sprinkles angelic charm onto Buddy’s ballad, “Everyday,” as she tinkles the celesta, and plays keyboards and piano throughout, as does Cory Goodrich. Alex Goodrich’s Norman Petty and various other old-timey music industry fellows are as vital to the story as his musical contributions are to the show. Marcus Terell and Christopher Wren fill out the cast and the band, while Jordan Arredondo’s Ritchie Valens gets the crowd on their feet with a rousing “La Bamba.”

Valens, of course, died in the same crash that took Buddy’s life, as did J.P. Richardson, known to the world as The Big Bopper. David Stobbe, most recently seen stealing scenes—and his son Huck’s nest egg—in Mercury Theater’s Big River, fills out the Bopper’s flashy period suit and plays the role to the hilt. Another local favorite, Melanie Brezill—who has amazed in every show I’ve seen her in, from Chicago Children’s Theatre to a play about Nina Simone—dazzles, especially during the Apollo Theater scene in which she duets with Terell on “Shout.”

But, again, it’s the music that’s the point of this show, from Buddy Holly’s songs to Valens’ and Richardson’s and all of the other oldies the audience enjoys. And it’s this cast, directed by Amber Mak, who put the songs center stage. Because while Holly and Valens and Richardson and so many other rock ‘n’ rollers might have died far too soon, their music will always be alive, so long as there are youthful and talented singers and musicians to keep them that way. Sing and dance along, from now through August 13, to Buddy: The Buddy Holly Story at The Marriott Theatre in Lincolnshire, to this music that will never die.

Fun fact. I went into Music Theater Works’ production of Pippin knowing the songs, knowing the show, and knowing I’d have a good time. But afterwards, I learned from my daughter, herself a current member of Scotch’n’Soda Theatre, Carnegie Mellon University’s student theater troupe, that the beloved musical didn’t just appear out of thin air, manufactured by the Broadway gods and bestowed upon us earthly theatergoers.

But Pippin didn’t just appear magically like all the good shows seem to have done. It was originally written by Stephen Schwartz as a student show for Scotch’n’Soda Theatre before its first Broadway run, directed by the great Bob Fosse. Knowing that now, the show’s youthful exuberance and dated innocence makes sense. Of course it was written by a kid, albeit a very talented kid.

Knowing that, the show means that much more—the story of a talented kid figuring out life and yearning for something, written by a kid like that. And knowing that, it’s fitting that my favorite part of this fine production of Pippin, directed by Kyle A. Dougan at the North Shore Center for the Performing Arts, was its young and talented and eager and enthusiastic ensemble. Seriously, the ensemble works (and sings and dances and acts) their tails off.

Choreographed by Mollyanne Nunn and Kaitlyn Pasquinelli, both ensemble members as well, there is always something fascinating going on across the stage; I never knew quite where to look because there was always someone stunning me with a dance move or making me laugh with a random bit of incidental tomfoolery. The scenic design by Shane Cinal and the costumes by Jazmin Aurora Medina only furthered the youthful feel, for me especially, as the themes and color palette and props all screamed 80s and 90s. And said costumes and props were put to good use by the cast, with Ciara Hickey and Jordan Ordonez two standouts, the latter joining Lacey Jack and Sonia Goldberg’s Leading Player for the dance scene in “Glory.”

Goldberg starred last year in Theo Ubique’s Once Upon a Mattress, and again takes center stage in the role of Leading Player, originated by Ben Vereen, leading the production throughout. Goldberg also leads youthful and yearning Pippin through the show’s story, for this production played by Connor Ripperger. Both Ripperger and Goldberg have phenomenal vocal skills, and show them off throughout. Their talents are matched by the rest of the main cast, including a hilarious (and hilariously costumed) Thomas M. Shea as Pippin’s royal father, King Charlemagne, Andrew Freeland as Lewis, Desiree Gonzalez as Catherine, and Di’Aire Wilson as Theo. The two women competing in the king’s life are wonderful; Kathleen Puls Andrade’s Berthe kills “No Time at All” (helped out, of course, by the audience on the choruses) and Savannah Sinclair flashes her dancing skills as Fastrada.

But again, this production is most enjoyable as a whole—because of all the talent onstage, because of all the enthusiasm shown by every single member of the cast, and because of all the hard work that has obviously been put into the show by everyone involved with Music Theater Works. I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention the orchestra, conducted by Justin Akira Kono. Kono leads the strings, horns, and trumpets through the show’s beloved soundtrack, and gives it a real Broadway feel. Because yes, this might be a show about youthful angst, written by a college kid for a college theater, but it’s also a beloved Broadway classic, jam-packed with beloved standards. And from now through June 25, you can see the cast and crew of Music Theater Works give it their all in Pippin at the North Shore Center for the Performing Arts in Skokie.