What do you do when something in life, an unforeseen occurrence, challenges what you thought was one of your most deeply held beliefs?  What direction do you take if adhering to your convictions could mean sacrificing something exceedingly dear to you?  Do you follow your moral compass or choose the personally expedient? These are the kinds of questions that drive Admissions, Joshua Harmon’s brilliant and piercing 2018 play fresh in its run at Citadel Theatre Company in Lake Forest.  Teasing out the answers to this dilemma makes for some of the best theater you’ll likely find anywhere in the metropolitan area right now.

It takes shape in a place where most of us have little knowledge, an elite private high school on the east coast. This one is named Hillcrest.  Sherri Rosen-Mason (Susie Steinmeyer) has been the Admissions director there for years and throughout her tenure; promoting diversity in the student body has been as much a passion for her as it is a mission.  Every incremental percentage increase in minority enrollment is met with euphoric elation.

Sherri’s husband, Bill (Tim Walsh) leads the school as its headmaster. They have a son, Charlie (Justin Jarzombek), who’s finishing his senior year there.  Highly successful and proudly liberal, Sherri and her husband are more than aware of their privilege in society and are anxious for others with fewer advantages to share in the bounty they enjoy.

The timeframe is just a mere ten years ago when, despite its many vocal detractors, diversity was increasingly the law of the land and becoming enshrined in our institutions.  Because it doesn’t impact them directly or personally, many Americans still respond ambivalently toward the change and view it simply as a manifestation of cultural evolution.  Much like Roberta (Elaine Carlson), Sherri’s Development officer who designs the school’s promotional materials.  She tolerates it or may even support diversity as a principle; but it has no real bearing on her own life.

Aptly directed by Beth Wolf, that perceptual imbalance between Sherri and Roberta provide the foundation for frequent incisive and wonderfully humorous scenes that take place whenever the two women sit down to review the promotional catalogs being sent to prospective students. Roberta doesn’t really understand why she must include more pictures of Black students in the recruitment material.   When Sherri asks her why a Black student would want to come to a school if they didn’t see anybody who looks like them in that school’s brochures, Roberta invariably gives a dismayed pout before moving into defensive dismissiveness.  Echoing the kind of language you’d expect of a person who never felt the drag of race as a weight, her outlook on the subject could easily be thought cavalier.   Full of genteel spunk, and propelled by the boldness of Joshua Harmon’s writing, Carlson in her role of Roberta is as illuminating as a powerful lighthouse.  Exposing this rarely viewed profile of a recessed but likely prevalent national mindset makes her character boundlessly fascinating.  And Carlson fills it with laudatory panache.

Something very similar happens when we learn more about Sherri’s son, Charlie.  Elite private high schools, wherever they’re located, know their purpose.  To help pave the way to assured success.  Excelling in academics, sports and his sundry other interests, Charlie appears destined for a life very similar to his parents.   Both he and his best friend, Perry, the bi-racial son of a professor at the school who’s also a super-achiever, have their eyes on Yale.

Although very close in their achievements, Charlie edges out Perry ever so slightly overall.  But it’s Perry, a person we never see on stage, who’ll get to claim the bulldog, Handsome Dan, as his school mascot next Fall.  Charlie receives a beautifully crafted rejection letter. That’s when the stuff of the nightly news becomes real for the Mason family.  

It’s not unusual for disappointment to induce rage. In a Homeric monologue, one that’s as eloquent as it is tremendously edifying, Charlie unleashes the hurt and angst of a generation who feel as if they’ve been placed on an altar of sacrifice.  A generation of white boys and young men who believe their futures are being used to pay for the past misdeeds of a nation.  Jarzombek delivers it splendidly, pushing it deftly down into the souls of a rapt audience and receiving an immediate and enthusiastic ovation for his efforts.

Just as compelling is its counterpoint, embodied in Ginnie, Perry’s white mom.  Hers is another voice seldom heard on the dramatic stage, that of white woman raising a black child.  Played with lovely craftsmanship by Tina Shelly, she’s angered as well as hurt when she gleans people she considers her friends, people who know her son’s abilities, believe the primary reason Perry was accepted into Yale is his color.   

One of the wonderful things about exceptional writing is that you know not to expect conventional, easily anticipated endings. And there certainly isn’t anything like that here.  It’s the way things resolve that you luxuriate in.  Like the way Charlie rises and demands an equal voice in shaping his future.  And then see where that takes him. Or how Ginnie rejects equanimity to embrace passion and stands her ground; never vacillating in her defense and championing the primacy of her family.  Shedding giddy to proudly wrap herself in armor. 

As delightful as the rest of the cast, Steinmeyer as Sherri and Walsh as her stalwart other half gleamed like fine gems as played a married couple who knew how to push and challenge each other with both true force and real respect.  What they don’t do is also very telling.  Which makes Admissions the kind of story your mind might return to when you find yourself, someone you know or even a country, thrashing through a moral conundrum.

Admissions

Through March 15, 2026

Citadel Theatre Company

300 S. Waukegan Road

Lake Forest, IL   60045

For more information and tickets:  https://www.citadeltheatre.org/admissions

Highly Recommended

This review is proudly shared with our friends at www.TheatreInChicago.com.

Sometimes we can’t fully appreciate the giants who walk among us until we have the chance to view them and their achievements through hindsight. In the case of tennis great Billie Jean King, that process is being bolstered through the arts. Now playing at Chicago Shakespeare Theater (CST), a powerful and unabashedly joyful retrospective of King’s life portrays a woman initially driven simply by a thirst for winning. As the story about her grows and her life begins to take shape, winning remains a driving force, but fairness and equality soon join it to ultimately define the full scope of her destiny.

The first female athlete to receive the Presidential Medal of Freedom, the nation’s highest civilian award, and with enough Grand Slam tennis titles and Wimbledon victories to keep her emblazoned in the record books for centuries, she’s now an icon in the truest sense of the word. She’s also at that stage of life when one considers how they will be remembered. When approached about a project focusing on her life, King was open to a play. What surprised playwright Lauren Gunderson is that she was recruited to write Billie Jean, the theatrical sensation currently premiering at CST.

Although Gunderson may have been startled by her selection, the choice couldn’t have been more ideal. Not only is she the one most produced contemporary playwrights in the country, but her work is also very often women centered with the express intent of highlighting the contributions of the less seen and unseen. Most commonly too, her vantage point is usually historical. In this effort, she would be working with a living national treasure to present a truthful and moving account of the valleys as well as the mountains of a highly notable life. Her prodigious writing prowess along with Marc Bruni’s masterfully perceptive direction turn Billie Jean into a celebration of being who you are and staying true to one’s core convictions.

You see King at her most pure shortly after the play’s splashy adrenaline-stirring intro and a little firecracker lights up the stage in the form of Julia Antonelli as a young Billie Jean. As precocious intellectually as she soon proves to be athletically, the pre-pubescent tennis wonder is an observant keg of energy with plenty of questions and more than capable of making her own keen deductions about the world she lives in. Once she dips her toe into the sport of tennis, she’s hooked and hungers to get better so that she can win. Her drive to become the best at what she does makes her ceaselessly inquisitive. When she crosses paths with Althea Gibson, one of the first black women to push aside the color barrier in international tennis and the first to win a Grand Slam, the trailblazer shares nuggets of truth that will stay with the youngster for the rest of her life. Pearls like trusting yourself first and that despite hardships, obstacles and hurdles, “winners find a way”.

That phrase becomes a mantra, in addition to nuggets like “one ball at a time” and “pressure is a privilege”. They keep bubbling up whenever a setback threatens or doubt begins to loom in this very fast paced production that makes a NASCAR race look like a sad jalopy crawl around a beat-up track. Wilson Chin’s scenic design bubbles over with the green of a lush grass tennis court. Joined by David Bengali’s splendid projections and videos to enhance both intimacy and excitement, the show’s production components are nothing less than stunning.

Despite being a world celebrity and cultural exemplary for over half a century, there’s probably only a small percentage of the public who’re familiar with the fact Billie Jean King was once Billie Jean Moffitt. Married to Larry King in her early 20s, well before she achieved the fame she enjoys today, aspects of her private life are as fascinating as her career in tennis. Gunderson’s honest penetrating writing, coupled with Chilina Kennedy’s superb performance as King, exposes the heroic internal growth the tennis star experienced outside the limelight as well as in. It’s an aspect of her story that proves every relationship is supremely unique.  The two decades she spent with her former husband testify to how poignantly inscrutable so many marriages can be.  Through his portrayal, Dan Amboyer as Larry King brought a level of compassionate regard to his role that one rarely has a chance to witness on stage or screen. Those scenes depicting Billie Jean King the person give expression to the play’s heart. The ones that recall King’s advocacy unleash its fire.  

Outrage doesn’t always spur action.  It did for King. Incensed that as the top performing player in her sport, she was not being justly compensated because of her sex, initially drew her ire. That pique then turned her into a tireless proponent for pay equity in sports. The legitimacy of her cause took time to take root and withstood considerable opposition before it gained traction. It was the prelude to the historic battle of the sexes in 1973 when King defeated Bobby Riggs in three straight sets. The victory was enormous and brilliantly brought back to thrilling life in Billie Jean.

When King fell in love her wife, Ilana Kloss, she had to make a choice. She’d already defended the right of transgender athlete, Rene Richards, to play in professional women’s tennis. Realizing it was necessary to show up with the same kind of bravery for herself, she set a standard for how to achieve true self-actualization. That model continues to inspire legions today.  

In Billie Jean, a lot more aspiring winners are handed the blueprint for finding their way through the transformative power of the arts.

Billie Jean

Through August 10, 2025

Chicago Shakespeare Theater

Navy Pier

800 E. Grand

Chicago, IL  60611

https://www.chicagoshakes.com/

Highly Recommended

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

Taking part of its title from a defining song that drew attention to the AIDS crisis in the mid 80s, That’s What Friends Are For: Gladys, Dionne and Patti combines thoughtful storytelling and fantastic music to honor the cultural contributions of three outstanding artists.  Currently playing at Black Ensemble Theater (BE) through late July, it also highlights how the three women referenced, now each in their eighth decade, have been able to sustain a close and abiding friendship for over fifty years.  That BE fulfilled its mission to offer a fresh look back on the careers and discography of Gladys Knight, Dionne Warwick and Patti LaBelle so brilliantly is more refreshing than it is surprising.   Proving that even when you’ve honed your craft expertly for nearly half a century, you can still innovate and discover new approaches to offer the theater going public something novel and tremendously exciting. 

Written and directed by Daryl D. Brooks, the theater’s Producing Managing Director, the musical’s more dramatic elements take place in the Green Room of a leading Vegas nightclub where the three legends will be headlining a performance.  Chic and relaxingly plush, it reads as a fitting setting for a reunion of luminaries.  Acting as their tender who’s indubitably accomplished at what he does and has a history serving at least one of the women in the past, ensemble member Dennis Dent dials up the comedy quotient by compulsively oversharing some of the racier parts of his own love life while accommodating their every desire. It doesn’t take long to become comfortably acquainted with who’s who and embrace the authenticity of the high regard the women hold for one another. 

We’re initially introduced to the three stars in their fully formed and mature personas.   Rose Marie Simmons portrays the contemporary Gladys Knight and Sybyl Walker and Tamara Batiest play the mature versions of Dionne Warwick and Patti LaBelle respectively. Later, as the play progresses, different actors will represent the younger fledgling versions of each of them.

What appears to be a chance comment by one of the trio early in the show launches Gladys, Ms. Simmons, into a rendition of Oh Happy Day that’s so rousing it makes you sit up straight and causes your eyes to widen.  Captivating your attention with its power, conviction, ingenious arrangement and artistic mastery, a classic is transformed into something splendidly new.   You soon learn singing and blue-chip musicality on that level would be the standard for the entire performance. 

As the women reminisce about their early years, how they all started out as backup singers whose distinctiveness eventually took them to the standalone mic at the center of the stage, the music and sound that led to their discovery and fame was brought back to the fore.  This was done most effectively when focused on Dionne Warwick’s career.   

Anyone faintly familiar with Warwick’s rise knows how pivotal her association with Burt Bacharach was in fueling her fame and it’s the scene with the young Dionne (Brianna Buckley) and Mr. Bacharach, played by Michael Santos, that riveted for its realism and resonance.  When the mature Dionne states she’s always been a “no-nonsense black woman who knows her worth”, it’s Buckley who brings the depth of that conviction to blazing life.  Unyielding in her indignation when she learns her mentor and partner has given a song written expressly for her to another artist, her fury, its intensity made more potent because it was so contained and focused, reverberated like shock waves through the theater.  With the steely ardor Buckley brought to it, the power of that scene could have been used to inspire and spawn an entirely new companion play. Its real-life outcome was to provide the seed for one the biggest hits Bacharach would write for Warwick, Don’t Make Me Over.

Similar insights about pivotal moments and crucial intersections that would go on to define the trajectory of each of their lives swirled through the production; giving each of their lives fuller dimension and engendering greater respect for what they all eventually accomplished.  Fame and fortune have no impact on how well Cupid shoots his arrow and all three women knows, as the play recounts, the sting that comes when it strikes badly.

Reflecting on how their careers overlapped and remembering the friendships they shared with others in the industry, unexpected delicacies were woven into Brooks’ tight illuminating script.  When some of “ReeRee’s” (Aretha Franklin’s) idiosyncrasies were playfully and lovingly recalled, her music was also resurrected with a sensational rattle-the-rafters medley of a few of her signature masterworks, Respect, Think and Ain’t No Way. 

Similar delights lay in wait when Luther’s name entered the conversation.  Characteristically suave, another ensemble regular, Dwight Neal, can always be counted on to nudge the bar to impressive new heights; but his vocal interpretations of Mr. Vandross, in tandem with the outstanding musicianship of BE’s rock-solid band, were remarkable.  Adding another layer of excellence to an already break-out show.  And as wonderful as it was, his performance was not its highlight.  That distinction goes unequivocally to Tamara Batiest in her role as Patti LaBelle. When you consider Ms. LaBelle’s vocal range, outsized charisma and the signature theatrics she’s been known to exhibit on stage, filling her shoes would seem like an intimidating task.  Batiest’s take on Patti makes the challenge look trivial, becoming an avatar who’s as realistic and enthralling, if not more so, than the original.  Garnering her a standing ovation every time she sang.   Seeing Batiest commanding a Chicago stage more often, in addition to Ms. Simmons and Ms. Walker, would be a boon to the cultural vitality of the city.

Also adding to the production’s luster, Tanji Harper’s choreography included a dash of smooth sophisticated elegance to the steps she devised for the Spinners and Ms. Knight’s faithful Pips.  Complemented by Keith Ryan’s polished costume designs, That’s What Friends Are For’s visual pleasures ideally framed a night of marvelous music.  

That’s What Friends Are For: Gladys, Dionne and Patti

Through July 27, 2025

Black Ensemble Theater

4450 N. Clark Street

Chicago, IL   60640

https://blackensembletheater.org

Highly Recommended

*Extended through August 10th

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

Dance performances can often be moving events but rarely do they hold the density, breadth and depth of emotions Giordano Dance Chicago’s (GDC) Spring engagement encompassed Friday night at the Harris Theater.  Part tribute, part commemoration of a milestone, and a total celebration of life, Soaring: Life, Light and Legacy spanned the gamut of all the things that can be interpreted more eloquently through the beauty of the arts.

Nan Giordano, celebrating her 40^th year at the helm of the dance company her father, Gus, created 62 years ago, lost her son and only child Keenan Giordano Casey suddenly and unexpectedly last year.  Each of the six dances performed in the Spring lineup touched on, either directly or tangentially, an aspect relating to these two events.  The skill in which GDC accomplished this feat makes the title given to the program a quiet touch of genius.

Opening with the first public performance of Sana, a work created from the verdant and sometimes ground shifting imagination of Al Blackstone, the dance centers on the notion of healing by striking notes reverberating with lightness and possibility.  Strains of calypso could be detected in percussionist’s Stahv Danker’s animated original score.  That same airiness and sense of optimism could also be found in the expectancy shining through the dancers’ movements and in the understated vibrancy of Devert Monet Hickman’s costume designs. They all coalesced to telegraph a message of hope.  It’s not unusual for a work’s newness to expose areas that could benefit from a bit more honing.  And it’s clear that once that sharpening occurs with Sana, its palliative message will ring with even greater resonance.

Some brand-new works though arrive in the world perfectly and 333 certainly counts as one of them.  A solo piece designed specifically for GDC principal dancer Erina Ueda by Ms. Giordano and GDC Associate Artistic Director, Cesar G. Salinas, it is quite simply a mesmerizing tour de force.  Dance can often be summed up as a combination of three parts.  Music, choreographic design, and execution. Here they are in a ravishingly flawless balance.

The rawness of life is something we often prefer to deny, despite its centrality to our very being and existence. Representing angel numbers that connect Ms. Giordano, her son Keenan and her father together, 333 embraces it, glorifies it and opens itself to its power.  Danced to the timeless and near magical appeal of Otis Redding’s signature rendition of Try a Little Tenderness, 333 simmers, explodes and stews in the vicissitudes of life.  I can’t imagine anyone being a better vessel for translating the impact of its mysteries than Ueda, whose expressive range seems boundless and appears to expand with the arrival of each new season.

It also proved the ideal prelude to Soaring, the dance tribute created for her son by Giordano, Salinas and the GDC dancers themselves.

A film introducing the audience to who and the type of person Keenan Casey was, and exposing the respect and love mother and son shared, preceded the dance itself, creating an atmosphere of compassionate awe.  Dancers in Nina G.’s costumes of wispy white then swept from both wings of the stage; ethereal and yet still grounded in the gravity of earthly cares.  Solemnity and exaltation danced in harmony as the entire company was later joined by 25 Keebirds, friends of Giordano’s son, Keenan.  Keebird was the sobriquet they used when referring to their fallen comrade.  Also dressed in white, feet bare and carrying lighted symbols of renewal they walked through the aisles and up to the stage in stoic silence while Antonio Pinto’s music filled the hall.  Striking, poignant and deeply touching, it symbolizes how wrenching great loss can be and how it can be willed into the spiritually restorative.

After a brief pause to absorb Soaring’s impact, lightning struck in the form of, what looked like to these eyes, a totally revamped version of Red and Black.  Created last year by Ray Leeper, the sultry jazz-soaked wonder, already sizzling with energy in its original format, seemed even more kinetic, electrified and polished to a blinding gleam. Opening to an extended version of an obscure Eartha Kitt jewel, female dancers in clinging gowns with long slits let it be known it’s a woman’s world.  One misstep and you’re likely to get scorched, bringing a whole new dimension to the term “deliciously provocative”.  In a program that covered a range of dance styles, this was vintage Giordano in peak form.  Confident, irrepressible, dazzling, athletic, brash. Bonji Duma’s musical expertise helped pump up the adrenalin to power it all.  Along with Ms. Kitt’s vocal brilliance, the music of Moloko, Scott Bradlee’s Postmodern Jukebox, Michael Bublé and Club De Belugas kept this rocket zooming.

Respite came with the visually enchanting Taal, an East Indian concept piece choreographed by Ms. Giordano in 2001.  The name derives from the traditional rhythmic pattern found in classical Indian music, brought to life here with works from Anuradha, Suno A.R. Rahman and S. Jhaia.   Asifa Imran’s graceful and culturally reflective costumes did their part to transport us to another place and time.  An important part of classical Indian dance, hand gestures are used to express a wide range of emotions and were incorporated extensively within Taal.  The effect was to fuse the identities of two dance cultures to create a unique artistic hybrid and something refreshingly new.

Following another short film shedding invaluable insight into what it takes to make a successful dance company thrive and the passion, talent and grit required to be a dancer within it; the program closed with Pyrokinesis. Living up to everything its name implies, this little stick of dynamite in the company’s repertoire, developed by Christopher Huggins in 2007, was a delight to see again. Dressed once again in red and black, this time sleekly styled by Branimira Ivanova, dancers showed what it means to be members of the most elite jazz dance company in the country, if not the world.  The dynamism found in Ray Leeper’s earlier piece simply takes a different form here, but the infectiousness of its joy, verve and vitality were just as powerful, energizing and uplifting.  A fitting close to a night commemorating life, light and transformational legacy.

Soaring: Life, Light and Legacy

Giordano Dance Chicago

April 4-5, 2025

Harris Theater for Music and Dance

205 E. Randolph Street

Chicago, IL   60601

*This review can also be found at Theater in Chicago.

Don’t be deceived by the title.  The phrase “lifespan of a fact” sounds about as dry as the Mojave Desert and just a mite confusing.  But, as Glenview’s Oil Lamp Theater’s current stage production proves, those knee jerk perceptions turn out to be completely absurd.  Instead, its The Lifespan of a Fact is about as engrossing and entertaining as anything you’ll find on the big screen, a streaming service or another theatrical stage.

Adapted from a 2012 book of the same title, the play re-enacts the fiery real-life interplay between a writer and his fact checker about a magazine article concerning suicide in Las Vegas. A sixteen-year-old boy, Levi Presley, jumped from the Stratosphere Hotel in 2002. The author writing about his death, John D’Agata, used his piece to talk more broadly about the scourge of suicide and its prevalence in Vegas.  Jim Fingal was the fact checker assigned to him by the magazine publishing his essay.  Together, they would eventually co-author the book, The Lifespan of a Fact, revealing the laborious and harrowing process of ensuring the preservation of truth remains the cornerstone of journalistic practice. Derived from the book, Oil Lamp’s standout presentation of the play, which debuted in 2018, brings that process blazingly to life.

It starts innocently enough, slathered as it is in the hallmarks of high stakes corporate urgency. Magazine editor Emily Penrose (Marianne Embree) needs a fact checker for an article by a highly regarded writer known to take creative liberties with his submissions. She taps a young, eager and very bright recent Harvard grad, Jim Fingal (James Wheeler), for the job.  He’s got three days to make sure every detail is accurate and if they’re not, make sure they are by Monday. Fingal assures her he’s got this.  Not only does he carry the Harvard stamp, he reminds her he also worked on the college’s vaunted newspaper, The Crimson.  After reviewing his strategy with her, he’s flushes whatever plans he had for the weekend and plunges into his task.

Quickly noticing discrepancies in what the author stated and what was fact, he queries her about how best to address the conflict.  High ranking editors in New York’s media empires don’t usually have time for the tedium of minutiae and she recommends he call D’Agata himself for clarifications or corrections.  With that recommendation, she’s unwittingly introducing dynamite to a flame.

So driven is he to meet his commitment, Fingal hops a plane to Vegas, uninvited and uninstructed, to meet with the author. From moment one, Wheeler as Fingal fills his role so completely you have no reservations cheering his conviction, even if he is a bit top heavy in the sanctimonious and ego departments.  The first has a lot to do with who he’s dealing with.  He and D’Agata, splendidly played by Tim Walsh, have opposing views on the pliability of journalistic tenets.  D’Agata doesn’t even want to call the piece he submitted an article.  He prefers to reference it as an essay, something much more amenable to creative license.  As interested in the feel, texture and aesthetic resonance of his writing as he is in its truth, D’Agata believes some facts, or a portion of the core components of truth, can be sacrificed to the art of writing.  Neither the editor or the fact checker questions the beauty or power of the piece D’Agata has written about the young boy’s death, but they don’t want a compromised truth to be its cost. With two colossal egos at war, the clashes between the two men become titanic and, superficially, hugely comical.  Director Elizabeth Mazur Levin’s nimble sense of pacing keeps anticipation on a steady boil and the scrappy, often scintillating dialog, bullet train fast.   Jeremy Kareken, David Murrell and Gordon Farrell adapted the book for the stage and deserve extravagant praise for how effectively they make the would-be arcane so deliciously palatable.  

Although the play’s beginning transpires in the blank sterility of a New York office building, the bulk of it happens in D’Agata’s Las Vegas home.  There, Ellen Markus’s scenic design gives a sobering view of what life as an acclaimed and respected feature writer might look like.  It’s not an enviable or tempting picture.  Rather it’s quite modest and absent of anything that suggests indulgence or noticeable luxury.  D’Agata informs the fact checker that he lived there with his mother until she passed away and confirmed he also teaches at a local university in Las Vegas.  It’s the type of solitary existence that fosters contemplation.  And it also seems to be an environment where convictions easily harden. 

In a desperate attempt to salvage a written work she hopes will be a part of her legacy at the magazine, the editor, Penrose, eventually ends up in Vegas, too.  As the three pick the article/essay apart, evaluating the import, significance and intrinsic criticality of each factual element, you sense the gravity of what they’re attempting to do.  As much as Fingal the fact checker abhors it, they’re “negotiating” on what and how information will be relayed in D’Agata’s story.  How truth, as they collectively agree to define it, will be expressed.   The process is quiet, reasoned and as gripping as watching the deliberations of a “trial of the century” live and in-person. 

It would be terrific if seeing the play does what the artistic team behind the production would like it to do, generate conversation about the relationship between truth, facts and storytelling.  But if it doesn’t, The Lifespan of a Fact will make you think about all those things more intently, more actively and, in essence, leave you a changed person.  The acting, directing and production value just happen to push the entertainment quotient sky high. 

The Lifespan of a Fact

Through April 13, 2025

Oil Lamp Theater

1723 Glenview Road

Glenview, IL  60025

https://www.oillamptheater.org/mainstage-productions/the-lifespan-of-a-fact

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

Prolific, and routinely recognized as being one of the most produced playwrights in the country, Lauren Gunderson’s range is as impressive as the quality and popularity of her work.  Inspiration for her plays often springs from things she loves, with history and science at the top of the list.  They can also arise from sheer curiosity or when she notices a subject matter void.  I and You can be said to fall in both latter categories.  Now playing in Lake Forest’s Citadel Theatre, it burrows into the lives of people we don’t see enough on the theatrical stage, the young.  By centering on youth, she gives us an opportunity to better understand ourselves from a rarely observed perspective. 

In I and You, a genetic condition diagnosed at birth has Caroline (Amia Korman), now 17, homebound.  She used to be able to go to school, but the progression of her illness now has her doing remote learning exclusively.  With a wonderful wall of photographs and images covering its back wall, a not too frilly bedroom and her stuffed turtle make up her universe.  The only human contact she has is with her mother; someone we never see.  Understandably, she’s both surprised and alarmed when Anthony (Jay Westbrook) bursts into her room after a perfunctory knock on the door looking for help with a homework assignment.  Directed by Scott Shallenbarger, it’s a tense encounter.  Anthony’s Black, and there’s a tinge of racial fear detectable in the scene.  But through it we get a baseline on the character of these two young people; or at least on how they relate to other people.

Caroline’s prickly, defensive and sharp-tongued.  We soon detect too that she’s angry about not having a normal teenage life and psychologically weary of waking up to the possibility of imminent death every morning of her life.  Anthony’s just a regular pleasant teenager intent on getting an assignment done.  Sports, other interests and procrastination have put him behind the eight ball and, with the assignment due the next day, he’s a little anxious.  When he lets slip that he volunteered to team with Caroline on this project, he’s compelled to admit he did so because she was a topic of curiosity at their school, and he wanted to meet her.  Walt Whitman’s Leaves of Grass is the assignment and, despite being an avid B-baller, Anthony’s a big fan of Whitman’s poetry.  Beautiful and still groundbreaking 170 years after it was originally published, Whitman’s classic looms large over the entire play.  So much so you might find yourself checking your bookshelves for a copy when you get home to reacquaint yourself with the poet’s seminal genius.

Gunderson’s writing and Shallenbarger’s direction perfectly capture the almost exasperatingly rapid speed and quirky fluidity of teenage-ese.  Well matched in its fluency, Caroline and Anthony also happen to be very intelligent and willing, once trust is gained, to speak candidly to one another.  Something not easily done with someone who’s accustomed to closing herself off from a world that hasn’t given her much to believe in.  What Caroline doesn’t want is pity, especially in the form of reflexive or obligatory niceness.  It’s the reason she initially closes the door to kindness of any type from Anthony. 

Picking up cues from the way Anthony talks about his father, his love of jazz and his interaction with girls, she feels he has it all.  It’s a notion he quickly disabuses her of by revealing personal flaws and confessing to missteps he’s taken that bring balance to her perception of him.  Flashes of vulnerability that they both share lead to frank, thoroughly absorbing dialogues about death.  When she confesses her dream of being a photographer and travelling the world, and then demurs saying she knows it’s all fantasy, it's Anthony’s turn to bristle by demanding she “stare it down and don’t give up”.   Both young actors display a natural and refined intuition for their craft. The deeper their roles take them, the greater their appeal as they invest an uncanny honesty into their characters.  As they disclose more and more about themselves, barriers between them begin to quietly tumble.  Something that they both notice, resist, slowly accept and finally embrace. 

As with so many who share her craft, displaying the universal need for connection between people was a conscious goal of the playwright in I and You.  That the two characters be of different races or ethnic backgrounds was a casting condition for Gunderson in this play as well.  As the playwright has noted, it’s reflective of the real world and doing so created a silent but constant reminder of the arbitrary boundaries we create between ourselves.   As Caroline and Anthony gain deeper insights into each other, and as they explore together the wonders and possibilities Whitman’s words engender, the barriers separating them, including that of race, fade like a mist.  They quite unconsciously begin to focus on what they have in common.  An affection that only deep understanding arouses begins to germinate, preceding an ending that’s so startling it makes some people gasp. A shock that prods us to take stock of ourselves and the world we live in through a more illuminating and expansive light. 

Unobtrusive yet discreetly distinctive, David Solotke’s set design held insinuating touches that added notes of mystery to the play and Jodi Williams’ lighting during pivotal moments amplified its drama in hugely rewarding ways.  Paired with an exemplary story, very fine acting and discerning sure direction, Citadel’s production of I and You is a delight that can be savored long after the lights come up. 

I and You

Through March 23, 2025

Citadel Theatre

300 S. Waukegan Road

Lake Forest, IL  60045

https://www.citadeltheatre.org/

*You can also find this review featured on https://www.theatreinchicago.com/.

Collaborations can produce tremendous results and the one between Nathan Gunn, his wife Julie Jordan Gunn and Jam Orchestra counts as a particularly splendid example. Nathan Gunn & Friends: Beloved Broadway, a tribute to some of the finest music produced on Broadway, had nestled within it an ulterior agenda Saturday night.  Along with a maelstrom of delightful music, it provided an ideal platform for displaying the highly impressive talent being nurtured and developed at Lyric Theater @ Illinois (LTI).  A first of its kind program on the University of Illinois’ Champaign campus, LTI provides its students with a comprehensive foundation of “sung theatre”.  Created by Mr. and Mrs. Gunn nearly a decade ago, the program entrenches a thorough understanding and proficiency in “traditional European opera, American Musical Theatre and new, contemporary works”.  

Each an alumnus of U of I, both Nathan and Julie Gunn have achieved exemplary success in their musical careers.  Opera lovers well know why the Opera Wire has called Mr. Gunn one of the great baritones of our time and Mrs. Gunn has enjoyed luminous success as a pianist and musical director.  Their rich experience in the many facets of musical performance would be an invaluable asset in any learning environment.  Together they worked with Aaron Kaplan of the Chicago based ensemble, Jam Orchestra, to bring a world class tableau of music and song to the community.  In this case, Evanston’s Nichols Concert Hall on a clear and frigid January evening.  

A feast of plenty, the program concentrated on seven Broadway shows well suited for orchestration.  Works were also selected on how well they displayed daring and musical innovation at the time they were produced. Some of the selections like Rogers and Hammerstein’s “If I Loved You” from Carousel and “Maria” from West Side Story are imminently well known.  Others like “Lily’s Eyes” from The Secret Garden and “What Good Would the Moon Be” from Street Scene are likely less so.  Beloved Broadway with Gunn and friends puts them all on equal footing and shows why each stands a musical milestone.

Produced by Julie Gunn and co-directed by herself, her husband and Kaplan, Beloved Broadway turns into a fascinating gambol through excellence.  That journey proved to have a stealthy edge.  At the beginning of both acts, the orchestra displayed its considerable chops with renditions devoid of voice accompaniment.  First with “The Carousel Waltz” and later with the Bernstein’s “Overture to Candide”, Jam Orchestra set high expectations for what was to follow.  

As pleasing as the opening songs from Carousel were, an elusive passion-defining spark had yet to be struck. Glimmers of that fire could be detected in Lisa Buhelos’ voice as she sang “When the Children are Asleep” with Eldon Warner-Soriano.  And anyone who never experienced how sublimely exquisite Mr. Gunn’s baritone can be certainly got that opportunity when he performed “Soliloquy” from the musical.  Those flashes of the exceptional were just harbingers of the deluge of musical pleasure that was to come. 

All noted for their technical dexterity, masterful versatility and natural talent, the five young “friends” accompanying Gunn in this musical tribute are all graduates of LTI; and all voices one would do well to seek out.  Buhelos would once again prove herself excellent in the duet “How Could I Ever Know?” from The Secret Garden with Ryan Bryce Johnson.  A rare and magical tenor, once Johnson centered himself on the stage, he electrified.  Chill inducing, his interpretation of West Side Story’s “Maria” showed that even the best-known masterpiece can render bright new exhilarating wonder in the right hands.  The sophistication of the arrangements hugely accentuated the enjoyment of this and many other selections.  Lara Brooks would later show how subtlety produces the same effect with her sweetly delicate treatment of “Send in the Clowns”. 

There can be no tribute to Broadway without the inclusion of Sondheim and his genius is liberally sprinkled throughout the program.  One of those songs that will likely always read as radical and revolutionary, “Now/Later/Soon” from A Little Night Music exists in a league of its own.  Intricately complex, instantly engrossing and wonderfully amusing, it’s a stylistic marvel that Buhelos, Johnson and baritone Warner-Soriano perform with the deftness of well-seasoned Great White Way veterans.  Exacting requirements in timing and phrasing are essential if the flawlessness the song strives for, in truth demands, is to be achieved.  With this crew, that box is a guaranteed check. 

A performance saturated in delight, Beloved Broadway with Nathan Gunn and Friends moves superlative, uniquely American music from the bastions of city centers to the communities where people live. That gesture makes the bounty of the arts more accessible to more people and encourages those with creative impulses to continue to dream.  It’s difficult to imagine a better vehicle for carrying such an important message with such beauty and ability.  

Nathan Gunn and Friends: Beloved Broadway

January 11, 2025

Nichols Concert Hall

1490 Chicago Avenue

Evanston, IL  60201

Like a lot of people, Louisa May Alcott’s Little Women has been mostly a cultural curiosity for much of my life. I know it’s perennially referenced when talking about women and their struggle to achieve personal agency and autonomy. Since it was published in 1868, shortly after the Civil War, Alcott’s quasi-autobiographical novel about a close knit family with its quartet of sisters has never gone out of print.  It’s been adapted to stage dozens of times, turned into an opera and Hollywood seems to have made a habit of rediscovering it and presenting a new interpretation of this undisputed American classic every generation or so.  Most recently, Greta Gerwig’s 2019 film version of Little Women drew a deluge of praise for the way it reimagined Alcott’s novel for a new era. Still, since it wasn’t required reading in my downstate high school, I never quite understood the magnitude of the story’s import until the other night at a world premiere.  Northlight Theatre, together with three other prominent regional theaters across the country, commissioned one of the nation’s most prolific and produced playwright’s, Lauren Gunderson, to develop her own vision of Alcott’s signature creation. Gunderson’s adaptation, now premiering in Skokie before making its way across the country to the other sponsoring companies, has made the blind me see. 

Over her career, the San Francisco playwright has developed a reputation for many laudable abilities. Chief among them is the way she can tap into the essence of her characters and turn them into people we easily recognize, empathize with or see startling resemblances to ourselves. She’s also a brilliant architect who can construct a story framework that’s as sturdy as a fortress, is wonderfully meticulous in its detailing and is usually flawless in plot continuity. Those attributes and more run rampant in this production. Joined by an elite creative team, Gunderson turns a 150-year-old classic into an unexpected revelation whose positive messages extolling character, resilience and determination shine with freshly burnished clarity.  

A progressive family whose parents fostered the pursuit of any interest their daughters found stimulating, the March’s in Little Women is a mirror image of Alcott’s own family. The four sisters were all modeled after the author and her three sisters. The second oldest, Louisa, or Lou as she was known to family and friends, was the driven one. Independent, ambitious and literally gifted, she chafed at the constraints imposed on women in the 19th century; just as women today are dismayed about similar career and societal constraints present in the 21st. 

That Little Women’s Jo is in fact Alcott’s fictional self has long been well established. But aspects in this account go further to draw attention to the similarities between the real and imagined person. In this iteration, the author and her alter ego become so enmeshed that the actor playing lead, Tyler Meredith, occasionally slips into portraying Alcott in addition to Jo March. Dressed in trousers that resemble pantaloons under her period dress, her attire becomes one more feature that distinguishes her. Playing Jo with forceful confidence, Meredith fills her character with an unshakable will that’s fed by the encouragement of her family.  She writes spirited plays that she and her sisters enact.  And the responses she gets from her writing submissions tell her the aspiration of becoming a self-sustaining writer is conceivably within her grasp.

While we’re admiring her tenacity and preternatural intelligence, we also take in the rest of the family and marvel at how quickly and distinctly their own personalities emerge.  Her older sister Meg (Janyce Caraballo); traditional, beautiful and pragmatic, is a stabilizing figure in the family modeled after their mother, Marmee (Lucy Carapetyan), the family’s true anchor and moral touchstone. Quiet and reserved, Beth (Demetra Dee), just below Jo in age, is musical and plays piano. Her profile rises in this effort to the point we have a much stronger understanding of how pivotal her place in this family is.  When she contracts scarlet fever after caring for an ill infant, the slow demise she endures gives us time to see how essential her presence is to the family. Dee is demurely marvelous in a role that highlights how diverse families can be within themselves and how that diversity is a secret strength.

The youngest sister, Amy, played with all the petulant entitlement of the baby in the family by Yourtana Sulaiman, is only slightly spoiled and enjoys painting. Her real-life counterpart went on to become an accomplished and recognized painter.  

Alcott would live out her life just as she imagined and hoped, unmarried and successful in her craft. Neither her publishers nor her public wanted the first of those two things for Jo, however. The friendship she strikes up with the parentless boy across the street who’s living with his rich grandfather seems as if it might lead to romance. Immediately infatuated by his spunky neighbor, Laurie (John Drea) can’t, and doesn’t want to hide his attraction to this dynamic young girl with the invincible spirit.  They both exude so much energy and potential on stage that their power seemed to pulse through the theater. Add to that the purity of Laurie’s guilelessness as he tries to make his friend more than a friend, and you’re virtually convinced this intrigue will lead to the altar. Jo’s too committed to her dream to jeopardize it with marriage. Especially since she doesn’t love her friend in the same way he does her.  Watching their friendship take flight, mature and endure after Jo rejects him for a final time; causing him to go on to marry one of her sisters, is a masterclass in how to live. Only exceptional writing and equally adept directing could present it with such compassionate coherence. Along with the playwright, Georgette Verdin as director strives to bring the fullness of what Alcott achieved in Little Women to the fore. There are countless lessons on the potency of familial love and the capacities of the human spirit to prevail despite discouraging odds. Bracketing the effort with novel approaches in directing and generous splashes of humor made this project as exciting and entertaining as it was enlightening. Placing it in the hands of such able and gifted actors simply added to its appeal. Watching Erik Hellman’s inspired transformation from Laurie’s self-effacing tutor to the German professor Jo meets in New York and eventually marries was a particular delight. It was also emblematic of the fine acting that filled this delightful experience.

Louisa May Alcott's Little Women

Through January 5, 2025

Venue: Northlight Theatre at Northshore Center for The Performing Arts

9501 Skokie Blvd. Skokie, IL  60077

https://northlight.org/series/little-women/

Immediately following the gastronomical excesses of Thanksgiving are the monetary investments and personal sacrifices we make for Christmas.  At the heart of both is family and the importance we place in coming together to sustain and strengthen seminal bonds. 

In 1931, a 34-year-old college professor at the University of Chicago took the long view of these ritual gatherings and focused on what they look and feel like over time.  In his beautifully crafted one act play, The Long Christmas Dinner, Thornton Wilder also manages to deliver an incisive and sobering treatise on time and its fleeting fragility.  What he does so exquisitely in the 26 pages of his script is to point us in the direction of using that time most fully and appreciatively.  Chicago’s TUTA Theatre, who “searches for the unique and exceptional in the language of theatre”, has generously brought this rarely produced treasure to the stage at the sparkling new Bramble Arts Loft in Andersonville for the Christmas season.

Wilder has the prosperous Bayard family act as proxies for all families and takes us with him as he visits them experiencing Christmas dinners that span the course of 90 years and four generations.  He pays close attention to how the family interacts and the way they voice convictions, concerns and priorities.  In many ways, perhaps in all ways, they’re a very typical and intrinsically familiar family.  That notion becomes more and more entrenched as the play progresses.  When it opens, Lucia (Alexis Primus) is about to welcome her mother-in-law, Mother Bayard (Joan Merlo), to the dinner table of her new home.  Her husband, Roderick (Matt Miles) leads the family firm and is the classic head of the house as seen in the era.  Proud of his wife, his mother and his success, he glows with the light of the supremely satisfied.   Although wheelchair bound, Mother Bayard’s vibrant mind and observant eye reveal a robust inner vitality.  It’s her penchant for too frequently repeating how clearly she remembers seeing Indians in the streets during her youth and riding rafts across the Mississippi that hint at the creeping cognitive malaise common found in the aging.

Although rather formal by today’s standards, you can still easily recognize that beneath the rituals of decorum the family practices in their interactions that there is a true closeness of hearts. You feel how sacrosanct kinship is to them. Still, the circle of life encompasses families just as it does individuals.  We are born and we die.  And it’s the way that The Long Christmas Dinner treats these events that make us evaluate ourselves and our relationships with our own families.

The entire play occurs around a stately dining table in the middle of the stage.  Laden with gleaming silverware and China, the luxurious Oriental carpet it rests on and the elegant linear chandelier floating above it are the few things that will remain unchanged.  Two dimly lit doorways, one on the left and the other on the right of the stage, represent the ending and beginning of life, respectively.  Keith Parham’s quietly graceful set surreptitiously becomes its own character.   Stoic and impassive as it witnesses transitions through each doorway.   His lighting design would go on to memorably propel and enhance the dramatic impact of the play. 

Watching the arch of Uncle Branden’s presence was particularly impactful. Full of life, song and playful mischief, he was such a bright light when he first came to dinner.  Assuredly played by Wain Parham, he began to change when Roderick, his cousin, fell victim to his excesses in drink.  Branden’s silence began to grow when Roderick later passed through the doorway symbolizing death.  As he watched Roderick and Lucia’s children, Charles (Huy Nguyen) and Genevieve (Charlie Irving) grow, his warmth remained, but his effervescence and spontaneity notably faded until he too slowly drifted through the portal on the left.

As new generations of Bayard’s are born, explosions of joy and happiness are plentiful on the right where nurses dressed in immaculate white emerge through the passageway cradling babies who soon grow to teenagers and adults.   Often bearing the names of those who proceeded them, old names become new again and we can’t avoid noticing the cyclicality of existence.  Rather than a crown denoting succession, among the Bayard women a shawl becomes the item that chronicles the passage and toll of time.  Used to keep aging shoulders warm, it symbolizes both the inevitable and the blessing of continuity.   That same continuity can be heard when certain random phrases and observations are made by each successive generation that none had heard spoken before by someone else in the family.

Rifts, discord and the realities of life erupt in this very respectable family as they can and do in all.  Stifled by family expectations and the limitations of living in a small town, Charles’ son, Roderick II (Matt Miles) bolts to California when confronted about his drinking and lack of interest in familial responsibilities.  Charles and his wife Leonora (Seoyoung Park) had already lost a son during the first World War and their second son’s departure marked a crippling blow.  As we’re reminded by numerous characters throughout the play, time may not heal grief, but it soothes sufficiently to ease its pain and weight.  When Joan Merlo reappears as distant cousin, Ermengarde, that kind of wisdom flows with the power of rushing rapids.  A highly accomplished craftsman, Merlo’s phrasings of speech were transfixing as she wrapped the profound in tiny pellets of simplicity.  Her gleam of excellence ran through the entire cast, who were uniformly splendid. 

Most impressive was the meticulous pacing and abundance of satisfying nuance director and TUTA co-artistic director, Jacqueline Stone, built into the production.  She insured small gestures resonated with unexpected force and light touches of humor glittered brightly enough to make the project shine with warmth and contemporary flair.

In a time and landscape where holiday entertainment options are virtually endless, The Long Christmas Dinner counts as an especially rewarding option from a company who has a knack for curating works of discreet brilliance.

The Long Christmas Dinner

Through December 29^th, 2024

TUTA Theatre Company

Venue:  Bramble Arts Loft

5545 N. Clark Street

Chicago, IL  60640

https://www.tutatheatre.org/the-long-christmas-dinner-tickets