For the final show of its 30th anniversary season, Trap Door Theatre—the little company that could—has selected a sure-fire hit with a production of “Nana,” a play based on the 19th century melodrama about an actress and bordello courtesan, Nana, by French author Emile Zola.

Adapted for the stage by the late Olwen Wymark, and co-directed by choreographer Miguel Long and managing director Nicole Weisner, this reimagining of the original 2002 production at the tiny theater—tucked away behind a restaurant at 1655 W. Cortland—was flawless on opening night. It’s a cabaret style musical, and the premise of the story gives us a Parisian cabaret that doubles as a bordello, allowing occasions for song and dance that fit the storyline perfectly.

As the audience arrives, the actors are already in character, welcoming us as patrons of the establishment. At curtain time, the anticipation builds among onstage patrons—mostly emotionally overwrought, palavering males—all hoping for a glance of recognition from Nana when she arrives.

After this artful build-up, which heightens the expectation of the audience as well, drapes are snapped opened for the big reveal: Nana (Maryam Abdi is miraculous) emerges on a swing as a vision of Venus—long blonde tresses, and a gossamer robe opened to barely cover her breasts, minimally hidden by glittery clamshell pasties. It’s all very nineteenth century, and the men fit exactly in our expectations of swooning romantic gestures salted with salacious innuendo.

Amber Washington in "Nana"at Trap Door Theatre through May 19. 

We also meet the coterie of sophisticated ladies in orbit around Nana. There is Sabine (Amber Washington) just too too, all wrapped in a gorgeous gown and chapeau, waving a cigarette holder while delivering bon mots and pithy observations. And her dresser Zoe (Emily Lotspeich), who carefully manages the arrivals of suitors, parceling them out to every room until Nana’s apartment is filled. And Satin (Emily Nicholson), Nana’s BFF and occupying the same role, just at a lower echelon than our diva.
The song and dance numbers were quite good, and flawlessly performed.

Dan Cobbler, Emily Nichelson, and Emily Lotspeich in "Nana" at Trap Door Theatre through May 18, 2024.

Always in need of cash, Nana is pursued by a chorus of snarling creditors, who snarl in unison, to powerful effect on stage.Yet there is a substantial core to Zola's story: Nana, as she rises in stature as the object of desire for wealthy men, extorts them in their ardor, then walks all over them when their funds are depleted. She does this with greater rapidity, yet their generosity never falters. For example, Steiner (David Lovejoy is terrific) has given her a country retreat amid a high society and royal enclave, yethe never receives thanks or very much of Nana’s attention, who only escalates her demands for cash and orders this paramour to surrender his own key to the house he bought for Nana.

Indeed, Nana plays all her many suitors to the limit, relenting only enough when she senses she has pushed too far, an incredibly adept dominatrix.

Yet amid all this, Nana has a private life, and we learn where her earnings go. She retains her maiden aunt (Tia Pinson is the essence of propriety) to care for her infant. And she also has a significant other, Fanton (Caleb Lee Jenkins is the playful, yet mercenary scoundrel). We soon see that Fanton does to Nana what she does to her suitors, though far worse, as he is also physically abusive.

Nana, whose reputation has preceded her, is rejected by the "polite" society around her country home, though local suitors visit surreptitiously. And ultimately, Nana  meets her fated downfall in full expression of melodramatic justice. 

Costumes (Rachel Sypniewski) are spectacular, as are wids (Igor Shashkin) and make-up (Zsofia Otvos). Most amazing in this Trap Door Theatre production is the performance of Maryam Abdi as Nana. Abdi dominates her suitors, and the stage. She is fully in the role, inhabiting Nana’s character in a star-is-born delivery that would fit comfortably in an Off-Broadway, or even Broadway. So too for the entire cast. The Trap Door Theatre has outdone itself with “Nana,” a jewel in its 30th season celebration. “Nana” runs through May 19 at Trap Door Theatre, 1655 W. Cortland St. in Chicago.

Author Percival Everett is having his moment, and Exile in Bookville gave us a chance to meet him up close and personal, part of the bookstore’s ongoing Authors on Tap series at the lovely Studebaker Theater in Chicago.

Everett is the author of “Erasure,” which was adapted for the Oscar winning movie “American Fiction” starring Jeffrey Wright of the “Westworld” streaming series. After watching “American Fiction,” a send-up of book publishing in general and the particular challenges Black writers face, I ran out and bought “Erasure,” devouring it quickly.

Everett specializes in irony, and the book is immensely funny—the story line follows an author not unlike Everett himself (a literature professor, wood craftsman, fly fisherman) who is nonplussed by having his works shelved under Black authors, and by being far outpaced in sales by Black writers whose works focus on the struggles of ghetto life—like catnip for many White book buyers.

In “Erasure” (and the movie adaptation) he adopts a pen-name, then dashes off in just week, a parody of such books, “My Pafology,” which his agent quickly sells for a six-figure advance, and soon after a multi-million dollar movie option. There is an incredible irony in that Everett’s real-life experience is mirroring this, giving an extra level of meta-quality to the original work.

After reading “Erasure,” I picked up his short-story collection, “Damned If I Do,” and now I am a full-fledged fan.

Everett’s appearance at Exile in Bookville’s Authors on Tap coincides with the publication of “James,” a retelling of “Huckleberry Finn” from the slave Jim’s point of view, already receiving wide acclaim. And fitting, because as we learned at the event, Twain is among Everett’s favorite authors.
The audience might have expected Everett to read a bit from this or another of his more than 30 books. But no, Everett doesn’t do readings And he doesn’t sign books for devotees lining up at tables. (One could purchase pre-signed copies, so I bought “I Am Not Sidney Poitier,” said to be his funniest book.)

Everett is also considered a challenging interview, so his author colleague Gabriel Bump had his work cut out for him. Bump finessed Everett’s disinclinations by doing brief readings himself of provocative passages from a selection of books. And he asked the right questions, provoking Everett to speak entertainingly, and with great humor, and clarity.

Much of the conversation centered on the art of writing, and the author's experience in publishing. “I write fiction to make a living, which is itself ample evidence of mental deficiency, so to come to me for any direction in life?” Why does he write? “That’s the way addiction works,” he said to great laughter.

His first three books were with large houses: Viking (“I didn’t like the idea of finally being published—by Mobile Oil,” the owner); then Hyperion, a unit of Disney, which he didn’t care for.

Everett published with Grey Wolf for 29 years and gained something of a cult following. His long-time agent (“She was five feet tall in all directions and her voice was hoarse from whiskey and cigarettes”) advised him, “If you moved houses, you would make more money. She was right,” he said, and with Doubleday (“the publicists are slightly more fanatical and insane”) came the newest work, “James.”

Everett greatly appreciates Mark Twain’s classic, which is a product of its time in some of the objectionable language (by today’s standards) but was the first popular work to begin to humanize a Black slave character. .“That’s the beauty of Huck Finn: an adolescent representing young America, wandering through the landscape.” But Everett says his retelling in “James” examines more fully who Twain’s character Jim is. “It’s not about slavery. It’s about an enslaved person.” And this same quality is what is so compelling in Everett’s writing.

After the two authors finished their conversation, the audience could line up at a microphone, and Everett fielded questions. As to Everett’s daily routine for writing, he works in small bursts, but continuously, sometimes disappearing down rabbit holes of inquiry only loosely tied to the manuscript in hand.

“I work all the time, and I don’t work at all. I feel like the laziest person in the world.” His craftsmanship in woodworking and tying fly fishing lures inform his approach. “I’m not a perfectionist,” Everett says. “You have to be satisfied that nothing will be perfect.”

He commented that he does not worry while writing his works during writing or after publication, for that matter.
“I don’t really feel stress,” Everett says His “friends who are authors feel stress, and it gets in the way.” Once a book is published, he is on to the next, driving the book out of his life like a bear cub entering the world. “I call it the mother bear school of art.”

“The Penelopiad” is a zesty romp and very entertaining. With a script by a writer I adore, Margaret Atwood of “The Handmaid's Tale” fame, and based on her novella by the same name, it tells the story of Odysseus’ wife Penelope (played stunningly by Jennifer Morrison)—and how she occupied herself during the long odyssey recounted in Homer’s Greek epic poem, “The Odyssey.” I had recently finished reading a new translation so that story was fresh on my mind.

Of course, this being Atwood, it is a reset of the tale, told from the woman’s point of view. And it is very scholarly, perhaps a bit cerebral in the first half, relating in more detail than Homer’s work the origins of Penelope, and how she ended up married to Odysseus, the King of Ithaca. We also see what life was like in the palace from Penelope’s perspective, and that of her dozen maids.

Odyseus went off to fight in the Trojan War. He was gone such a long time, 20 years, that princes of his realm presumed him dead, and vied to marry his supposed widow Penelope, and claim the throne. As the years wore on, they didn’t behave nicely—living on the palace’s largess and hitting on the maids relentlessly. It was an unapologetic patriarchy, to be sure.

In Homer’s version, Penelope is celebrated for being steadfast and true. And Atwood gives us this too, but without the male gaze. Penelope constantly thwarts and outwits the obnoxious suitors, and her corps of maids switches genders and roles to show what that was like. With an all female cast, and set with frequent music and dance, “The Penelopiad” relates many of the high points of the original poem. The first act, then, is a recitation of the Odyssey revisited.

Without question, “The Penelopiad” under the direction of new artistic director Susan V. Booth gives the best ever and very understated caricature of male behavior by women actors: the boasting stance, the lack of self-awareness, the entitlement, and the varieties of ways this is displayed by classically awful male personality types. It’s a bracing and edifying experience for a man to see.

This corps of maids also plays identifiable characters (though not credited in the program): the growing Telemachus, evolving from whiny teenager critiquing his mother Penelope’s behavior, to self-empowered accomplice when his father does finally return; the oldest maid, who carps at Penelope and the sisterhood she forms with the young maids. She soon recognizes the disguised Odysseus by his scars when he returns, and selects at his request the maids who will be punished for fraternizing with the suitors.

We also see a maid as Odysseus himself, a pompous braggart at times, who certainly did not make rushing home to Penelope his priority. These transformations in gender are aided by artful breastplate costumes (costume designer Kara Harmon).

Atwood describes “The Penelopiad” as most akin to a cabaret along the lines of Kurt Weill. The music and scintillating choral singing is composed by Samuel Davis and directed by Jeremy Ramey.
While in the first half we get mostly a poetic oration in a series of scenes—Penelope being cast heartlessly into the ocean by her father, surviving and gaining stature as a demigoddess; Penelope’s first encounter with the immature Odysseus—the second half gives rise to real drama. As the years wear on, Penelope develops one final ruse to avoid the suitors: she will weave a shroud for her father-in-law, and when it is done, will select one of the group to marry. Famously she unweaves the shroud each night, and eventually the suitors catch her. 

Luckily, Odysseus is back, and the Odyssey plot grinds quickly to its well-known conclusion. Odysseus slays the suitors, and then horrifically hangs the maids as well. Penelope examines herself in Atwood’s retelling of the epic, and how she has survived only because she sacrificed the maids to the suitor’s unwanted advances. She was powerless to keep Odysseus from hanging the maids, though to her credit, Odysseus kept his intent from her. It’s a truthful and sad conclusion, set in a wholly entertaining frame of music and dance. Kudos to the dramaturg Neena Arndt for her role in bringing us this lesser known work.

”The Penelopiad” runs at Chicago’s Goodman Theatre through March 31

As the audience takes its seats around the Shakespeare Theater’s Courtyard thrust stage, wraiths in black gowns and white masks silently infiltrate the aisles, imparting an air of menace and suspense about what will unfold as we near the opening of “Richard III.” Soon enough, they take to the stage, where mounds of skulls deck the bottom of industrial scaffolding, a surgical partition concealing the center of the stage. The wraiths whisk away the shield, revealing Richard III (Kaity Sullivan).

“Now is the winter of our discontent,” Richard cries, and declares an intention to recapture the throne, and sets the play in motion. In this production, director Director Edward Hall has cast as Richard III the Tony-nominee Sullivan, an athletic paraplegic who plays powerfully from a wood captains chair on wheels, and her infirmity seamlessly substitutes for that of the famously hunchbacked and deformed king, “so lamely and unfashionable that dogs bark at me.”

This is Hall’s first production as the successor to founder and long-time artistic director Barbara Gaines, who in 2023 retired after 36 remarkable years. And Hall’s production of Richard III shows we have an outstanding new talent on a premiere Chicago stage. The core of a successful Shakespeare is the language, and when the delivery is right, the bard’s Elizabethan language arrives with clarity on the audience’s ears. Hall brings us something more, too. The nuance inherent in the lines is brought forth with exquisite timing—benefitting passages of dark humor, threat, and the starkest evil as Richard III plots through murder and marriage to capture the throne.

This is not Shakespeare dressed up in contemporary, ill-fitting trappings. Any anachronistic elements—body bags, guns, chain saws—are purposeful and instantly resonate. Those ghoulish wraiths form a corps of murderous henchmen, carrying out the grisly killings of those who stand in the way of Richard’s path to the crown. Often the murders are backlit and done behind the screens, with silhouettes and bloody showers indirectly visible to the audience, making them truly horrific. As a sickle blade eviscerates George, the Duke of Clarence (Scott Aiello), we see it from behind, and his entrails are dropped over the screen into a bucket, signifying his end. Wow!

Music underscores a number of scenes, and particularly powerful are Gregorian and other melodious chants by Richard’s minions—suggesting an effort to confer weight and worthiness on this violent pretender to the throne who seeks the endorsement of the populace, using manipulative tactics and positioning familiar to anyone watching politics today.
In Act 3 Scene 7, for example,we hear the Duke of Buckingham (Yao Dogbe) report to Richard on efforts to talk him up at a public meeting, where he sought a call to the throne by popular demand:

Buckingham: I bid them that did love their country’s good cry “God save Richard, England’s royal king!”
Richard: And did they so?
Buckingham: No. So God help me, they spake not a word. But, like dumb statues or breathing stones, stared at each other . . . .

So Buckingham suggests a different tack, in which he will bring the officials to “discover” RIchard deeply in prayer, and charges Sir William Catesby (Anatasha Blakely) to act as a shill and beg Richard to take the throne, to which he will at first resist, then reluctantly accept.

Mayor: Do, good my lord. Your citizens entreat you.
Buckingham: Refuse not, mighty lord, this proffered love.

At last comes Sir William Catesby (Anatasha Blakely), entreating RIchard to accept the crown, but delivering the line in a broad Chicago accent, full of knowing irony and a wink: “O, make them joyful. Grant their lawful suit.” The moment is pricelessn as the scene plays out like something out of the storied tales of Chicago’s City Hall pols. And like Napoleon, Richard crowns himself,

Though this is Shakespeare’s second longest play, the performance speeds by, and I was surprised to find the hour when I got back to my car. Highly recommended, “Richard III” runs through March 3 at Chicago Shakespeare Theater on Navy Pier. 

Invictus Theatre’s smashingly good Chicago production of Susan-Lori Parks’ “Topdog/Underdog” brings us a dark comedy that is both gripping and layered. This Tony winner for its current Broadway revival incorporates all the qualities of a well-written play, steadily unfolding details of the brothers who share a derelict apartment—the plaster is falling, the sink is broken, the working bathroom is down the hall—with exposition artfully buried in the dialog.

Under the direction of Aaron Reese Boseman, the audience is drawn in the course of the play to learn these two black brothers were separated some 20 years ago from their parents, who named them as a macabre joke, then walked out when Booth was just 11 and Lincoln 16.

The two have made their way in the world by hustling for money. Booth (DeMorris Burrows) shoplifts and Lincoln (Mikha’el Amin) is a master at three-card monty, where he collects winnings from marks. Younger brother Booth longs to capture Lincoln’s mastery in cards, and when we first meet him alone in his apartment, he is practicing and practicing, struggling to gain his older brother’s finesse.

When Lincoln arrives, though, we learn he has given up cards, and is now working in an arcade, in white face, dressed as Lincoln: tophat, beard, frock coat and vest. Lincoln comes fresh from his work, where customers pay to shoot blank bullets at him, after which he dutifully dies. How’s that for a premise?

Lincoln gives Booth a hard time. "Bathroom's down the hall," Booth tells Lincoln, who needles his brother. "You're living in the third world, Booth."  When Booth asks Lincoln to teach him how to succeed at three-card monty, Lincoln retorts, "I don't touch the cards," and refuses to teach him. Booth complains, "Here I am trying to make a living, and you're standing in my way." We immediately feel that this argument, and Booth's supplicant role, has played out many times. 

Yet Lincoln also helps Booth, dispensing his earnings, yet Booth takes advantage of him, taking all but $13, then asking for five bucks back. What Booth really seeks is the recreation of the family of his childhood, when the two lived with their parents, as carefree children, with a treehouse, running a lemonade stand, playing practical jokes on their dad, and chowing down on their mother’s home cooking. Booth rearranges the furniture, to simulate the table around which they would gather during their upbringing. But Lincoln refuses this sentiment, putting it all back the way it has been when he arrived. 

Into the mix are added intriguing entries: Booth tells his brother of witnessing his parents preparing to leave, a traumatic experience. He secretly retains a stocking filled with a parting gift, which he believes is money, but it is never opened during the play. Booth has a girlfriend, Grace, whom he plans to marry—yet she never appears, and when he returns from visiting her, Lincoln asks Booth for a blow-by-blow of the tryst. His recount sounds unconvincingly made-up, but the inebriated Lincoln only vaguely challenges Booth on this, then passes out.These components point to yearnings Booth holds, which Lincoln only partially shares. 

Eventually, there is resolution of the action, the relationship, everything, that is both satisfying and disturbing. The actors here put everything on the boards; it's hard to imagine them recovering and doing this again, nightly. In his protrayal of Booth, Burrows is exacting, a range from humorous clowning, to high energy plaintive soliloquoy, while Mikha’el Amin's Lincoln gives a more restrained but emotionally evocative performance. This nuanced portrait of a brotherly relationship rings remarkably true. Anyone with a brother, or who knows brothers, will recognize the mix of adulation and aspiration in the younger sibling, and the kindly nurturance and meanness in the older one.

Driven from its tiny 35-seat quarters by a fire, Invictus has landed in the northside site renowned for its big sets and large enough to accommodate some riveting immersive theater. WIth existing lighting, sound, and set capability, this space allows for production values supporting in equal measure to Invictus' tradition of concentrating on the fullest expression of the script. Scenic design by Kevin Rolfs, props by Barbie Brown, costumes by Marquecia Jordan or on the mark. The touches of music by sound designer Petter Wahlback set mood at keep dramatic points, and lighting by Brandon Wardell and Josiah Croegaert illuminate and transition fully in sync with the action.

“Topdog/Underdog” carries all the ingredients of the formula for a hot production: an eminently incredible play, in its Chicago revival at the capacious and versatile Windy City Playhouse, the new digs for one of Chicago’s top acting troupes, Invictus. Definitely a must-see on all counts, "Topdog/Underdog" runs through March 31 at Windy City Playhouse, 3014 W. Irving Park Road in Chicago.

Matthew Paul Olmos is a playwright on the rise, and under the direction of Laura Alcalá Baker we have a chance to see a beautiful production of an exceptional work in its world premiere at Chicago’s Steppenwolf Theatre. As the vernacular title suggests, “A Home What Howls (or the house what was ravine)” is not a staid work, not a constrained “Cherry Orchard” where emotions are buried between the lines.

Instead, Olmos’ work is poetic, magical, and musical as well, and the characters, though poor, are living rich, happy lives in their homes. In the first act, realism rules in many scenes, and Olmos shows a mastery of dialog and detail.

The play opens with a married couple—Abrana (Charin Alvarez) and Manuel Vargas (Eddie Torres) asleep on a bed. In the adjacent room their daughter Soledad (Leslie Sophia Pérez) is hard at work on papers scattered around the floor, perhaps her schoolwork, or maybe something else.

Her parents are awakened by sounds of trickling water running outside. Soon after, sound of a helicopter roars by, and we hear earth moving equipment as well. “There are nightmares around this house,” says Manuel as he and Abrana jump from the bed, and he begins fiddling with a trap door in the floor—an escape hatch?

We begin to piece together that this family is illegally living in a home condemned to make way for a reservoir, one that will allow housing and other development nearby ravine , through which a river flows. By means of a kind of inferential exposition, Olmos paints a portrait of what happens when families are driven from their homes by development—not from the outside looking in, but from inside the homes and families.

Olmos departs from this style to solid realism filled with exposition in one crucial scene: a public hearing at which the now adult Soledad challenges government official Frank over the process by which these families in the way of development have been displaced. It is certainly the best representation I’ve run across of a marginalized community challenging the validity of an eminent domain claim by city officials to displace homeowners dwelling in an area coveted by developers.

As the ravine along which they live is being flooded, and their homes taken, Soledad challenges the city establishment at a public hearing, outing all the tropes which society accepts as the rules of the game—the original seizure of the land from indigenous people by treaty and ceremony; the surveys of businesses showing broad support for the development; Tim Hopper in the role of Frank is exquisitely obtuse. After all, he argues, a ceremony was held in which a “citizen” of the indigenous “transferred” rights to development to the city. “How was this representative procured?” Soledad asks.

The question flies over his head, as Frank goes on to describe, in all sincerity, a ceremony that he found moving—but it highlights the suggestion that the indigenous individual may have had no right to speak for his people. “You’re using the term ‘peace offering,’” Soledad says. “But Public Works uses the terms ‘relinquish’ and ‘transfer.’”

And what about the original homeowners who settled for generations in this indigenous land. ”They were not asked, but they were considered deeply,” Frank says. ”Only businesses” were surveyed, admits Frank, who is beginning to realize he has aquite an adversary in Soledad. Frank says the homeowners displaced were compensated for the value of their homes, which were dilapidated and brought them little. But a home is much more than a building, Soledad points out. How were they compensated for the loss of happiness and memories, and the dispersion of their families, she asks. Market value can’t equal that kind of loss.

“A Home What Howls” runs about 90 minutes, no intermission, and is part of Steppenwolf's Young Adults theater program. But as with other such works in the Young Adults series, it is profoundly good, so I try to see them all.

I will say that I couldn’t always follow the magical parts of the second half, as the old woman resident Syera Lama (Isabel Quintero) appears. She teams up with Soledad in a quest for the rights of the people, encountering a menacing train conductor, also played by Hopper. Quintera also appears numerous times disguised as a magical figure Coyote. Despite my own confusion, the audience was clearly digging it, and the laughter at comical scenes was quite full. “A Home What Howls" runs through March 2 in Steppenwolf’s new in-the-round Ensemble Theater. It’s a great chance to see the work of a playwright we will doubtless be hearing from more and more.

Rachel Silvert plumbs the lyrics of a dozen of Broadway’s classic romantic songs, in “Love Songs Are Weird—and other reasons I’m single,” a one-woman cabaret show at Davenport’s Piano Bar on Milwaukee Ave. in Chicago.

Silvert often begins the numbers by singing pieces straight up, then breaks between stanzas or lines to dissect the works for the more questionable parts.
In her opening number, Silvert jumps right into it with “On the Street Where You Live,” the richly melodic expression of a man’s romantic infatuation from Lerner & Lowe’s 1956 “My Fair Lady.”

I have often walked
Down the street before,
But the pavement always stayed
Beneath my feet before
All at once am I
Several stories high,
Knowing I'm on the street where you live

Singing it straightforwardly (accompanied by pianist Nathan Urdangen), the phrasing becomes more uncertain as she progresses through the stanzas, and it begins to cross my mind, is this guy a stalker? Especially, given Silvert’s patter, informing us the young woman has just told this amorous man she never wants to see him again in her life:

And oh, the towering feeling
Just to know somehow you are near
The overpowering feeling
That any second you may suddenly appear
People stop and stare
They don't bother me…

Some songs, especially by contemporary standards, have lyrics Silvert finds suspect. Take Rogders & Hart’s 1937 “My Funny Valentine:”

My funny valentine
Sweet comic valentine
You make me smile with my heart
Your looks are laughable
Unphotographable
Yet, you're my favorite work of art
Is your figure less than Greek?
Is your mouth a little weak?
When you open it to speak
Are you smart?

Silvert sees red flags all over that one: Laughable looks, a figure less than Greek, and not so smart, for starters. Likewise with other songs, with Silvert suggesting context is also important, including for shows like “Cinderella,” ("Do I love you because you are beautiful, or are you beautiful because I love you?") and from Pippen, “With You,” a sweetly benign meditation on love and fulfillment - but sung by a circus performer before a street full of prostitutes.

But Silvert never gets too heavy; this delightful confection of a show is pure entertainment. Another high point is a rendition of an eight-year-old grammar school girl passionately singing “My Heart Will Go On,” from the movie Titanic.” Drawn from Silvert’s personal experience - was that her on the lawn in 1997 with her classmates, singing with such conviction, as the meaning of the lyrics flew over her head? It’s a funny bit.

The closing number did evoke sentimental tears from this reviewer: “Some Enchanted Evening,” from Rodgers & Hammerstein’s “South Pacific.” Silvert finds nothing to question in this perfectly wonderful expression of the genesis of love. But it does serve as a perfectly touching accompaniment for the “reveal” of the evening. No spoilers here; you’ll have to catch Silvert next time she is at Davenport’s Piano Bar, which also has daily performances and open mics in its front bar. Or catch her at Hey Nonny in Arlington Heights September 21, 2024.

Shattered Globe did its dramaturgy research very well, in bringing us the Chicago premiere of “Flood,” Mashuq Mushtaq Deen’s very funny, very fresh and highly relevant script. And boy does he have a gift for dialog. It is good, complex, and funny, and charged with barrels of meaning below that surface. “Flood” reminded me for all the world of Harold Pinter or Caryl Churchill's ominous, absurdist theater works, with a quality that is very much in a league with these revered masters.

Though Deen says he eschews television, and writes for the stage, “Flood” opens with a vintage musical fanfare drawn right out of 1960s television programs.
As the lights come up we see a living room setting in classic mid century modern style - very nicely done by Lauren Nichols, set design - with late middle-aged Darren (H.B. Ward), pudgy and rotund, at his work table, wearing safety glasses and a strange mask as he assembles a wood craft project. Each piece is selected and put in place with elaborate arm flourishes, letting us know Darren is at work on an effort of the utmost importance.

His wife Edith (Linda Reiter) enters stage left, bearing a teapot, and standing silently many minutes, lest, we suspect, she break Darren's concentration. The dramatic tension delivered in this silent scene is considerable. Reiter and Ward deliver consummate performances that are the essence of what skillful acting is all about.

Eventually Edith withdraws, returning sometime later, again with a teapot. This time Daren notices her, and a conversation ensues, both innocent and frought. It sounds like any couple jousting: Darren accuses Edith of hiding from him, which she denies, noting that she is manifestly available, but that he just doesn’t notice her.

In the conversation, playwright Deen gradually increases the underlying tension in the scene, and their lives overall come into stark relief. We learn that they plan to share tea together, which Edith ardently wishes for, but Darren (H.B. Ward) says this can only happen in the future, when he finishes the great work in which he is involved at the table.

At this moment, the conversation has leapt into another dimension, as Edith queries when he will be finished.
“Add that to the book of unanswerable questions,” Darren says.
To which Edith replies, “You like me because I ask you unanswerable questions.”

Edith's pressure for Darren to finish and share tea with her elicits a vague indication from her husband that it will be “in the future.” Darren asks, “Would you deny me my dreams?” to which Edith asks, profoundly, “When will the future come?”

We eventually hear a discussion of the sex “in a parking lot” that led to their children, and later, we meet these children: Darren Junior (Carl Collins) and Edith Junior (Sarah Patin) who speak to their parents from their apartment by phone. The generational divide is expressed here, with trenchant relevance: the children are complaining of their suffering from the effects of the environmental crisis (flooding), while their parents live in a dream loop of denial, Edith all the while encouraging her offspring to look on the bright side of things. It's a conversation for the ages, and of the moment being replayed across America continuously.

“Flood” is both humorous, and a remarkable snapshot of intergenerational dynamics. And the play is mysterious as well. An intensely engaging 90 minutes perfectly cast and directed by Kenneth Prestininzi, who directed the world premiere in Kansas City as well. "Flood" runs through March 9 at Theater Wit, 1229 W. Belmont Ave. in Chicago.  

“Mother Courage and her Children,” written in 1939 by German playwright Bertolt Brecht has been a challenging play for me, and having seen it prior to this Trap Door Theatre production, I wondered why, along with “Threepenny Opera” (1928), it is so popular among theater companies and actors.

But I figured if anyone could make this thing work, it would be Trap Door, and I am delighted to report that they have, in the production which opened this week at their magical space on Cortland Avenue. Directed by Max Truax in a translation by Eric Bentley, “Mother Courage” is accessible, intelligible, entertaining and compelling.

Holly Cerny gives a tour de force performance as Mother Courage, on stage continuously and called to sing, dance, and haul a canteen wagon. Her character is based on a real-life operator of a canteen supplying soldiers in the 30 years war in Europe in the 17th century. More than 4.5 million soldiers died in the prolonged religious conflict, but for Mother Courage and her young adult children, the war means their livelihood. Her two sons, Swiss Cheese (Rashaad A. Bond) and Eilef (Bill Gordon) are conscripted, further entrenching Mother Courage in the battles.

Eventually as peace dawns, Mother Courage is distressed that her means of income will be ended. She has lost a son who was court-martialed for stealing army funds at her behest. Another dies after killing a leader whose death reignites the war. In other words, she is a contemptible character - but the audience bears witness to this chicanery without empathy for Mother Courage or her brood, an approach in this style of Epic absurdist plays that Brecht intended.

Instead, Brecht is asking the audience to hear a statement about war, and the economics that underpin the interests of participants. All this, with song and dance - more macabre than delightful; and sung with the wry humor of cabaret. All the cast is notably good in adopting the non-naturalistic style Brecht intended: Kevin Webb is the cook; Joan Nahid as Mother Courage’s mute daughter Katrin; Caleb Jenkins as the Chaplain; Nena Martins as Yvette; and Tricia Rogers as a Soldier/Officer. We connect with these characters as totems for the forces of war they represent.

Set design by J. Michael Griggs, lighting by Richard Norwood, sound design by Dan Poppen, props by David Lovejoy and music by Jonathan Guillen combine to give an expressive force to the production. Periodically, supra titles let us know where we are in Mother Courage’s adventure - a really good touch, though they were sometimes obscured by the actors on stage. Perhaps they could be placed higher on the backdrop.
Trap Door Theatre, squeezed behind a Mabel’s Table restaurant at 1655 W. Cortland in Chicago (near Ashland Avenue), has over its 30 years taken on the most venturesome and challenging absurdist plays, and that makes it a true treasure. “Mother Courage and her Children” runs through February 24 at Trap Door Theatre. 

*Extended through March 9th