Rutherford and Son tells the story of an early 20th century glass making factory in northern England. It’s run by rough a tumble owner, Rutherford – played convincingly and powerfully by Steppenwolf’s Francis Guinan. Under his thumb are hundreds of workers, who he treats as recalcitrant peasants; and his three children – all of whom chafe under his rule, which has forced them into unrewarding lives. Yet Rutherford is driven only to keep the glass furnaces blasting, oblivious to his tyrannies petty and grand.

This Chicago premiere of the 1912 play by Githa Sowerby is handsomely produced, and relatively engaging, especially considering the antique nature of the work. In its day this first script by Sowerby, a children’s author, was a sensation – though she did not manage to write a successful sequel.

That’s surprising, given how fully drawn and realistic the characters are in what is essentially a melodrama. Perhaps the author could not have a follow-on success because it is somewhat autobiographical, since Sowerby’s family operated a similar glassworks, this was the only play Sowerby had in her. It is not so different than a PBS upstairs and downstairs style drama, as Rutherford and Son tracks three generations of the glass manufacturing dynasty. 

Rutherford and Son is also is regarded as an early feminist work.For example, the female protagonist, Mary (Rochelle Therrien is excellent), challenges and bests her father-in-law, Rutherford, in a nicely turned dramatic closing. Mary is the wife of John (Michael Holding), the older son seen - portrayed as a ne’re do well impractical dreamer who is heir to the Rutherford fortune. Holding gets this role just right.

The play takes place in the family mansion, where Rutherford’s sister Ann (Jeannie Affelder is good as the skinny dowager), daughter Janet (Christina Gorman is compelling), and other son, a hapless Anglican chaplain Richard (August Forman) are generally at odds with each other about how to manage the volatile patriarch, Rutherford.

Notable as well is Janet's surreptitious love interest, Martin (Matt Bowden), the quintessence of a dutiful plant manager who goes all to smouldering in an elicit affair with Janet. (The scandal eventually drives both of them away from the factory town.) The assertive Janet is also an empowered female, asking Martin to elope with her, and when he refuses, heading off on her own - certainly an unusual woman stage character, especially in its day.

Under Rutherford’s dominion, hundreds of employees churn out bottles and jars, and inexpensive consumer products in a classic, 19th century style unenlightened capitalist setting. Unwelcome or un-understood by Rutherford are emotional or spiritual matters, or even innovative thinking – nothing but grinding harder to get more and more work done. But the business operations and the family wither under his dark indifference.

The production and sets are excellent, though this is a wordy play. Director Mechelle Moe has chosen to have the players use the regional north country dialect, which may be precise, but is laid on a little too thick at times, impairing understandability. With all that, it is somewhat recommended, though feminist sympathizers and theatre buffs will want to see what is listed by Royal National Theatre “100 best plays of the century.” Rutherford and Son runs through January 12, 2020 at the TimeLine Theatre in Chicago.

Goodman’s treasured director Robert Falls directs the Lyric Opera’s new production of Don Giovanni, the tale of that lustful, destructive Spanish sexual predator, Don Juan. Falls has wisely exercised restraint in this production, letting the sumptuous music of Mozart prevail. The musical high points will be familiar to anyone who has seen the movie or listened to the soundtrack Amadeus.

The story is another matter – in contemporary #MeToo society Don Giovanni does not quite fit the Weinstein-Epstein model of using leverage and power in his conquest of women. The dramaturgs struggle to find some way to explain Don Giovanni’s behavior to us. But there is none; he is not exactly a realistic character, but an exaggerated fiction who lays waste not to the objects of his desire, but to his posse of servants and friends as well. But there is a contemporary realism to Don Giovanni's destructive force and his entitlement to forcing himself on women. He doesn't accept that no means no, and we are still trying to change that heritage of patriarchy in the 21st century. 

In his day, Don Juan was a libertine. He also seems to be a sociopath and sex addict, cataloging the hundreds of women he has seduced, country by country. Like Epstein he seems to inspire profligacy and among his cohorts, but he takes advantage of them a few too many time. He is stalked by one double-crossed lover - - who makes it her mission to warn other women away from him. All this builds up to generating an enmity that finds an angry crowd of vigilante’s out to kill him.

Mozart’s formal full title of Don Giovanni is “The Rake punished, or Don Giovanni.” This indicates the story was conceived as a moral fable (the libretto in Italian is by Lorenzo da Ponte). Fall’s key touch, aside from a perfect closing scene (more on that later) was to reset the time frame from the 1600’s to the 1920s. This allows the women to reasonably be a bit more empowered, pursuing their own sexual destiny. But the original libretto clashes with this revisionist approach, since loss of reputation and fall from respectability is among their chief complaints against Don Giovanni. The 1920s setting is almost laughable during a ball in which the deco-inspired gowns (knockout costumes here and overall) when the flappers do minuettes rather than Charlestons. But it's opera. 

The music redeems it largely, though the garden bacchanal and Don Giovanni’s machinations are frankly, boring and drag on. Mozart’s music carries on a masterful counterpoint, with the characters given complexity expressed through this most lush score. The Lyric Opera Orchestra is reliably excellent, and this production is no exception. They just know how to play in support of the opera– a full, rich, underpinning for the great singers. 

Finally comes the climactic scene in Don Giovanni is his retribution for all this bad behavior – he is dragged down to hell. Falls did this so powerfully, opening a smoking pit on the stage and upending the banquet table, with Don Giovanni struggling against his fate as he slides into oblivion. It is one of the most satisfying final scenes I have witnessed, and helps cap the story of Don Giovanni, The Rake Punished. It runs at the Lyric Opera in Chicago through December 8.

*Ryan McKinney will portray Don Giovannio December 3rd through 8th

The Niceties is a play that engages the intellect. But in so doing, sets up a tug-of-war with our gut, addressing a visceral issue for today: race.

Like the puzzler plays Proof or Seminar (both also set at a university campus) The Niceties leads us to think through ideas, in this case the customs and intellectual practices of the erudite precincts of academia. Instead of a puzzle, though, we are faced with a compelling case, made by college student Zoe, that some of the pedagogical and research practices of university professors are mired in the past. And because of this, academia misses out on on the cultural train departing the station. The plain of this discussion takes place on how racially grounded cultural orientations shape how we see and describe the world - and record its history. 

Zoe (Ayanna Bria Bakari) is a college student working on a senior paper in Political Science, and thinking through plans for graduate school. During office hours with her professor Janine (Mary Beth Fisher), they review Zoe’s history paper on The American Revolution. After offering a broadly positive comment on the paper’s worthiness, Janine provides cursory advice on grammar and a missing comma (“You can’t proof on the screen,” Janine admonishes Zoe).

That little aside provides the first whiff of a divide between the two – digital, political, and cultural – that playwright Eleanor Burgess lays out for us in this engaging 2017 work. Zoe is African-American, a political activist, and like her peers in the millennial generation, schooled in online research.

Boomers like Janine (and me) keep stacks of volumes around and can remember where those passages are, if they can just find that book. Zoe, meanwhile, digs up the same citations on her smart phone pronto. 

After Janine mentions her son Zachary is a student, Zoe lets her know that he is in her poetry class. This sparks a self-ironic discourse in which Janine makes an unflattering revelation about herself. Having Zachary on campus, Janine says, has “forced me to see my students as something other than walking theses statements…which is very disorienting.”This bit of self-deprecation does not take away from the truth behind that statement. 

Janine recognizes that Zoe is quite a brilliant student, but is dismissive of her paper's primary contention – “A successful American Revolution was only possible because of slavery” – because it isn't backed by formal citations that support some of her assertions. Zoe instead cites websites and Wikipedia entries. 

But we suspect Janine's criticisms are based on something more. We learn that the action takes place prior to the 2017 election, as Janine confidently predicts Clinton will be the first woman President. In this detail Burgess reveals an arrogance about Janine, one borne of certainty about her world view. How much her confidence would be shaken by Clinton's loss we can only imagine. But the playwright has a preciipitous fall in store for Janine - which we will not spoil.

Suffice it to say the debate between the two builds in intensity, with Zoe challenging her professor’s demands for published, footnoted revidence of reference material.

“If you need evidence, you are excluding the people who couldn’t leave history behind,” Zoe asserts. (Current thought in academia now accepts “imagined history” from those without records - indigenous peoples and slaves.)

Janine is less used to receiving such impassioned pushback. “I like that you stick by your opinions,” Janine tells Zoe. But she doesn’t really. The scene becomes heated, and the argument builds to a crescendo.

“Your thesis is fundamentally unsound,” charges Janine, telling Zoe to rewrite the work, or take a lower grade. Once the gloves are off, Janine invites Zoe to illuminate her supposed shortcomings as a professor. When Zoe reads verbatim from Janine's lectures, she notes her unmitigating praise of Washington and Jefferson may not work so well for the five students in class who are descendants of slaves. 

The language of the dialog is razor sharp, and very much reflects the characters.  The matter ends in a crisis as Act 1 closes, and you will be anxious to find out what happens in Act II, though I confess to being a disappointed in the lack of a dramatic resolution at the final curtain.

Director Marti Lyons has coaxed out great performances in a production that is smart and fast paced. The Niceties runs through December 8 at Writers Theatre in Glencoe, IL.

Rink Life is a dance performance with a difference: these dancers also speak. And sing. And act.

Dance is said to have five elements - body, action, space, time and energy. But creative director Julia Rhoads (she was once part of Red Moon) adds voice as another component to that repertoire.

Over the course of 75 minutes (no intermission) Rink Life features a series of vignettes – perhaps one-act playlets – performed by seven dancers (Kara Brody, Michel Rodriguez Cintra, Melinda Jean Myers, Jacinda Ratcliffe, Rodolfo Sánchez Sarracino, A. Raheim White, Meghann Rose Wilkinson), roughly following the rise and fall in emotional dynamics that might flow through any social group.

The vignettes are interwoven – opening with a duo (Myers and Cintra) rehearsing a pas de deux to Madonna’s “Like a Virgin,” that quickly devolves into a discussion between the two of whether Madonna’s line is “for the very first time” or, “for the thirty-first time” as one dancer mistakenly has it. These two are interrupted when two other dancers arrive, announcing they have the space reserved. Then others appear until the full complement of the troupe is on stage.  

While Rink Life uses roller rink culture of the 1970s as a jumping off point, it is only loosely tied to its song playlist from the period.
What would otherwise be hackneyed music choices – Hey Jude, Stayin’ Alive, Total Eclipse of the Heart - are completelyrefreshed here. Rather than threadbare recordings, the dancers voice and interpret the songs, drawing out the beats they need to keep the dances in rhythm. Bethany Clearfield, who has worked with Music of the Baroque, is vocal collaborator and coach. 

Rink Life’s staging and choreography are said to be built from the spatial rules and social codes of a roller rink. Its script or libretto is samplings of those and other songs, and of “passing conversations, distant whispers, pop-song earworms, and found scripts” as Lucky Plush Productions describes it. 

In successive scenes one or another of the dancers isolates themselves from the group, or is ostracized – and we watch the familiar dynamics of rapprochement and resolution. This may all be expressed in very 1970s catch phrases – “I wasn’t feeling it” is a recurring concern as the dancers mount numbers - but the scenes depict fundamental constancies in human social dynamics too.

Each of the performers has a distinct personality on stage and several moments in the spotlight. But Cintra and White stand out, while Melinda Myers reminded me so much of a dancing version of comedienne Kristen Wiig.

Refreshing as an Italian ice, Rink Life brings a continuously unexpected take how people get along in groups. Rink Life runs through November 17 at Steppenwolf Theatre’s cozy 1700 space.

We all know that certain words are verboten in polite society - some because they are coarse, like expletives; others because they are demeaning or belittling, or off-limits.

One of these – the N-word – is the hook that triggers the action in a new play, called, simply, ‘N,’ at the Greenhouse Theater Center. Smoothly directed by TaRon Patton, the story revolves around an ambitious young actor, Eddy (Ryan Smetana) who has been hired as a live-in aid for the 70-year-old Mrs. Page (Stacie Doublin).

Immediately we are intrigued by Mrs. Page, who is a character rarely (if ever) portrayed, an African-American Goldwater Republican. Eddy, who is white, is all about proper liberal social behavior, in visible arenas, like recycling, and bringing his own shopping bags to the grocery store. He is also rather a narcissist, and the consummate guy with his heart-on-his-sleeve.

Mrs. Page does not suffer his foolishness gladly, and has reluctantly accepted his arrival in her home. She quickly sets, and carefully maintains, a dividing line to ward off any emotional intimacy with this intruder. But Eddy is young, and crashes and burns a couple times – expecting and eventually getting emotional support, though its dispensed sparingly by Mrs. Page.

Things all come to a head when Eddy gets his career break with a major name theater production. But then, a script rewrite inserts the ‘N’ word in the show, and he resigns the role. There are stormy moments for both parties.

And Mrs. Page, who earns a living as a stock trader and investment advisor, makes a compelling case for her support - as an African-American – for conservative 1960s-era Republican Barry Goldwater, who staunchly defended the right of the individual. “Contrary to popular opinion,” Mrs. Page tells Eddy, “you are a minority – of one.”  

Playwright David Alex shows canny skillfulness in the craftsmanship of ‘N.’ For example, as the play opens, Eddy is auditioning with lines from Oedipus concerning fate versus free will, done in a Southern dialect - foreshadowing the discussions ahead. 

Still the first act needs polishing: lines by Mrs. Page like, “Your employment includes room and board,” and “Understand it is not by my choice that you are employed here,” seem less like dialog than scene-setting pronouncements. At two different points, in a darkened room, a phone call is overheard by an unseen third party – that seems contrived. And Eddy behaves and speaks with unnatural familiarity as a new arrival in Mrs.Page's home. Likewise for Mrs. Page, though she is rough, not friendly like Eddy.

There seem to be some distracting plot points, e.g., Mrs. Page is an avid astrologist, but has been housebound since one of her predictions led to tragedy. And she cooks Jewish dishes for a neighbor.

The second act, though, completely redeems things – suggesting that first half may be in development still. We really see the characters come into their own. Stacie Doublin is powerful in the later dialog. And a final, doleful scene performed in silence by Eddy and Mrs. Page is moving and strongly affecting.

Also noteworthy is the performance of Reginald Hemphill as Eddy’s buddy DeShawn, who commands the stage for his brief time on it. Speaking also on word usage, “You are not a ‘brother,’” DeShawn, who is African-American, advises Eddy. “This may come as a shock to your white liberal sensibilities, but you are not black!”

Alex, who is a fixture in Chicago theater, has written more than a dozen other scripts, including Eroica at Red Twist Theatre, and Ends, which won an African-American Theater Festival Award at the University of Louisville. ‘N,’ thought provoking and lively, comes recommended. ‘N’ runs through November 17 at Greenhouse Theatre in Chicago.

Sometimes tragedy is so extreme, our only response is to be driven to distraction – like that character in a graphic novel pushed off the edge, laughing in the abyss. Or think of the performance of Joaquin Phoenix in The Joker.

A work springing from this sentiment is playing live on stage, at the Athenaeum Theatre, in a new production format called “The Style,” a unique performance vernacular developed by The Conspirators. Every element – writing, directing, ensemble performance, music, set - brings something you will likely not have seen before.

The play is Accidental Death of a Black Motorist- the title alone both suggestive and incendiary. What happens on stage is even more so, with a truly barn-burning performance by Anthony Hinderman – a recent arrival to the Chicago scene and now an ensemble member in The Conspirators. (I am already grieving the likelihood this guy will soon be scooped up by New York or Hollywood.)

The roots of this work are heady, drawn from Italian Nobel laureate Dario Fo’s absurdist Death of an Anarchist. Writer Sid Feldman, who has adapted it into a precise Chicago argot, justifiably claims script credits, having updated the original to a relentlessly witty, laugh-rich brew that will leave you breathless, and powerfully impacted. 

In a nutshell, the story tells of a Chicago police crew who have arrested a man for “driving while black,” (we never see him). "The subject was driving too nice of a car for that neighborhood," explains the arresting officer in his broad Chicago accent. 

The victim somehow ends up jumping to his death from a fourth floor police station window during questioning. Feldman has transmogrified these hapless cops into a witless crew that is unable to develop its own cover story to avoid liability for the innocent man’s death. 

Then comes the subversive Actor (Anthony Hinderman) who re-enters the scene (he had earlier been arrested for a minor infraction but skipped out) and now convinces the police he has been sent by the court to help them clear their names. Crafty as a grifter, The Actor transforms into several characters, but the cops don’t catch on. As Actor reads through the police report he ostensibly helps them generate alibis for their inconsistencies, but once they commit to one of his proposed covers, he lets them see the new story won’t fly under questioning either. 

Detective Berkstra (Nathaniel Fishburn), speaking in heavilyinflected South'side, complains,  "You said you were here to help us, but all you've done is cast doubt on everything we say!" 

Hindeman brings a extraordinary plasticity to his facial expressions. Coated in pancake and heavily made up, he grimaces and mugs for all he is worth. 

The technique used in the show is “The Style,” which The Conspirators describe as a distilled amalgam of the 16th century Italian Commedia del Arte style, with “influences like Kabuki, Kathakali, Bugs Bunny, and a high-energy punk-rock aesthetic” that is like “a coke-fueled clown nightmare.”

Abandoning any semblance of naturalism, the actors are done up in grotesque makeup, with stylized movements punctuated by very expressive percussion as commentary. (Sarah Scanlon played the night I saw the show.) Footlights illuminate the stage in a stark glare, perhaps off-putting at first, but mesmerizing soon enough.

You may fear for Hinderman lest he be immolated in the blaze he sets on stage, but so too the rest of the troupe, who have clearly drunk whatever cool-aid The Conspirators are mixing. In fact, the cast really becomes one actor. Every performer amazes – Kate Booth as Detective Bertowski, Nathaniel Fishburn as Detective Berkstra, Ali Janes as TV newscaster Madison Boan, Nicole Frydman as Chief of Police, and the list goes on.

I sought out this play after a friend mentioned their previous production, The Deckchairs, or, Make the Titanic Great Again. (That one tells what happens on board after an iceberg denier is elected captain of the unsinkable ship.)

Wm. Bullion directed this unique show, which uses its special forms and styles to cast a fresh light on the social injustice it addresses. Far from dreary, it is truly liberating. Accidental Death of a Black Motorist runs Thursday, Friday and Saturdays through November 23 at the Athenaeum Theatre, 2936 Southport on Chicago.

Triggered by Shylock’s role, Invictus Theatre gives us a strong production of The Merchant of Venice. One of Shakespeare’s most accessible plays, The Merchant is seasoned with timeless lines: “Love is blind”, “Let me play the fool,” “The quality of mercy is not strained,” “the devil can cite Scripture for his purpose.”

And its well-crafted subplots include the famous trio of suitors seeking the key to marry the princess Portia (Julia Badger), by choosing blindly among three boxes - with only the barest of hints to guide them. The Merchant of Venice also features Shakespeare’s only explicitly Jewish character, Shylock (Joseph Beal) – a moneylender who, along with his Jewish companion, Tubal (Joshua Seeger), is reviled by the citizens of Venice. In this production, we are transported to Mussolini’s Italy in 1938 – a time when Hitler’s Nuremburg laws against Jews were promulgated.

Though updating the period of Shakespeare’s plays is almost commonplace, as though the scripts are in need of a facelift, Invictus heightens the impact of the singularly disturbing Jew-baiting structured into Shakespeare’s action and dialog. The opening scene features menacing uniformed Blackshirt fascista in jackboots and jodhpurs, and soon enough the merchant Antonio (Chuck Monro) spits in the face of Shylock (Joseph Beal). Mussolini’s face is plastered in posters all around, and his thundering speeches play before the curtain rises. The costumes by Sato Schechner are elegant and on trend.

What Shakespeare had in mind with Shylock is open to question; Jews had been driven from and banned by England for centuries. Invictus dramaturg Michael Shapiro notes the play was likely produced in response to a plot to kill Queen Elizabeth – for which her Jewish-Spanish physician was executed. The Bard may also have been drawn to the outsider nature of Shylock, who like Othello or Hamlet, suffers for his “otherness.”

Christians in Venice were prohibited by the Church from making loans, so Jews made them. Shylock laments his lack of stature among the merchant class, despite the essential service he offers.

In the play, the young merchant Bassanio (Martin Diaz-Valdes) needs funding for ships in a trading expedition. Shylock sets up a bullet-proof contract with default requiring payment in the famous “pound of flesh.” Bassanio also needs the wealth to buttress pursuit of Portia as his bride. As the plot turns, the ships founder in storms, and the loan is called. Shylock engenders our sympathy as he expounds eloquently on the abuse he suffers from the trading class.

When Bassanio’s associate Salarino (Mitchell Spencer) suggests the terms are too harsh to enforce, Shylock asserts his case compellingly in the marketplace:

He hath disgraced me, and….what's his reason? I am a Jew….

Hath not a Jew eyes? Hath not a Jew hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions? …If you prick us, do we not bleed? if you tickle us, do we not laugh? if you poison us, do we not die? and if you wrong us, shall we not revenge?

In this Merchant of Venice, the language of Shakespeare is handled effectively, with Chuck Monro as Antonio, Martin Diaz-Valdes as Bassanio and Madeline Pell as Nerissa delivering compelling performances.  Monro also brings a depth of emotion to his part.

In the role of Shylock, Joseph Beal uses a kind of Ashkenaz accent (a Western European “Jewish” accent if I have it right) which atop the Elizabethan English is quite a feat. But it seemed to me the Ashkenaz was slathered on a bit heavily, which at times diminished the power of the underlying script. Still you cannot not miss the power of his Shylock performance, a testament to Beal’s strength. A nod to a very special performer is in order: Jack Morsovillo played Launcelot, the Jailer, and the suitor, the Prince of Arragon, effortlessly switching roles, between stints playing incidental guitar music. Well done!

Recommended, The Merchant of Venice runs through November 17 at the Pride Arts Center, 4147 N. Broadway in Chicago.

There is something immensely endearing in the passion that community theater groups bring to the stage. A Man of No Importance captures exactly these qualities, as its cast plays a troupe preparing for a production of Oscar Wilde’s Salome.

Set in 1964 Dublin, Ireland, A Man of No Importance was a 2002 Broadway musical comedy written by the team that created Anastasia and Ragtime – Lynn Ahrens, Stephen Flaherty, with book by Terrence McNally (Master Class, The Full Monty, Kiss of the Spider Woman, et.al.). While not a blockbuster, it does have some lovely music. 

That show in turn was adapted from the well-regarded 1994 film (a non-musical), which starred Albert Finney in an exceptional performance as Alfie, a 60-year-old Dublin streetcar conductor. Severely repressing his gay orientation (even the term “closeted” was not in general use then), Alfie expresses his gay self channeling Oscar Wilde in his mirror. 

The broad strokes of A Man of No Importance are the same in both the film and the musical, though the inner life of Alfie is the point of the film, while the musical version emphasizes the community of players – and the redemptive quality of being who you really are, even if you are gay. That was more easily said than done in 1963 Ireland, where a “pouf” was the pejorative term for a gay person, who was subject to severe social opprobrium in the period. Same-sex relations were only decriminalized in 1993 in the Republic of Ireland. (For the U.K., including Northern Ireland, it was legalized in 1967.)

In both versions Alfie is beaten and outed, but survives and comes back stronger. Finney’s Alfie is an exuberant, ebullient fellow, though filled with longing and extreme inhibition about sharing his secret of the “love that dares not speak its name.” In Pride Films & Play’s production, directed by Donterrio Johnson, Alfie (Ryan Lanning) is likewise filled with longing and inhibition, but with little of the kind of verve that made the film version Alfie believable and lovable.

Alfie entertains his streetcar patrons with warm banter and poetic readings, and scouts their numbers for potential performers in his troupe. He identifies one new arrival on his Dublin streetcar – Adele Rice (Ciera Dawn) – as a prospect to for the show – and talks her into joining. 

Alfie is also secretly in love with the motorman, Robbie Fay (Nick Arceo), and entreats him to join the cast, with a promise of meeting single women players. Robbie Fay in turn pressures Alfie to join him in the pub after work. Alfie does so reluctantly, retreating awkwardly when his secret yearnings turn up on the gaydar of a barfly, the comely young Breton Beret (Kevin O’Connell, who also plays a phantom Oscar Wilde).

All the while, Alfie risks running afoul of society. Late middle aged (he is 60 in the movie) Alfie lives - since mother died - under the watchful care of his spinster sister Lily (Sarah Beth Tanner brings great life to this character). Lily avidly wants Alfie to find a girl to marry, so she can relinquish her responsibility of caring for him. (That's how society worked in Ireland.) Lily's intended, the butcher Carney (Tommy Bullington), is a regular cast member in the Alfie’s group, but also an arch conservative Catholic in the Altar & Rosary Sodality.

It isn't long before Carney figures out that this year’s script includes salacious scenes "and fornication" as Carney rails – the Dance of the Seven Veils included – and the show is booted from St. Imelda's as pornographic midway through rehearsal. The positive resolution of this crisis - it’s Broadway, after all, the show must go on – is melodramatic, but still somehow satisfying.  

This cast features some very good singers, dancers, and performers. Though there are a couple somewhat wooden actors, most bring an infectious energy to the show, as do the characters they play in the rehearsal for Salome. Lanning is a polished tenor; and Nick Arceo’s baritone gives Robbie Fay the requisite manliness. Amanda Giles’ performance as Mrs. Curtin earned belly laughs, especially her proposal to transform the seductive “Dance of the Seven Veils” as a tap dance sequence. A Man of No Importance runs through November 10 at The Broadway Theater in Pride Arts Center, 4139 N. Broadway.

*Extended through November 17th

Playwright Lucy Kirkwood was named “Best Newcomer” when her first play debuted in London in 2009. Her Chimerica played to acclaim all over, including a well regarded production at Timeline Theatre in 2016. Kirkwood’s 2017 Mosquitoes, now running at Steep Theatre, depicts today's societal clashes between advocates of post-Enlightenment rationalism, and the more magical thinkers who resist modernist thought. In current terms, that plays out in things like Climate Change and vaccination debates. 

Lest you think this is dry, let me assure you Mosquitoes is quite the play, and director Jaclyn Jutting gives us a lively dramatic production, the clash is acted out in the highly charged relationship between two sisters. 

The older one is Alice (Cindy Marker), a research physicist at work on the sub-atomic particle-smashing Hadron Collider, which starts up in Geneva, Switzerland during the play (dating it to 2008). Jenny (Julia Siple, who simply tears up the stage in the role) telemarkets vaginal cancer insurance policies – quite effectively, as she demonstrates by replaying her phone pitch in the second act.

Jenny questions the many things in life dictated by rationalism, including vaccinations. She doesn't get one, then Kirkwood has her come down with a preventible illness. And Jenny thinks the Hadron Collider and its quest for the elusive (and quite theoretical) Higgs bosun particle, is a waste.

“Six billion European for something you can’t even see?” says Jenny, comparing the meeting of two particles to mosquitoes smashing into each other. 

In one of the early scenes, Jenny reveals to her sister she is pregnant, and seeks reassurance from her sister Alice – the baby hasn’t been kicking, she fears the worst. Jenny admits she hasn’t had an ultrasound – she has been told that the sound waves can damage an unborn child. Yet when scientific Alice protests that routine ultrasounds are a safe way to show the baby’s status, Jenny resists the rational arguments.

“What I feel as a mother is stronger than facts,” Jenny says. And that conversation, in a nutshell, is the play Mosquitoes. Alice and Jenny love each other, though they don't readily admit it. 

But there is much more, as Kirkwood has us live through the lives of these women, and those around them. However it begins to feel interminable by the end of Act 1, which has no hint of intrigue about what comes next.

We meet the girls’ mother, Karen (Meg Thalken) who believes she has incipient dementia, and is bitter about her late husband’s Nobel win, when she did all the research without credit. Thalken is quite good in a sometimes over the top role (though her speech leans toward the geriatric more than to British). We meet Alice’s significant other, Henri (Peter Moore), a scientist at the Hadron Collider who struggles to get people to remember he is Swiss, not French. Moore does a good job in his role. 

And we also have Alice’s teenage son Luke. Alexander Stuart is perfectly convincing as this angst-ridden, alienated teen, a high-school kid forced to leave England and struggling socially in Geneva. We have Luke’s one school chum, Natalie (Upasana Barath is endearing), like Luke a transplant who is his empathic friend. The two operate a second play within the play that adds to the length but does little to advance the story.

It is, however, Luke’s relationship with his aunt Jenny, as well as a subplot, that reveals the wealth of emotional strength that a more feeling and less thinking adult offers Luke. It is exactly what he needs.

And finally we have a character playing that elusive subatomic particle, Bosun. Played by Lyn Evans, Bosum steps in at transition points, including one that arrives following a scene that I was thinking would be the end of Act II. Evans seems to loudly declaim all of Bosun’s lines, which erased whatever power Kirkwood might have intended for them. The character is also a metaphorical stylization that added nothing but length to Mosquitoes.

Setting aside the criticisms, there is much good here, and Mosquitoes is Somewhat Recommended, largely on the basis of Julia Siple’s performance. Mosquitoes runs through November 9 at Steep Theater, 1115 W. Berwyn in Chicago.

*Extended through November 16th

Invisible, a new play by Mary Bonnett, tells a provocative story about a little known slice of history – the emergence of the women’s arm of the Ku Klux Klan – the WKKK. Bonnett is also artistic director of Her Story Theater, and has produced eight such works with powerful social messages.

Directed by Cecelie Keenan, Invisible (the KKK was known as the "Invisible Nation") is set in 1920 in Mound, Mississippi (a site of a native burial grounds). It centers on a trio of ladies - Doris, Lucinda, and Mabel - who are marketing Women’s KKK memberships through the social media of the day – door to door solicitation, marches, and nasty gossip about those who won’t join.

The poisonous dynamics are reminiscent of the ominous thumb of group-think social pressure seen in The Crucible, or Tracy Letts' The Minutes, but with a Southern drawl. Starting from a baseline of racism against African-Americans, the WKKK ladies of the 1920s welcomed only Protestant Northern Europeans and Anglo Saxons to their group.

Those who were unreceptive were shunned socially. Pro-scripted categories of white people – Catholics, Jews, immigrants – weren’t even approached, and along with black people, were targets of venomous attacks by the women’s group.

Interested in reducing marital violence and advancing education, these women were liberated on some levels. They had won the vote in 1920, and voiced ambition for loosening male dominion over political power. But this was restricted to advancing the fortunes of nice, Christian, white ladies like themselves. (Historically the group got the Texas Schoolboard to prohibit hiring Catholics as teachers.) Like the KKK, the women were nativists, anti-Semitic and anti-Catholic, organizing “Poison Squads” to denigrate enemies, and boycott immigrant-owned businesses.

“I hate talking this way,” says Lucinda before launching into another specious character assassination. “I really am a good person.”

The Ku Klux Klan issued the ladies’ chapters an organizing handbook, and Lucinda Davis (Barbara Roeder Harris) reads its advisories to her daughter-in-law Doris Davis (Megan Kaminsky), and Mabel Carson (Morgan Laurel Cohen) in planning sessions. Memberships in the WKKK are $10, which covers the cost of the robe and hood.

Mabel, the protagonist in the play, is an aspiring officer in the Mound chapter of the ladies KKK, encouraged by her husband, Tom Carson (Brad Harbaugh) into joining to advance the fortunes of their general store. An outsider, Mabel comes from Missouri (a Union state in the Civil War). As she witnesses Lucretia and Doris abuse David Stein (Richard Cotovsky), a Jewish reporter from the Chicago Tribune, Mabel pushes back, but only so far.

“Since when did we become so inhospitable to strangers?” she asks.
“Since these Jews and immigrants started taking over our country,” Lucinda replies venomously, pressuring Mabel until she turns Stein out in the night.

The performances and production values are good, with sets by Kevin Rolfs and costumes by Shelbi Wilkin. Mabel and Tom are a convincing couple with good chemistry. Harbaugh registers Tom’s pain convincingly, though Cohen’s conflicted Mabel cries so often that even the script calls it out.

The play is burdened with a subplot that seems forced, to presumably to add a dramatic structure to Invisible. Likewise some questionable subplots are forced into the mix.

For example, Stein is driven into the swamp where he is rescued by the mysterious 11 year old Ghost Girl (Maddy Fleming is quite good in her role). She brings him to her foster home on a prehistoric Indian Mound where she lives with Jubal (Lisa McConnell offers a boisterous performance).

The one person of color in this show, exotic, exuberant multi-ethnic Jubal, a former Chicago artist and sideshow performer, is the lone complainant about Klan-led injustice to black people – drumming and shouting in protest as corpses from lynchings pile up on the mound near her home. When Tom Carson tells her she will go to hell for her behavior, she drawls, “I am in hell, Master Tom – I lives in Mississippi!”

Jubal later convinces the reporter Stein to pitch a story about lynchings, and the Tribune agrees to cover it. A worthy endeavor, but a distraction from Invisible’s main story.
Nevertheless the performances are good, and the fundamental storyline strong enough to overcome these diversions. Bonnett’s works for Her Story Theater are aimed at “shining a light on women and children in need of social justice and community support.”

Invisible is intriguing, with its anti-immigrant tones resonating strongly today. And it shows how easily a woman can pressured socially down a perfidious path. But in highlighting the struggle of the protagonist Mabel amidst the racial depradations of the Klan against black people, the script indirectly conjures up another contemporary struggle – toxic white feminism. It's recommended. Invisible runs through November 3, 2019 at Stage 773, 1225 W. Belmont in Chicago.