Displaying items by tag: TJ Anderson

With their usual care and commitment, Black Button Eyes Productions is introducing ‘Whisper House’, a musical ghost story about loss, love and not giving up, to Chicago. The premise is promising. A young boy loses his Airman father in the Pacific during WWII, a loss that his mother cannot handle. He is sent to live with his aunt Lily in a lighthouse in Maine that she tends with the assistance of a Japanese immigrant who somehow got stranded there on his way to find his future. There’s a law-and-order sheriff who may have feelings for Lily. Or not. And there are the tunefully malignant and omnipresent ghosts, who frequently opine that everyone would be better off dead. The pedigree of the musical is impressive, with music and lyrics by Duncan Sheik of Spring Awakening fame and book and additional lyrics by Kyle Jarrow (‘Spongebob Squarepants Musical’). Unfortunately, the plot is predictable, the music bland, and the ghostly sirens quickly grow tiresome—why they want everyone to be miserable or dead is not entirely clear. It is thanks to director Ed Rutherford’s well-paced and elegant staging, and the sincerity of the talented cast, that ‘Whisper House’ is an engaging and ultimately moving love story. Though the resolution, when it comes, is wholly anticipated (except for those Ghosts, whose denouement surprises even them, as the lyrics acknowledge), it is surprisingly affecting. ‘Whisper House’ as a musical is a mess—it feels incomplete and prosaic, like the suspended ambitions of its characters—but the strong Black Button Eyes ensemble reveals the heart that no doubt drew them to this imperfect rumination on the need for love and the ways that humans push it away.

Most of the problems with ‘Whisper House’ stem from the musical’s transparently thin plot and mostly forgettable (with the occasional catchy hook) score. The trite lyrics channel pop psychology via Edward Gorey. The narrative conveniently brings together characters who are bound to mistrust one another: Christopher is sent to the last place on Earth he wants to be to live with an aunt he never met after the death of his father in a firefight with Japanese pilots. A Japanese caretaker helps Lily with household chores she cannot easily do (because of her limp), as well as offering companionship. Also looking in periodically is Charles, a flag-waving law enforcement officer. Christopher is immediately distrustful of Yasuhiro and the rabidly nationalistic Charles is just looking for a reason to get rid of him. Lily is haunted both literally and figuratively by the memory of a yacht that sank 20 years earlier, leading her to mistrust herself even when her instincts are sound. The stage is set for a claustrophobic clash of characters and cultures. And then, there are the ghosts of two stylish drowning victims. It’s hard to tell whether the creators wanted the ghosts to serve as metaphors for the living characters’ hurtful instincts or as actual characters. To the credit of director Ed Rutherford and his team of collaborators, he is able to keep a hold on the humanity of the characters and the genuine good will of the plot to deliver a slight, but entertainingly moving yarn. Rutherford could have done more to flesh out purpose and through-line for the ghostly narrators, and, despite a valiant effort by the design team, the smallish stage makes it difficult to portray multiple locations, including the ocean and an adjoining lighthouse, while also accommodating an onstage backing band. However, the care that was invested in the staging ultimately pays off. Set designer Nikolaj Sorensen focuses on the kitchen of the lighthouse and keeps the space open enough to convey the other locations, albeit with efficient but clunky scene changes (which the occasionally corporeal and accommodating ghosts incorporate into Derek Van Barham’s 1920’s-inspired choreography). With the addition of the color-saturated lighting design of Liz Cooper, nifty period props by Adrian Hadlock, and creaky-spooky sound effects by Robert Hornbostel, the design team effectively creates the gloomy, desolate backdrop the story requires. Costume designer Rachel M. Sypniewski further adds to the effect, with simple, drab costumes for the humans who have no one to dress for (except for the Sheriff, whose uniform is his mask) and stylish Jazz Age formal wear for the ghosts, though, in keeping with their tragic fate, they dress in funereal white and black. Much credit also goes to musical director/conductor/musician Micky York and the other members of the six-piece ensemble, who create a spectrum of musical backdrops for the narrative and generally maintain the right balance with the vocals—not easy in a space of this size and configuration.

At the outset, we are introduced to the characters that in the ghosts believe would be better off dead. The guilt-ridden Christopher wants to care for his mother as he promised but is instead sent to stay with his father’s estranged sister. Leo Spiegel impressively captures Christopher’s grief, outrage and sense of powerlessness, though he does seem to take the omnipresence of ghosts in the lighthouse too much in stride (if ghosts told me I should be afraid, I would take their advice). Kate Nawrocki is the show’s anchor as Christopher’s aunt, who requests that he avoid addressing her as Ma’am or Aunt, insisting on Miss Lily. Pragmatic to the point of being cold, Nawrocki’s Lily nevertheless allows a sly sense of humor and genuine compassion to temper her bone-dry delivery. The growing connection between Spiegel’s needy and impudent Christopher and Nawrocki’s equally needy and uncompromising Lily is a high point in the show. Also living on the lighthouse property is Yasuhiro, who has forged a quiet but strong camaraderie with Lily. It is clear from the start that Lily and Yasuhiro share a bond, but misgivings about their different backgrounds, coupled with ghostly interference and the implementation of Executive Order 9066, keep them from acknowledging this. Karmann Bajuyo fortunately sidesteps the potential for melodrama in his character, offering a quietly self-deprecating and warmly humorous portrayal that provides a softer counterpoint to the flinty Lily. As Charles, the local sheriff who fully embraces the jingoistic and xenophobic patriotism that characterized some of America’s home front response to WWII, T.J. Anderson is cast against type. Lacking the hulking physical presence that one would expect of this stereotypical bully, Anderson tries to create a more complex character than the writing can support, coming across as a nice guy hiding behind toxic attitudes and braggadocio. This attempt at depth throws too much light on the two-dimensional writing and makes one wish for a more conventional bad guy. Anderson’s Charles also is no match for either Lily or Yasuhiro, which means he must rely solely on his badge and gun to intimidate (which violence designer Brendan Hutt wisely acknowledges when Charles’ racism inevitably—and unnecessarily—leads to violence). Mikaela Sullivan and Kevin Webb, as the waterlogged victims of 20-year-old shipwreck, play their roles with macabre relish. They have the voices and musical acumen to move easily through the various pop genres of the score, and beguilingly address both audience and the living characters they torment. Despite thoroughly enjoyable performances, one is still left wondering exactly what these two ghosts need or want (the reason given for their presence does not adequately explain their behavior): revenge? connection? company? all of the above? With these questions left unanswered, it can be occasionally frustrating to watch the spirits alternately charm, comfort, frighten, and belittle the living, often magnifying their most self-destructive musings.

This ghost story would be better off without its ghosts (despite charming and tuneful portrayals by Mikaela Sullivan and Kevin Webb), who mostly meddle in the living characters’ lives by amplifying their fears, misjudgments and self-doubts. They don’t need ghosts to do that for them. And, as much of the musical portion of the musical belongs to the ghostly interlopers, the predictable but ultimately moving story of a family thrown together by blood and circumstance is nearly drowned out by synth-pop hauntings. The balance is so off that it seems touch and go whether the excellent ensemble—with Kate Nawrocki, Karmann Bayuyo and Leo Spiegel as reluctant allies who need to learn trust at its heart—can land the emotional cargo. They do, and there is no denying that this is a good time for a reminder that compassion, and love can heal both a wounded heart and a wounded world. ‘Whisper House’ is decidedly not great theater, but as a musical curiosity it is mostly innocuous and entertaining, and Ed Rutherford’s cast ensures surely propels the plot to a satisfying and emotional conclusion, though a true resolution does not materialize. 

‘Whisper House’ runs through February 15 at the Athenaeum Theatre, 2936 N. Southport Avenue, Chicago. Tickets are available at athenaeumtheatre.org, by calling (773)935-6875 or in person at the Athenaeum Theatre Box Office.

As the Chicago premiere of Dave Malloy’s Ghost Quartet was set to start, a cast member walked across the stage, stopping to thank us for attending before adding, “See you on the other side,” in the spookiest voice and with the spookiest face, setting the stage for more than an hour of spooky musical and musicality to come.

I was not too familiar with the content of Malloy’s “song cycle” before the show, only aware that he’d also penned the renowned Tony winner, Natasha, Pierre & The Great Comet of 1812. I’d also given a preliminary listen to some of Ghost Quartet’s soundtrack during morning train rides, finding a favorite here or there among the play’s songs, but leaving myself in the dark as to its story.

Having seen the show now, I’m still not sure the story is any clearer, but I’m pretty sure that’s purposeful (and why it’s referred to as a “song cycle”). And I’m pretty sure that titling it a “Quartet” is a perfect label. Because over the course of an hour-and-a-half (with no intermission), the story (or stories, as Poe and Scheherazade and Thelonious Monk and a telescope and a bear and a subway and, I think, Little Red Riding Hood, are all mashed up together) became secondary to everything else the audience was offered. And because over the course of said production (directed by Ed Rutherford), the four-piece cast acts much as a classical or vocal quartet does — playing with and off one another to deliver a delightful and disparate musical program.

The feel of a musical program (as opposed to a musical musical) is highlighted with the introduction of each of the 20 tunes — each “track” presented as part of an album or a mixtape. Some of the songs are part of a greater whole (perhaps this could be described as a “concept album”?), but many stand alone on their own musical merits. The ethereal “Starchild” is equal parts Bowie and ballade. “Any Kind of Dead Person” rollicks and frolics into Klezmer territory. “Fathers and Sons” is a duet, both vocally and via cooperative percussion. And “Four Friends” is one of the better drinking songs I’ve heard in quite some time (seriously, I wish I’d known that chorus back in my whiskey-drinking days!).

But each of those songs, and the other 16 that make up the show, are only as powerful or playful or seductive or stunning as the four extraordinary talents who give them life. And what extraordinary talents each of the four cast members possesses.

Possessed of extraordinary talent both vocally and physically, Amanda Raquel Martinez (the one whose spooky salutation greeted us) brings the chills throughout. At times displaying an operatic soprano, at others displaying the ability to contort her face into a possession that’d make Linda Blair’s head spin, Martinez had my focus through the show, and my musician’s admiration, as well, as she played ukulele, guitar, accordion, and percussion throughout.

Martinez’s counterpart Rachel Guth earned my equal admiration, come to think of it. Going from vixenish to virtuous, from gangly and girlish to sultry and seductive, Guth displayed an acting range only bolstered by her timeless look and her ability to sing anything from heartbreaking ballad to boozy barroom belter.

But if it seemed I couldn’t peel my gaze from Martinez or Guth, I think the cast member I watched with the most awe was Alex Ellsworth. Ellsworth played the cello for the entire show, grounding the quartet in its stringed roots. And while he played various roles (and some percussion), it was Ellsworth’s ability to make the cello just about anything but a cello that kept drawing my eyes and ears to his corner of the stage (decorated eerily and beautifully by Jeremy Hollis, I should add). At times it was a violin, at others a fiddle. When needed it provided ethereal sound effect. And at one point it was held on Ellsworth’s lap like a giant banjo and strummed with a pick. About the only thing Ellsworth’s cello didn’t do was harmonize with the other three actors — thankfully its owner’s got an enviable knack for vocal harmonies that turned a trio into a foursome.

And the fourth of the foursome, T.J. Anderson, I’d liken to that oft-forgotten stepchild of the string quartet, the viola, if you don’t mind me keeping on with that analogy. While his castmates might have gotten the juiciest parts to play (remember, this story’s made up of many stories, so each actor fills quite a few roles) and the choicest songs to sing, Anderson holds the whole thing together. He does so on the piano, which he plays for most of the show (accompanied here and there by man-behind-the-curtain musical director Nick Sula). He does so while pounding a tom-tom or while donning a black leather jacket. He does so by making each of the other three better and the sum of their parts greater.

So, if you’re looking to see four of our city’s talented actor/singer/musician types who I hope we all come to know better tackle a “song cycle” that you’ll leave knowing better, catch Black Button Eyes’ Ghost Quartet at Stage 773 from now until August 17.