I’ll let you all in on a little secret: Whenever I’m having a lousy day, I pull up YouTube and take in Mahalia Jackson’s performance of “Just a Closer Walk with Thee” at the 1970 Newport Jazz Festival. This performance is notable, of course, for the special guest who joins Mahalia onstage near the end: Louis Armstrong. It’s also notable for the fact that Satchmo would be dead in less than a year, and Mahalia would join him on “thy kingdom’s shore” in less than two. With that in mind, seeing this musical icon in the last bit of her life not only still in complete control of her stage and her audience (I dare you to find me any rock ‘n’ roll singer from that era, or any era, with such a commanding presence!), but exuding such joy, makes whatever gripes I might be imagining on any given day disappear.

That command, that presence, and that joy that Mahalia spread around the world are on display throughout the Black Ensemble Theater’s current production, Mahalia Jackson: Moving Thru the Light. Written and directed by the theater’s indefatigable, inspired, and inspiring founder, Jackie Taylor, the show is framed as a series of dialogues between a recently deceased Mahalia and a trio of heavenly beings there to welcome her to the afterlife. These scenes are fine — giving the audience biographical information about Mahalia’s life and her relationships both personal and political (MLK, JFK, and RFK, among them) — but mostly act as a breather between the show’s 18 wonderful musical numbers. Because, in a show about one of America’s finest musical talents, the music should be the message, right?

In the role of Mahalia, Robin DaSilva certainly has a large gospel robe to fill. But spread the gospel, she does. DaSilva’s voice is a beautiful instrument, ranging from a rich alto to shimmering highs, emoting pain and, yes, frequently spreading joy. She fills the stage and her vocals fill the theater. Joining DaSilva onstage throughout the show are Cynthia F. Carter, Dwight Neal, and Stewart Romeo as the “Masters,” three heavenly beings welcoming Mahalia to her heavenly reward. Carter charmed last year in the Theater’s tribute to Chuck Berry, and both Neal and Romeo are her equals, the trio’s voices blending effortlessly as they harmonize with Mahalia and with one another. The three also each shine on their own, with Carter’s voice showing quite a range, Neal’s tenor piercing the room, and Romeo’s energy and enthusiasm equaling his vocal prowess. During the show’s first half, an ensemble acts as the story’s narrators, but near the end of the second, they join us in a tribute to Mahalia’s life and music.

And again, it’s the music that is the star of the show. As I said, 18 different songs are featured, and many are the favorites that gospel fans would expect. From “How Great Thou Art” to “How I Got Over,” from “His Eye Is on the Sparrow” to “Precious Lord, Take My Hand,” all of Mahalia’s “hits” are there. The show ends with the crowd singing along to “Down by the Riverside” and “When the Saints Go Marching In.” And near the end of the first act, perhaps DeSilva’s finest performance comes as her Mahalia sings Rodgers and Hammerstein’s “You’ll Never Walk Alone.” But for me, it’s the tune that ends the first act that filled me with joy. As DaSilva’s Mahalia sings “When my feeble life is o’er” in her rendition of “Just a Closer Walk with Thee,” my heart soared as I was able to spend a beautiful spring Sunday afternoon with the music of this legend and the legions of likeminded fans who’d come to the Black Ensemble Theater to hear it.

Mahalia Jackson: Moving Thru the Light - through April 14th at Black Ensemble Theater.

All apologies to the teachers and professors who groomed me to be a ceaseless reader and sporadic writer — I never finished Anna Karenina. But while I never plowed through all 900 pages of Tolstoy’s novel, moments from the book have stayed with me. One of them is just a line, one seemingly effortless line among pages full of them, and what a line it is: “All the variety, all the charm, all the beauty of life is made up of light and shadow.”

As I reflect on the variety, the charm, and the beauty I was privileged to behold at the Joffrey Ballet’s world premiere of Yuri Possokhov’s production of his countryman’s classic, I realize I witnessed a whole world of light and shadow being created right there on the Auditorium Theatre’s stage.

The creation of that entire world was, most obviously, performed by Possokhov’s choreography carried out by the Joffrey’s outstanding company, of course. Victoria Jaiani’s Anna navigates said world in both light and shadow — beautiful but damaged, faced with reality but delirious. Her husband Karenin, towers over the stage, as portrayed by the magnificent Fabrice Calmels, as a stately, stern husband and father and statesman. Just as stately, while also boyish and beautiful, Alberto Velazquez’s Vronsky lures the audience just as he lures poor Anna. And parallel to the love triangle and tragedy that envelope those three is the love story between Yoshihisa Arai’s Levin and Anais Bueno’s Kitty. If the former affair gives us the shadow, then the latter relationship brings it into the light.

These lights and shadows do not flicker before us thanks solely to the dancers, however. No, the spectacle of sight and sound beyond the dancing are every bit as stunning. Tom Pye’s sets and David Finn’s lighting navigates from dusky railyards to sunny Tuscany, from opium dreams to canapé flings. Of the many delights dished out by the Joffrey’s Nutcracker, perhaps my favorite was its use of projections, and Finn Ross’ projections for 'Anna Karenina' equal those, coloring the story and conjuring spirits.

But from curtain to curtain, the visual thrills are always complemented and often eclipsed by Ilya Demutsky’s original score directed by Scott Speck. The Chicago Philharmonic’s accompaniment, shifting seamlessly from elegance to dissonance, while always both classic and contemporary, is joined by Lindsay Metzger’s mezzo-soprano — who literally joins the show by the end — to craft this world of light and shadow in multiple dimensions that quicken multiple sensations.

So join the Joffrey Ballet at the Auditorium Theatre for Anna Karenina through February 24, as all of these world-class talents work together to shade and illuminate, to craft and create the variety and the charm and the beauty one would expect from a hefty literary classic written a century-and-a-half ago and half a world away.

My gateway to Nina Simone fandom came when I was a kid, watching some crummy 90's action movie that was somehow soundtracked by Ms. Simone’s music. Her take on George Harrison’s “Here Comes the Sun” was both recognizable to young me as a Beatles tune, but it was also strange, alien, powerful, wistful, something completely different than anything I’d heard before. Not the song. But the singer. It was a gateway, for sure.

From there, I ended up with a CD reissue of her late-60s Sings the Blues album, an even better introduction for a clueless young white boy to this complicated genius — one with toe-tappers, showtunes, pop tunes, and yes, the blues. Perhaps the most powerful tune on there, perhaps one even too powerful for me at the time, was Langston Hughes’ “Backlash Blues,” which laments that “the world is big and bright and round and it’s full of folks like me who are black, yellow, beige, and brown.”

In the years since, I’ve grown, as my love and understanding of Nina Simone — the musician, the public figure, the strong woman, and the complex human being — has grown. And now maybe I’m old enough or wise enough or just ready to appreciate the picture of this woman and “folks like” her that Christina Ham’s Nina Simone: Four Women paints for us, as currently performed at Skokie’s Northlight Theatre, directed by Kenneth L. Roberson.

The play itself is named for one of Ms. Simone’s most powerful compositions, one about women “who are black, yellow, beige, and brown.” But it is also framed around what is perhaps an imagined 1960's fever dream of Ms. Simone’s, in the wake of the horrific 1963 bombing of Birmingham’s historic 16th Street Baptist Church in which four beautiful little African-American girls were murdered.

In the play, Ms. Simone is joined in the church’s wreckage by three other African-American women, each of them representing someone Nina sang about in “Four Women.” Above, I wondered if the play’s setting and the four women’s existence are perhaps imagined, based not only on Ms. Simone’s actual history, but her history of mental illness, as well.

The truth is, perhaps, somewhere in between, and that makes the play work. There are hints at Ms. Simone’s mental health throughout the play — voices and sounds she hears — but they don’t completely define her. And there are, for me at least, distracting bits of expository history — biographical details that might be fleshed out if this were a more standard “jukebox musical” — but I didn’t let them get in the way of the four women onstage. And those four women are what make the play work.

First, Sydney Charles is Nina Simone. And is she ever. I heard the rare complaint after the show that her character didn’t feel quite human. But that affect — that coldness, that stateliness, that hurt — seemed to me so in character. Ms. Charles voice, while very good, doesn’t quite match the richness and depth of Ms. Simone’s, but I’m not sure anyone’s does. But as the play went on, Charles’ voice grows stronger, as does her performance, until she is raging, proud, and loud at the world.

The strongest performance comes from the woman who shares the stage the longest with Ms. Charles — Deanna Reed-Foster’s Sarah. What could have veered into the territory of stereotype is fleshed out and deep thanks to the work of Ms. Reed-Foster, a Chicago actress whose work I realized I’ve seen on the TV show, Chicago Fire. If Nina Simone was perhaps superhuman in some ways and unable to convey the tenderness of humanity in others, “Auntie Sarah” gives the show its human and humane center, moving from fear to anger, from joy to sorrow, filling the theater with her beautiful voice and grounding the stage and the story on it.

The other two actresses in the show, Ariel Richardson and Melanie Brezill, also shine. Ms. Richardson brings us the 1960's modern woman, polished and self-assured, while Brezill (who was a highlight last year on the stage of the Chicago Children’s Theatre) shimmies, struts, and slurs as a more worldly woman, doing so in the performance I saw on a broken stiletto heel! The piano accompaniment and musical direction is provided by Daniel Riley, himself a part of the show for much of the evening.

So, while this play is not a standard jukebox musical about, nor a factual portrait of, one of our most gifted and enigmatic musical geniuses, I think it works because it is neither. Nina Simone couldn’t and cannot be separated from her music or her times or who she was or who people think she is. And, soundtracked by wonderful live performances of many of Ms. Simone’s most powerful songs, Nina Simone: Four Women doesn’t try to do any of those things. It lets Nina’s words and Nina’s music tell a story, even if her own story cannot be told.

Despite being both a writer and a fanboy of books aimed at readers much younger than I’ve been for what seems like millennia, I never got around to Rick Riordan’s Percy Jackson & the Olympians series. Maybe I thought it was a knockoff of the, at the time, immensely popular Harry Potter books. Or maybe I’d had enough of Greek mythology from my own junior high days.

Either way, I came into the Oriental Theatre to see the touring production of The Lightning Thief: The Percy Jackson Musical with no advanced knowledge, no preconceptions, and no great expectations. But then a thunderbolt hit, the show began, and I ended up very pleasantly surprised by the cast of gods, demi-gods, and enthusiastic actors and musicians who took the stage.

As luck would have it, the titular character’s played by Chris McCarrell, a Broadway vet who actually originated this very role Off-Broadway. So from start to finish, the production’s in good hands, as McCarrell is youthful, confident, and has a Hades of a voice. My date for the evening — my six-year-old daughter, only slightly younger than the audience’s average age, I’d wager — whispered to me after one of Percy’s songs, “Daddy, I think I love that boy who’s singing.” Judging by the applause and squeals, much of the crowd agreed with her.

The cast for this show is a small one, with most members playing multiple parts, and playing them well. Jorrel Javier features as both a trusty young sidekick and crotchety old god of the vine who’s traded in drunkenness, debauchery, and drama to be a camp counselor. Kristin Stokes’ voice filled the theater whenever her Annabeth (type-A daughter of Athena) sang. Like Stokes and McCarrell, James Hayden Rodriguez has been part of this show for a long time, and his experience showed as he played both an adolescent counselor and an ancient deity with charisma and charm.

But the two cast members who had me applauding and near squeals were Ryan Knowles and Jalynn Steele. Knowles is first seen as a stuffy, wheelchair-bound teacher of the classics, but quickly proves his verve and versatility, playing a centaur and a beach bum among many others. But his best moment was as a snaky, strutting, devilish diva of yore. Steele then one-ups Knowles’ diva with her own, bringing the house down to an underworld full of shimmy, shake, and some shoutouts to long-dead musical heroes that the audience’s older members recognized.

And that brings me to the thing about The Lightning Thief that stood out the most to me. While there were bits here and there meant to appease the oldsters — pop-culture references, old-school mugging — this production felt young. It could’ve been the thrown-together (I mean that in a good way) but thoughtful set and costumes designed by Lee Savage and Sydney Maresca. Or it could’ve been the clubby lighting by David Lander. All of those things were fresh.

But I think what made The Lightning Thief seem so new and fresh to me is that it is new and fresh. It’s got the feel of the kids these days (again, meant in a good way). It’s not trying to be cool. It just is cool. It’s not trying to shoehorn ancient stuff like gods and monsters into today’s world. It just does so. I found it fun and inspiring and I’ve gotta say, it proved to be the gateway drug that’ll find my daughter and me checking out the book series on which the stage show is based.

The above phrase has become a regular one spoken in my home and in the homes of friends in the village of Skokie, first as an inside joke and now as a communal mantra. A mantra of togetherness. A mantra of character. A mantra of love.

That same mantra kept playing in my mind as the Bartlett Sher-directed touring production of Bock and Harnick’s timeless Fiddler on the Roof created a village on the stage of the Cadillac Palace Theatre. Sure, the sets carried us back to turn of the century Eastern Europe. And sure, those beloved songs and that well-known story transport us to the village of Anatekva. But it’s the people who populate that shtetl — and the talented actors of this production who portray them — that bring the village to life.

From the get-go, the face and voice of the village is Yehezkel Lazarov’s Tevye. An Israeli actor and director, Lazarov brings a similar old-world grit and charm to the character that Topol did in the film version. He’s funny and personable, sure, but also tired and wistful and, perhaps, a bit broken as he lays out his life to his audience and his G-d. My favorite number from Fiddler, and the one I most connect with as a father and as someone in a profession that isn’t as profitable as those held by my peers, is “If I Were a Rich Man,” and Lazarov nails it, hitting the humorous notes and the cantorial ones, as well. But beyond his skill at singing and dancing on a Broadway stage, it’s Lazarov’s ability to flesh out Tevye and bring him to life that did it for me.

Tevye’s daughters, played by Mel Weyn (Tzeitel), Ruthy Froch (Hodel), and Natalie Powers (Chava), are the other standouts. Again, as the father and mother of daughters, my wife and I were all too familiar with the complex mix of side-eye glances, huffiness, and adoration that Tevye’s girls show him. Weyn, Froch, and Powers nail it when it comes to portraying a family. And they nail it, too, musically. Particularly when the trio takes on “Matchmaker, Matchmaker,” their voices blend and their harmonies soar as if they actually are siblings singing together.

The other main roles are adequately filled, as well. Carol Beaugard, as said matchmaker Yente, is a hoot. Maite Uzal effectively plays Tevye’s foil, his acerbic, realistic, and ultimately loving wife, Golde. Jesse Weil, Ryne Nardecchia, and Joshua Logan Alexander all do well as Tevye’s daughters’ suitors.

But it’s the rest of the folks in the cast — the ensemble and the musicians — who really make the village. The bottle dance at the wedding that ends Act I is, for sure, a main highlight. But the village of folks that make up the busyness and beauty behind each of the show’s big numbers is what grabs the eyes and hearts of the audience. Whether it’s the bustling Anatekva of “Tradition,” the drunken Jews and Gentiles who come together if only for a moment in “To Life,” or the specters that haunt “Tevye’s Dream,” the ensemble shines throughout. So, too, does the orchestra, conducted and coordinated by Michael Uselmann and John Mezzio, fill the big shoes that Fiddler’s musical legacy requires. Ionut Cosarca on violin strings us along from the pit, just as and spirited Paul Morland does in his role as the titular Fiddler.

So, to see a new take on a classic this holiday season, and to see a cast of skilled creatives make the village this classic takes, head to the Cadillac Palace Theatre from now until January 6 for Fiddler on the Roof.

I’ve gotta admit — as my six-year-old daughter and I entered the Chicago Children’s Theatre’s main stage and took our seats, one of us wasn’t having any of it. One of us, of course, remembered the enchanting play we’d taken in there earlier this year, and could not stop talking about that production and the hopes that this one would be every bit as enchanting. The other one of us griped to himself that the seats were too low, that rabbits are pests and definitely should not be named (Flopsy, Mopsy, Cottontail, or Peter), and that Sunday mornings should not be spent thinking about such things in the first place. And then a bit of magic happened…

That magic came from the Victorian-attired and jauntily British-accented cast of the theatre’s current production, The Beatrix Potter Holiday Tea Party. Welcoming each of the theatergoers, be they little girls in dresses or grumpy dads in baggy-eyed delirium, Lara Carling and Kay Kron began quite the work of transporting us, which is the goal of all good theater, I suppose. They interacted with people, asking them about animals and school and the like. They smiled. They promised that once the play was over, we’d be able to play with whatever things their play would utilize. And then they took the stage, surrounded by closed trunks and cylinders and boxes and backed by Ray Rehberg and his one-man orchestra of stringed instruments and electronic gadgets. And the play began.

In each of the three stories that Carling, Kron, and Rehberg told us (all three based on beloved tales by Victorian magic-maker, Beatrix Potter), said trunks and boxes and cylinders were opened to reveal characters and settings rendered in the style of those beloved Potter books. Mrs. Tittlemouse. Mr. Jackson, the toad. Squirrel Nutkin. Old Brown, the owl. Mr. McGregor. And that rascally rabbit, Peter. Through the use of hand-cranks and props, sound effects and song, each of these well-known characters came to life and their stories kept us all — old and young alike — entranced until the end.

And in the end, after the children rushed the stage to touch and feel the things they had just seen, we were ushered back into the theater’s lobby for hot cocoa and cookies. And, I’ve gotta admit, we enjoyed those Sunday morning treats, the both of us, with smiles on our faces at the wondrous tales we’d just been told.

The Beatrix Potter Holiday Tea Party is being performed at Chicago Children’s Theatre through December 30th. For more show information visit www.chicagochildrenstheatre.org.

In the time I’ve been reviewing theater for this revered publication, I’ve often found myself quietly judging minutiae that’s occurred in productions that coincidentally share personal interests or obsessions of mine. While watching wonderful takes on the Buddy Holly Story or Roger Miller’s Broadway show, Big River, I’ve had to stop myself from critiquing changes made to increase a show’s entertainment and that only offend geeks like me. In a recent example of a show I was not there to review, my wife — as we sat together on a rare date to watch the movie, Bohemian Rhapsody — I was told to stop with comments such as “‘Fat Bottomed Girls’ hadn’t even been written at this point in Queen’s career!”

So, when I entered the Den Theatre to see their holiday musical parody of that Christmas classic, Die Hard, I worried that my personal obsession with said film might color my enjoyment of the show at hand. Thankfully, for you the reader and for the wonderful and enthusiastic cast who are performing Yippee Ki-Yay Merry Christmas from now through January 12, I walked out of opening night with a smile on my face and a spring in my (barefooted and broken-glass-encrusted) step. This show is not only that much fun, but is both enjoyable for the fair-weather fan of the film franchise or those of us who have watched the series’ initial installment (and perhaps some or all of the others) way too many times.

Don’t get me wrong…this is not a careful reenactment of NYPD Detective John McClane’s bloody Christmas Eve high in an LA skyscraper 30 years ago. Instead, it’s an often smart and always smiling holiday sendup of the movie’s most memorable characters, quotes, and moments — all of them done with love, with enthusiasm, and with good humor.

We begin with Bill Gordon as “Bruce McClane” — already barefooted, always sucking down a Marlboro Red, ever reminding us that he’s a hardened New York City cop in California for Christmas and to save his marriage. Gordon’s plays the same gruff everyman that Bruce Willis created in 1988, overplaying it to comic effect. And the same as three decades ago, Caitlyn Cerza’s “Holly Generic” is Bruce’s glass-ceiling-breaking, fax-sending, shoulder-padded-blazer-wearing wife — with her determination to make it in this man’s world no less a point made, even as it makes us chuckle, than it was back then.

The third main character, also defined by the outfit he wears, is Gary Fields’ take on Alan Rickman’s timeless villain, Hans Gruber. The character is renamed here, for the kind of kitschy comic effect that this play’s full of, to poke fun at the overall movie culture of those fondly remembered decades. Fields’ overdone British-doing-German-terrorist accent, his sleek suit (“John Phillips, London,” he reminds us, ad nauseam), and his overall regal ghoulishness not only honor the late Rickman’s genius, but show what fun the original performance was and what an impact it has had on our pop-culture consciousness.

But while the three main characters ground the musical, it’s the rest of the cast (and their songs and shenanigans) that let it take flight. Above, I used the term “enthusiastic” a time or two already. And that’s the word that keeps coming back to me as I remember what I saw on the Den Theatre stage. The cast does show, as so many casts on Chicago stages do, what talent we have in this city of ours. But even more so, the members of this cast show how funny, and how game, our Windy City thespians can be.

I wondered what fun the show might have with Reginald VelJohnson’s Sergeant Al Powell, and I wasn’t disappointed. Terrance Lamonte Jr. plays the character christened “Carl Winslow” (a callout to VelJohnson’s most famous role, and one more bit of pop-culture geekery for the geeks in the crowd), and while he’s fun and funny throughout, it’s a 70s sex jam early on that he sings to a beloved snack cake that brings the house down.

Jenna Steege also steals the show as the movie’s sleezy, mustached cokehead character. Her moment to snort and shine comes with a gospel performance paying tribute to her drug of choice, with powder a-flying, choir a-clapping, tambourines a-clanging and things getting way out of hand in the best way possible.

Nate Curlott as an FBI agent has what could also be the show’s stopper, a boisterous anthem of patriotism, beer, and machismo. And Jin Kim’s Nakatomi landed joke after joke about 80s gamer culture, leaving my gamer brother-in-law who accompanied me nearly on the floor.

But the MVP of this musical is surely Erin Long as tow-headed terrorist siblings, Klaus and Tony. As Klaus, Long is a bundle of constant movement, clever asides, and manic humor. But it’s an early tap-dancing number as Tony where she shows she’s an all-around entertainer.

Again, if you love the movie Die Hard as much as I do, you will love this smart and sassy sendup of it. But if you just want to, in the words of McClane, “Come out to the coast…get together…have a few laughs,” then Yippee Ki-Yay Merry Christmas is also the hilarious holiday play for you. At Den Theatre through January 12, 2019.

I arrived at the Auditorium Theatre — one of my favorite buildings in this city of ours that has so many historic buildings each with so many stories — prepared to enjoy an evening with that old Holiday chestnut, The Nutcracker. Little did I know that for the third year in a row, the Joffrey Ballet would be presenting Tchaikovsky’s work with a twist — as a story by Brian Selznick set in Chicago during the World’s Columbian Exposition of 1893. Now, being a history buff, the setting (or settings, since I was already aware of the theatre’s history) perked me up upon reading the program pre-show. And seeing the name of the story’s author, this author of children’s books was excited to see what Selznick, a personal favorite, had in store. I wouldn’t be disappointed with the wonder and whimsy headed my way.

Right away, instead of a bourgeois European Christmastime, we’re transported to working-class Chicago circa Christmas 1892. A Victorian-clad girl played by Amanda Assucena navigates the rough and rat-infested streets of a Windy City that’s awaiting the completion and opening of the great World’s Fair in the coming year, its towering Ferris Wheel overlooking the knot-holed fences and rag-covered rapscallions she passes. A Dickensian rat catcher and the Fair’s Impresario are two recurring characters we meet before Marie arrives at the meager shack she shares with her mother and brother in the shadow of the White City.

There, the family is visited by various other working-people and immigrants for a holiday celebration. And soon, the Impresario himself, played by Miguel Angel Blanco, arrives with gifts, including a Nutcracker for young Marie. From here until the end of Act I, this Nutcracker shares much with traditional productions, with a broken Nutcracker, a nighttime dream, rats and soldiers a-fighting, and a magical gondola arriving to take Marie and the transformed Nutcracker off to a winter wonderland.

But after the intermission, Act II brings a very different wonderland — the White City of 1893 Chicago. First off, the magic comes from the strength of Tchaikovsky’s music. Every time I hear the melody after melody, each of them recognizable, of the second half, I’m reminded of just how ubiquitous this work is. Each piece has become embedded in society’s consciousness ever in the 125+ years since they were penned and premiered. And each piece is played wonderfully by the Chicago Philharmonic (three of whose musicians take the stage in the first half as players at the house party).

The World’s Fair setting, however, allows each piece a new meaning, as what were then (again, 125 years ago) exotic people dance along to Tchaikovsky’s original works. Highlights include Fernando Duarte as a hammy and hysterical Mother Nutcracker (thronged by the children’s ensemble playing hilarious cracking walnuts); Hansol Jeong’s Chinese Dancer, accompanied by the ensemble as paper dragons; and Rory Hohenstein (who was also the rat catcher) as a rootin’, tootin’ Buffalo Bill Cody surrounded by three frolicking showgirls (Lucia Connolly, Dara Holmes, and Joanna Wozniak) who would definitely attract fairgoers in 1893 or today. But the highlight of the Fair’s attractions are the Arabian Dancers, played by Jeraldine Mendoza and Dylan Gutierrez. Mendoza contorts, writhes, and dances as Gutierrez lifts and balances and turns — and the audience erupted when their dance was done all too soon.

The only dancers almost as enchanting as Mendoza and Gutierrez are Victoria Jaiani (who also plays Marie’s mother) and Blanco, as the Queen of the Fair and the Impresario. They close this Nutcracker with the kind of grace and beauty one would expect not just from such a beloved ballet, but from such an accomplished ballet company. So, while the Joffrey’s take on The Nutcracker might be different, it is as enchanting as ever, as professional as one would expect, and the perfect way to begin the holiday season in the White City of Chicago.

When Schönberg and Boublil’s Miss Saigon made its original run in the early 90s, I missed it — too far away to catch a traveling performance, and too young to have seen or even afforded to see it. And back then, I was way too young to have really understood the big, Important (with a capital I) issues the musical raised, or which were raised by its very being. Sure, I knew many of the show’s songs, from the ubiquitous double-CD soundtrack that seemed to exist in the music collection of nearly every person I knew. But like they say, that Miss Saigon was wasted on the young.

So given the chance to see the current touring production currently playing at the Cadillac Palace Theatre, I sat down not so young, but ready to finally see the show I thought I’d known all those years. And while it was every bit the spectacle I imagined, my experience — and the experiences our world has had — added even more substance and complexity to an already substantial and complex tale.

First, the spectacle. Many of the touring productions coming through Chicago are great but feel pared down compared to shows that would stay for extended periods. Perhaps it’s also the style of recent shows, as well, to be economical and sparse when it comes to stage design. But that’s not the case with this Miss Saigon.

The sets dazzle, with red-light signs flashing, American flags waving, Ho Chi Minh glaring, and chopper blades throbbing. The costumes, too, transport you, to brothels catering to America GIs, huts housing the Vietnamese whose land they’ve overrun, and embassy gates closed to some.

The ensemble dazzles, as well, making the cast seem even larger than it is. Whether it’s said servicemen out for a bit of R&R or the women whose lot in life is to provide it, whether it’s postwar Communist soldiers marching in file, or postwar American men looking to provide for the children fathered half a world away, the cast fills all the roles the show requires, and they fill them well.

The ensemble really earns its pay during the showstopper near the end when Red Concepcion’s pimp, The Engineer, champions that elusive “American Dream” — high-stepping and singing as The Engineer preens and prances. Concepcion’s Engineer takes on even more meaning than perhaps he would have 25 years ago, as the fast-talking, macho-walking archetype who’ll use others — particularly those less powerful than himself — is one fully come to life. So, too, do some of his lines hit hard, especially the added bit about “Cocaine, shotguns, and prayer—hallelujah!” being the American dream, of then or now. But whether portraying the awfulness of yesteryear or that which we now face, Concepcion steals the show.

That’s not to say the rest of the cast isn’t wonderful. Starting the second act, J. Daughtry’s John changes from a typical young Marine at war to a man who’s been changed by the things he saw and did while there. Leading a men’s chorus in “Bui Doi,” a song about the children fathered by American soldiers and “born in strife,” Daughtry’s voice rises above the chorus and the moving pictures of children projected behind him, reaching for the rafters even as it laments the lows of humanity’s inhumanity.

Anthony Festa, as John’s fellow Marine Chris, also subverts the macho American infantryman one would expect. Whether it’s the touching “Wedding Ceremony” he shares with Kim (hauntingly chorused by the female ensemble members into something like a hymn) or his duet with her on “Last Night of the World,” a “song played on a solo saxophone, a crazy sound, a lonely sound,” he cries “a cry that tells us love goes on and on.”

But it is Emily Bautista as Kim whose cry is the loudest, the loveliest, and goes on and on across the Cadillac’s stage. Bautista brings both vulnerability and strength to a role that in lesser hands might very well be engulfed by such a grand staging. From singing to and with Chris of the sun and moon, to telling the son she had with him that “I’d Give My Life for You,” Kim’s life is the focus, from her entrance to her exit.

And everything in between is what will surely take the breath away and break the hearts of anyone in attendance of this production of Miss Saigon, a production that not only shines a light on an unfortunate international moment of the past, but on the continued problems with humanity and inhumanity with which our world still struggles.

Having been close with many people with disabilities over the course of my life, I’m often hesitant when it comes to media about such individuals. Too often, books or films or plays dealing with disabilities end up being either demeaning to the folks who have them or cloying and saccharine to the audience. Earlier in this young millennium, I was thrilled to find and read Mark Haddon’s novel, The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time, a rare tale that falls into neither of these traps. Haddon’s novel became a favorite of mine, its important-sounding title (taken from a line in a Sherlock Holmes story) hinting at the very big steps taken by its protagonist and narrator, a British teen afflicted with autism. And now I can say that the Steppenwolf Theatre’s current stage production based on the novel has become one of the best shows I’ve seen — this year or any other, in Chicago or elsewhere.

In the role of Christopher, said protagonist, is Terry Bell in his first Steppenwolf production. The key to Bell inhabiting the role of Christopher isn’t that he makes the boy’s Britishness real any more than that he realistically portrays autism. No, Bell’s performance is stunning in that he makes Christopher human. While tics and traits are given to the lad, it’s the vulnerability, intellect, and emotion that Bell gives Christopher that made him so real, so human. This was an actual person I saw up there, not a type or a trope or a character. Whether Christopher is doing math, navigating London, fighting with his father, or reading long-lost letters, he is a real boy, not just someone up on a stage.

The rest of the Steppenwolf cast take their duty of realism just as seriously. Cedric Mays plays Christopher’s father as a loving but over-extended parent doing his best to raise his boy. Rebecca Spence, as Christopher’s mother, is heartbreaking as the broken woman who finally felt she couldn’t.

One of my biggest concerns coming into the play was how the first-person narration of the novel would translate to the stage. Would the audience be submitted to one character’s constant exposition? How would Christopher’s story work? Well, thanks to the shining performance of Caroline Neff as Siobhan, Christopher’s schoolteacher, I needn’t have worried. Neff acts as narrator for much of the play, while also acting the part of a nurturing and knowledgeable caregiver for Christopher. If only all children, regardless of their disabilities or lack thereof, could have as loving and caring a teacher as the one Neff has created.

And, as the production has been tailored not just to standard audiences, but to those who share Christopher’s disabilities (and abilities!), with information on the novel and play’s background provided, with discussions led by the cast, and even with accommodating and accessible performances for anyone to enjoy, I can tell you that not only is this a caring play onstage, but beyond the stage, as well.

The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time is being performed at Steppenwolf Theatre through October 27th. For more information, please visit www.steppenwolf.org.