The Total Bent is a musical show so delightful I wish I could shrink it down, put it in a shoebox and show it to all my friends. But you can (and should) go see it full scale at Den Theatre, where it runs through March 10.

Ostensibly the story traces a British record producer’s effort to record a Gospel music prodigy in Montgomery, Alabama. But to be truthful the real story told by playwrights Heidi Rodewald and Stew depict with color and verve the personal journey of a creative spirit – Marty Roy (Gilbery Domally) – as he finds his voice and attains fame on a global stage.

All that is set against a sweeping portrait of the tense interplay between black music and African-American culture as the Civil Rights movement seized the day. It is told through the oedipal battle of a father and son who are at odds around matters, spiritual, social and musical.

The Total Bent features Chicago treasure Robert Cornelius as Montgomery preacher Joe Roy who has built his career as a Bible-thumping televangelist and Gospel music recording artist. This role taps Cornelius's wonderfully expressive baritone, and his stentorian delivery in the dialog.

But it is Gilbery Domally, as Joe’s young adult son, who steals the show, channelling the role of Marty Roy. He is dazzling! Domally is more like a force of nature than mere performer as he traverses a role that sees him evolve from his father’s hidden spiritual musical muse, moving across multiple musical styles and stage personae as he navigates toward his creative apotheosis on the world stage.

All this is told with an acerbic wit, and that ironic twist we get from the likes of Donald Glover, Jordan Peel, and Spike Lee.
From the moment Marty Roy prances onto the stage, we are treated to a continuous critique of his father, and an uproarious and irreverent running commentary on the conflicts between those clinging to the status quo in the Jim Crow South, as Black Power emerged.

Joe Roy is celebrated for his inspiring, traditional Gospel songs. But to keep the song mill moving, he relied on his wife, now gone, and now his son Marty, to pen the music. As the social revolution rocks Montgomery and the South, Marty encourages his father to tap into it in his preaching and singing, and provides him a lovely song with a scathing refrain: “That’s why he’s Jesus and you’re not, Whitey.” Marty asks the Music Director (Jermain Hill, who also plays Deacon Charlie, is a stitch) to do a retake: "Try a less church-y sound," he says. "I am such a pest!" 

Siding with social conservatives, “This protesting stuff is going to ruin everything,” Joe Roy tells his son. “Is there any real money in it?” He advises Montgomery's white people to ride the buses to combat the boycott by blacks that was launched by Rosa Parks. “If our spiritual rights were in order, we wouldn’t need no civil rights,” he advises his African-American followers.

Then Marty Roy skips across to stage right, waves his hand, and offers an explanation to the audience (it's hard to imagine today, but most white people regarded Parks as a villain): “This all be the past, and shit.” Rather than labor in his father's vineyard, Marty sets out to become a secular music writer, and we watch him transform in stages, becoming a James Brown soul singer with carefully choreographed back-ups, to a Prince-like apparition who has continuous bookings in London.

The Total Bent is largely a sung work, with limited amounts of dialog. It is the latest theatrical script by the creative team of Heidi Rodewald, and Stew. The two rose to fame with Passing Strange, which won a Tony, an Obie, and a Drama Critics Circle Award in 2008. Stew (he doesn’t use his last name, See) is a singer, songwriter, and leader of a pop-rock band in Los Angeles called The Negro Problem, which recorded Post Minstrel Syndrome in 1997. As this background suggest, Stew mines a rich vein of “detached black irony” in his creations.

The music is wonderful, two band members also characters: Frederick Harris as Deacon Dennis; and Jermain Hill as Deacon Charlie. Outstanding also were supporting cast members Michael Turrentine as Andrew and Breon Arzell as Abee – the duo deftly taking on a variety of comical roles as church ladies and bumpkins.

Among so many striking aspects of the show, we get to see and hear several songs composed, Joe Roy's sacred version, then a retake by Marty Roy in a profane rock style. One such is "Sinner I Know You're Lost." It's a lovely classic hymn as Joe Roy originates it; but it is transporting when Marty Roy redoes it in a swinging rock style, coupled with the refrain, "I gotta get up on the cross." 

The Total Bent is highly recommended on its own merits, and especially to see Gilbery Domally’s amazing performance. Jointly produced by Haven Theatre and About Face Theatre, it features dummer Christian Moreno on drums, Anthony Rodriguez on winds, Derek Duleba on guitar, and Kurt Shelby on Bass. It’s at the Den Theatre through March 17.

Before he was Twilight Zone’s scriptwriter and frontman, Rod Serling broke through with the 1956 teleplay of Requiem for a Heavyweight, a powerful noire telling of a boxer on his way down. This work was originally broadcast live in black and white, and starred Jack Palance, Keenan Wynn, and Kim Hunter. In those days it was performed just once, and in this case the lone recording is of moderate quality. 

Putting such a teleplay onto the stage is transformative for the work. The audience is not limited to the camera’s viewpoint, but it tests the writing and of course, the performances. We can report that Artistic Theater’s production is absolutely first rate – first and foremost because it is very well cast, with a staggeringly good performance by Mark Pracht as Harlan “Mountain” McClintock. Pracht seems born for this role, as he is both a mountain of a man, and carefully expresses Serling's portrait of a Tennessee country boy who has taken way too many punches.

This is also a tragedy, in the Greek sense – Mountain had risen to become a contender for world heavyweight champion, but began to decline before he could get there. Like any tragic hero, he is thwarted by an antagonist: his manager, Maish Resnick (Patrick Thornton), who has skimmed profit from Mountain during his rise. Now as Mountain loses more than he wins, Maish plays a deceitful game – which creates the turning point in the play’s resolution.

Thornton is full throttle in this role, playing convincingly enough that you will come to loathe him. But even more forceful and compelling is the performance of Todd Wojcik as Army, as Mountain’s trainer and constant wingman. Wojcik’s performance is freighted with emotion and empathy, and will touch your heart.

There are a several other colorful characters in this cast, hustlers on the make that Serling drew from his own experience as a boxer. And we have a chorus of lower-level boxers and trainers, and thugs. These characters enact stylized boxer training interludes that are very powerful. And though each has a small part, it makes for a stunning effect overall. The set is a simple canvas platform – the ring – and the audience is seated around it, in a very intimate space.

There are just two female figures in Requiem, and both seem bound to be stereotypes of a 1950s male psyche: Golda (Laura Coleman), a “dame with a bad reputation” and Maish’s main squeeze. “What are you doing vertical; is there a recession on?” Maish asks her, in a reference it’s hard to imagine got through the censors.

The other female role is more substantial – Grace Carney (Annie Hogan), an employment agent who falls for Mountain as she tries to help him transition from boxing to something new. Hogan’s performance mines the role for all the meaning it can bear, and she is a strong heroine against the dastardly Maish. Her character in Requiem for a Heavyweight foreshadows another woman who supported Rocky years later.

The teleplay was influential enough to warrant a British TV version starring Sean Connery with a cameo by Michael Caine, and was turned into a 1962 film featuring Anthony Quinn in the lead. As a genre, teleplays are memories, but perhaps they foretold Netflix and Amazon movie productions. Teleplays have been tremendously influential – think of 12 Angry Men, Marty, The Days of Wine & Roses – all originated as live television productions.

Requiem for a Heavyweight is a great show, and a theatrical event. Running through March 31, there are just 50 seats per performance, so it is highly recommended you plan to attend at The Artistic Home on Grand Avenue in Chicago. 

Dead Man’s Cell Phone- its title a built in spoiler alert - opens with an unbeatable scene: In a nearly deserted café, the young woman Jean (Cydney Moody) dining alone is disturbed by the repeatedly ringing cellphone at the next table.

The young man sitting there with his back to us makes no effort to answer it. In frustration she walks over to confront him, and gets a shocking surprise. Then she answers the phone – it is Mrs. Gottlieb, seeking her son, Gordon, the man whose back is to us – and Jean tells her he can’t answer.

Jean continues to answer more phone calls from relatives and business associates. She soon becomes enmeshed in the family and its affairs, and what we learn are Gordon’s unseemly business dealings. That set-up was enough to make me see this play for a second time – I had been so thrilled by Steppenwolf’s 2008 production that I bought the script and rave about the play – it has also made me a fan of Ruhl, a Macarthur Genius and Yale drama professor.

Ruhl's scripts, especially Dead Man's Cell Phone, go well beyond the ordinary, bundling sometimes conflicting dramatic elements – the literal storyline of the plot, but infused with absurdism and serving up commentary on religious, philosophical, and psychological issues. All that gives Dead Man’s Cell Phone true substance, but the audience also gets an entertaining show that is largely a romantic comedy – and very funny at that.

Among the most entertaining aspects of Dead Man’s Cell Phone is the irreverence. Soon after that café scene, we meet Mrs. Gottlieb onstage, a well-off matron, and now delivering a eulogy at her son Gordon’s funeral. Describing herself as non-religious, Mrs. Gottlieb (her name, ironically, mean’s God’s Love) praises the soaring sanctuary.

I’m not sure what to say. There is, thank God, a vaulted ceiling here. I am relieved to find that there is stained glass and the sensation of height. Even though I am not a religious woman I am glad there are still churches. Thank God there are still people who build churches for the rest of us, so that when someone dies – or gets married – we have a place to - I could not put all of this – in a low-ceilinged room – no – it requires height.

Then a cell phone goes off and Mrs. Gottleib swears. In minutes she violates a sacred space, taboos on foul language, funerary propriety; she is off-hand about her son’s religious service, and the church in which it takes place. It’s subversive, and very funny.

High praise is due for The Comrade theater group's selection of Dead Man’s Cell Phone. It is well done, but compared to other versions perhaps a bit more “in your face” (and maybe a little off script). Director Arianna Soloway has chosen to give the overall production a “noir” flavor, and adds theatrical flourishes that serve as commentary on how cellphones have become mandatory appendages for humans.

In the 12 years since Ruhl wrote this script, cell phones have insinuated themselves even more eventfully into our lives. This production at Greenhouse Theater has elaborate scene changing routines, with actors dressed in trench coats and fedoras to move sets, and holding a phone on-high as they leave. But arguably this puts an emphasis on an aspect of the play that mattered to Ruhl. And perhaps it's a matter of preference; I like a leaner approach that relies more on the language and timing for Sarah Ruhl’s devastatingly funny lines.

But the audience around me was loving this show, and there was a lot of laughter. Bryan Breau as Gordon turned in the best performance, while Mike Newquist as his younger brother Dwight and Lynette Li as Gordon’s widow Hermia were very strong in keeping the intellectual mayhem afloat. Cydney Moodey carries off well Jean as Everyman, and this seems to be exactly as Ruhl intended. 

The night I saw the show, Caroline Latta as Mrs. Gottlieb had all the imperiousness Ruhl must have a intended, but some of the humor fell flat because the timing was off. (When Jean is rescued by Dwight in one scene, Mrs. Gottlieb asks her if she would like “a cold compress, some quiche” and the interval between those phrases is the difference between funny ha ha and funny weird.) 

Titles of Sarah Ruhl's plays suggest her outlook: How to Transcend a Happy Marriage, For Peter Pan on her 70th Birthday, In the Next Room, or the vibrator play, The Clean House and Stage Kiss (I’ve seen the last three). She is a two-time Pulitzer Prize finalist and a Tony Award nominee. Her plays have been produced on Broadway, and translated into 14 languages.

Withal, this show is highly recommended: an opportunity to see Dead Man's Cell Phone performed live should not be missed. It's at the Greenhouse Theater through March 10, 2019.

Six spectacular actors bring deeply moving performances under director Cheryl Lynn Bruce in Dominique Morisseau’s Pipeline.

The capacity crowd who braved six-degree weather to show up at the Biograph Theatre on Lincoln Ave. were richly rewarded by this exceptional production. But you kind of have to go when a Morisseau premiere beckons. I for one am invested in her work now, having been wowed by two of her three Detroit cycle plays - Skeleton Crew at Skokie's Northlight Theatre last year and Paradise Blue at the tiny TimeLine Theatre on Wellington the year prior. (Just by coincidence, Morisseau's 2017 play, now having its Chicago premiere, was also broadcast nationally by PBS last night from another ongoing production - the one at Lincoln Center in New York.)

Pipeline is lauded for its topicality around the current issue of young black males too easily at risk of entering a pipeline to jail. And it also touches on the merits of inner-city public community schools versus private education.

But perhaps even more powerfully, it highlights the debilitating effects of our society's racism-based social dysfunction. In Pipeline this adverse miasma infiltrates the emotional lives of the middle class parents of a teenage boy, Omari (a kinetic performance by Matthew Elam). A slight, sensitive poetic youth who seems an unlikely candidate to become a thug, Omari gets into trouble after inexplicably assaulting his high school English teacher.

Pipeline also showcases Morisseau’s prowess for examining the inner lives of interesting personalities, the forces that energize them as people, all against the contemporary societal backdrop. In Pipeline there is a specificity to these characters – six fully-formed individuals, no tropes or archetypes.

You will be touched by these exceptional people, and by the compelling performances that bring them to life. When the play opens on a sparse stage, Omari's mother Nya (Tyla Abercrumbie – who is devastatingly good), a public high school teacher, is leaving a voice message for her ex, and Omari's dad, Xavier (Mark Spates Smith), detailing their son’s predicament: that he may be expelled from his private school and possibly be charged criminally with assault.  

Nya leaves a lengthy voice mail in which her language stumbles and runs aground – a sets a tone for the remainder of the 90-minute show. Repeating and rephrasing that 60-second message, Nya shows her inner self and internal conflicts. The scene cues the audience to listen to the language for the rest of the show, for it will communicate on multiple levels.

Pipeline is also literary, revisiting at several points Gwendolyn Brooks in a poetic remix of We Real Cool – the 24-word masterpiece the perfectly captures a cry of lost youth: 

We Real Cool

THE POOL PLAYERS.
SEVEN AT THE GOLDEN SHOVEL. 
We real cool. We
Left school. We 
Lurk late. We
Strike straight. We 
Sing sin. We
Thin gin. We
Jazz June. We
Die soon. 

Courtesy The Poetry Foundation

The event that triggered Omari’s rage was also literary: a classroom discussion in which his teacher over-aggressively called on him to discuss Richard Wright’s Native Son character, Bigger Thomas. “He was asking me in that room, in that way,” Omari tells his mother, his language suggesting that as an African-American, he is a rarity in his class. “I don’t want to be the token respondent.”

And in fact, as Omari later tells his father about the incident, he says he was feeling upset that his dad sent him financial support like clockwork, but never delivered his love. “Guys say they want their dad, but it’s overrated,” Omari says. The child support he gets from him “does the biology, but it doesn’t do the soul.”

This is a play for actors, because Morisseau gives each of the characters a show-stopping soliloquy, or ranting digression. You’ll want to stand up and cheer for Security Guard Dun (Ronald L. Conner) in “I Do My Job,” weep after Omari’s double-barreled unloading to his dad Xavier. Or laugh and applaud, for Aurora Real De Asua’s Jasmine – Omari’s girlfriend; and Janet Ulrichs Brooks as the teacher, Laurie - both of whom provide measured lightheartedness to the show. 

This production of Pipeline runs through March 1 at the Victory Gardens Theatre in Chicago. It’s highly recommended that you don’t miss it.

The dynamic clashes of three couples living parallel lives fuels Christina Anderson’s delightful new play, How to Catch Creation. With dialog that is fresh, arresting, and completely natural, Anderson captures and holds our attention throughout the 90-minute show.  We quickly become invested in the characters, want to know how things will turn out for them.

Particularly strong were the portrayals of Griffin (Keith Randolph Smith is spectacular), and his bosom buddy and best female friend Tami (Karen Aldridge in an electric performance).

Griffin is a middle-aged man recently released from prison after being wrongfully convicted, trying to reclaim his life – with a settlement to get him started. Tami is an academic administrator in the fine arts department, whose life as an artist is now in abeyance – and likewise for her love life, which trends toward women.

Tami and Griffin have that most special intimacy, one that allows for unsparing honesty, and in the best of all possible worlds could be the basis for a rock-solid marriage. But nothing suggests they are headed in that direction. But your antenna will rise as the dialog between these two, sparklingly well written, suggests a special energy – and the chemistry between these two accomplished actors is unrelentingly magnetic.

In the course of the action, Tami pairs up with Riley (Maya Vinice Prentiss) a computer technician and electronic musician. Complicating things is the fact that Riley is involved with Stokes (Bernard Gilbert). Without spoiling the plot and reveals, we discover a thread of connections through two generations, and through coincidences and fate, paths cross and the complicated fabric of the drama is woven.

The presentation of the play is fast-paced and technically wonderful – Anderson’s script sets great production challenges, as it mimics the fast-paced, quick-cut style of a film – with vignettes, short scenes, and jumps back in time. To accomplish this, director Nigel Smith seamlessly integrated scenery and staging (Todd Rosenthal) lighting (Allen Lee Hughes) and sound (Joanna Lynne Staub, with composition by Justin Ellington).

In How to Catch Creation, Anderson reminds us that the more things change, the more they stay the same. The title tips us off to the parallels within these couples, and the pursuit each holds in common of creation – in painting, writing, procreating – and the quest for love. As if to underscore it all, Anderson gives us several pairs of scenes that run concurrently, with identical dialog spoken sometimes simultaneously, sometimes sequentially, by couples in different times and of different ages. The effect is marvelous.   

One couple is shown living in the 1960s and 1970s, Ayanna Bria Bakari (Natalie), Jasmine Bracey (G.K. Marche) and Anderson is very specific about the timing of scenes: one takes place a few days after the specific reference to the September 15, 1963 bombing of the 16th Street Baptist Church in Birmingham, Alabama; the scene references the killing of four little girls in the church. Another takes place years later, with a very specific presentation of an ad at a bus stop for an Apple computer (a perfect replication of the real thing), setting it in the late 1970s, when Apple first began advertising.

The other two couples inhabit 2014, but also with a specificity. “It’s 2014,” says Riley. “If you have the money, you can have can have a kid.” Perhaps by rooting the action in concrete details, Anderson wants to make it more credible. But she has accomplished that already, with the dialog in this wonderfully written work. Highly recommended. How to Catch Creation runs through February 24 at Goodman Theatre.  

Droll, knowing, and surprisingly good, Evil Dead: The Musical, transforms the campy self-aware horror-comedy movie franchise into something wickedly fun.

Even those who haven’t seen the Evil Dead movie series in awhile – or ever – will enjoy this show. It's laced with irony, just like the original, and doubling as a send-up of the scary films genre. It's producers Black Button Eyes Productions specializes in obscure works and plays with elements of fantasy, such as 2014’s Coraline and Nightmares and Nightcaps: The Stories of John Collier – a British author along the lines of Ray Bradbury or Neil Gaiman. Evil Dead has bee crisscrossing small theater groups around the country. 

Evil Dead – The Musical parodies Sam Raimi’s classic Evil Dead films – it's an amalgam of Evil Dead I & II – with a nod to Army of Darkness, third in the series. All three starred the square-jawed Bruce Campbell. It’s a prototypical story of teens who vacation at a deserted cabin the woods - only to be dismembered and possessed by evil forces that lie in wait.

In the films and this staged musical, one by one the teens succumb to Kanderean Demons, called from the cellar due to an inadvertent recitation of passages from ancient books written in blood and bound in human flesh, of course. Resisting these forces of evil as the story progresses is Ash (Jordan Dell Harris perfectly captures the swaggering heartthrob played in the films by Bruce Campbell.)

And like the films, Ash transforms into that iconic character we know and love, along the way replacing his left hand with a prosthetic chainsaw, wielding a double-barreled shotgun in his other, battling those Kandereans who inhabit the trees in the woods, the cellar, and even the bodies of his former friends.

All that, and singing and dancing, too – with some infectious tunes by a quartet of writers (Christopher Bond, Frank Cipolla, Melissa Morris and George Reinblatt are credited – and Oliver Townsend gets the credit as musical director.) The book by Reinblatt is funny – he is clearly an Evil Dead Head - though lyrics falter at times. Among the bigger standouts are the opening number as the group of five teens take off on their weekend getaway – and a number with some dancing trees. (Choreography is by Derek Van Barham.) Also charming is a duet by Ash and his girlfriend Linda (Kirby Gibson) about falling in love at S-Mart. 

The cabin itself also becomes possessed before the end, and an animatronic moosehead, squirrel and other figures, join the fun. Set, props and puppetry are by Jeremiah Barr.

Aficionados will recall that the original films Evil Dead and Evil Dead 2 didn’t have much in the way of continuity. Evil Dead 2 was a reboot, the first half retelling and modifying the story of the original and the second half breaking new ground. But the movies were grounded in a sense of horror/humor that has not been lost in translation, and distilled into this amalgam the musical version gives us the true heart of the films. (My resident Evil Dead expert Kyran Esler provided exegisis on the show's film origins.)

Along with Jordan Dell Harris as Ash, the cast is strikingly good: Josh Kemper as the ever randy Scott; Kirby Gibson as Ash’s girlfriend Linda (eventually beheaded), Stevie Love in dual roles as Shelly and Annie. For an over-the-top performance Caitlin Jackson gets a shout-out – she is wonderful and it is a performance not to be missed. Recommended. Evil Dead: The Musical runs through February 16 at Pride Arts Center.

Walking in as curtain time neared for Photograph 51, the towering set took my breath away: a backdrop nearly three-stories tall, built of a latticework of delicately framed, vertical windowpanes with spiral staircases swirling down at each end, to meet a floor of foot-square hexagonal tiles.

Heavy quarter-sawn oak laboratory tables and cabinets filled the setting, a research lab that would play a pivotal role in the discovery of the structure of DNA molecules. As the play commenced, illumination flowed down the pillars of the window panels and along the irregular channels at the edges of the tile, creating an electrifying vision - mimicking the hexagon shape of those DNA molecules.

Strains of an evocative original score swelled as the action began in the laboratories of King’s College in London - the site of crucial research that led to the now familiar double helix structure of DNA molecules described by University of Cambridge researchers (and eventual Nobel laureates) James Watson and Francis Crick.

This play tells of unsung research heroine in that saga, Rosalind Franklin (played excellently by Chaon Cross), a chemist whose X-ray crystallography photographs (Photograph 51 was the big one) that provided a visual key unlocking the riddle of how DNA molecules were structured.

Watson (Alex Goodrich) and Crick (Nicholas Harazin) went on to Nobel glory, as did Franklin’s research partner Maurice Wilkins (played by Nathan Hosner), while Franklin’s pivotal role was largely forgotten. That is, until Watson’s outrageously misogynist portrayal of her in Double Helix, his autobiography. As the rare creature of her day, a woman research scientist, Franklin suffered the critiques of male peers that are familiar - she wasn't feminine enough, was hard to get along with, made the least of herself in dress and style. Needless to say,  these were taken more seriously in the 1950s. 

"Why collaborate with someone who's hard to get along with," as one of Franklin's peers puts it. Nonetheless, in this retelling of the story, Franklin asserted herself, insisting she be accorded equal respect, and resisting attempts to subordinate her research to her male lab partner, Maurice Wilkins.

"Dr. Wilkins, I will not be anyone's assistant," Franklin tells him, and she insists he refer to her as Dr. Franklin. 

Watson’s characterization of Franklin in Double Helix was widely criticized. Harvard, where Watson was teaching, refused to publish it.
Watson’s reputation and career has also been devastated by his advancement of theories that there is a link between race and intelligence.

Having lost his income, he became the only Nobel prize winner who to sell his award. U of C, which sustains the Court Theatre, may be trying to get on the right side of the issue by presenting Franklin’s story on stage – though it might want to revisit the distinguished alumni award it made to Watson in 2007. 

Would that the play measured up to such worthy goals, and the promise of its sets by Arnel Sancianco (scenic design), Keith Parham (lighting) Jeffrey Levin (sound). Instead, we have a show with great acting and production values – it reminds me of a Netflix pilot film – but with a story line, yet only a wandering plotline.

Plays need a drama to succeed, and instead we are given a timeline. All very interesting, to be sure, but not gripping.
As a result, instead of Franklin being the star of her own story, she is a supporting character. The closest thing we have to a protagonist is her partner Wilkens, who secretly carried a torch for her. That these scientists are such a nerdy bunch must have made it all the more difficult for playwright Anna Ziegler to develop the work. It was a success in London starring Nicole Kidman. The University of Chicago lent its academic bona fides and knowledge base to Court Theater’s production, and that greatly enriches the show.

There are moments, to be sure, including a wonderful soliloquy on the loneliness of a scientist's pursuit of knowledge. Likewise, the tortured moments of Wilkins, who struggled to recognize and express his feelings for Franklin.

We have a wonderful theatrical spectacle, and the direction by Vanessa Stalling made the most of Photograph 51, “mining Ziegler’s text for all its thematic complexities,” as artistic director Charles Newell puts it. Watson & Crick’s discovery in 1953 of the double helix changed history, and our view of ourselves as humans. The knowledge of DNA’s role – and the potential for engineering new directions using it – is the basis for a world of change in arts and sciences.

Photograph 51 is an illuminating story, and we are fortunate it is being told so beautifully - and perhaps that is enough to recommend it. The show runs through February 17 at Court Theatre.

*Now playing through February 23, 2019

Backstage comedies and dramas are a beloved genre – David Mamet’s Main Street, Ronald Harwood’s The Dresser, Noel Coward’s Present Laughter, Mel Brooks The Producers– known for sending up actors, directors, and show business.

Michael Frayn’s Noises Off – the phrase is basically British for “Quiet on the Set” - is widely regarded as among the best of these. And in its current production at Windy City Playhouse Frayn’s script is given its due. From the opening scene, we see we are witnessing a masterwork of comedy, operating on multiple levels – parody, farce, and pure physical hijinks. (Among Frayn’s works are Copenhagen, After Life, The Two of Us and Clouds.) Director Scott Weinstein and this very high-energy, hard-working cast had the audience roiling with laughter.

And it’s no wonder. It tells of a British troupe that has taken a farce, “Nothing On,” on a long road show with limited time for rehearsal. The cast members are already exhausted before opening night, with little time to learn lines, blocking, or plumb into character motivation. These players are a mixed bag of talent, either past their prime or unlikely to reach it. One example: the towering senior Shakespearean actor, Seldson Mowbray (played wonderfully by Will Casey), an inveterate drunk, and impossibly hard of hearing.

Part of the magic of Frayn’s work is that each actor must play two characters - their role in Noises Off, and their secondary role in the farce, Nothing On. And another part of the magic is that they as they squabble, feud, or fall in and out of love, everything is expressed indirectly, within the language of the plays they are performing.

It gets uproarious when the play is live upfront, and the audience is taken backstage to see the battling conducted “noises off,” through pantomime fighting and fisticuffs. Here Frayn challenges the actors to split-second timing in bumping and crashing into each other, handing off props, etc., and they acquit themselves well (Max Fabian s Fight Choreographer). Two other productions I have seen used a turntable set, rotating to perform the second act. Windy City Players has the audience move to the rear of the house, creating an immersive experience that is even more convincing.

As the show opens we meet the actress Dotty Otley (a delicious performance by Amy J. Carle), who, in “Nothing On,” plays a housekeeper, Mrs. Clackett. Otley struggles to remember her lines, her blocking, and what to do with three props she handles: a plate of sardines, a newspaper, and a telephone receiver – always taking the wrong one off stage at the end of the scene. Otley is oozing self-pity, and the other performers crowd around her in sympathy.

Soon enough, from on high over a speaker, we get the sardonic voice of director Lloyd Dallas, world weary and certainly tired of this group. As the rest of the actors appear on stage, Dallas discovers they do not quite realize it is not a technical or even dress rehearsal, but the final rehearsal before opening night. And they do not nearly have their lines down.

“I’m starting to know what God felt like when he sat out there in the darkness creating the world,” says Lloyd as the dress rehearsal implodes. “What did he feel like, Lloyd,” an actor asks. “Very pleased he’d taken his Valium.”

Frayn also seems to be working a bit of an author’s enmity toward actors – largely bringing us venal people who are filled with inchoate emotion, but have no lines of their own to express themselves. When they are “Noises Off,” they don’t even have the lines. To press it even further Frayn shows us how ineptly the actors contend with the rising chaos on stage, adlibbing pathetically – at one point following a missed entrance by her Frederick Fellows (Scott Duff), his wife finds Belinda Blair (Amy Rubenstein is very funny) using a mop as his stand-in.

There is so much excellence in this show, including a pretty successful adoption of British accents (Kathy Logelin is dialect coach), but I particularly enjoyed Ryan McBride as matinee idol Garry Lejeune (and Roger Tramplemaine in Nothing On) – a character who emotes, but doesn’t seem to have any nouns at his disposal. Also charming was his floozy paramour, Brooke Ashton (Rochelle Therrien) playing an impossibly bad actress who is unable to deviate from her memorized positioning and blocking – even if it means she faces away from Lejeune when speaking to him.

Noise Off comes highly recommended. It runs through March 31 at the Windy City Playhouse on Irving Park Road in Chicago. #noisesoffchi

*Extended through ay 12th

An alluring play with a less familiar name - Fuente Ovejuna – is delivering a startlingly great moment of theater. Written in 1619 by Lope de Vega – the prolific writer who is considered the foremost playwright of Spain’s golden age - it is based on a true story that had become legendary even in its own day.

Set in 1476, it tells the story of a village in Spain, Fuente Ovejuna, captured by loyalists to King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella in a battle for the crown of Castile. As the story unfolds, Commander Fernán Gómez returns victorious from battle and is feted by the villagers, who shower him with gifts – though not gold and luxuries, but simple fare from their farm town - food, livestock, and crockery.

But Gomez (Varris Holmes) is a tyrant, and he also claims as spoils of victory the young women of the town for himself and his solders. His henchmen Ortuno (Jimmy Mann) and Flores (Ty Carter) represent what is coming to be called toxic masculinity, though when the play was written in the 16th century (and onward if we are being honest), it was common male behavior.

Gradually intimidating the townsfolk until they are afraid to resist, Gomez finally crosses the line when he accosts Laurencia – a self-possessed and what we would call today “empowered” woman - and played with compelling vigor by Carolyn Plurad. Through the build-up to that moment, Laurencia and her companion Pasquala (Kristen Alesia), assert themselves against the increasingly forcible entreaties of Gomez and his soldiers. Thwarted, Gomez beats her fiancé and carries Laurencia away - on the very day of their wedding.

Though subjected to attempted rape (medieval Droit du seigneur allowed overlords to have their way with young women under their dominion), Laurencia makes a daring escape, then shames the leading men of Fuente Ovejuna, and in a dramatic exhortation, rallies the men and significantly, the women, to overthrow the tyrant Commander. 

We have City Lit Theatre to thank for helping familiarize us with Lope de Vega, who is revered just a notch below Cervantes in classic Spanish literature. The work is like a highly evolved morality play as it tracks the arc of the historic event, a blow by blow direct narrative. But de Vega invests what are presumably vaguely known historical characters with fully developed, colorful and likeable personalities. 

Standout performances by Rob Garbowski as Esteban, the town magistrate; Jimmy Mann as the Inquisitor and soldier Ortuno; Val Gerard Garcia, Jr. as townsman Mengo; and Dan McGeehan as jurist Manrique. But without question the most powerful performance is Carolyn Plurad as Laurencia – who brings to the role a rousing power. Her delivery will remind you of one of Shakespeare’s heroines.

Terry McCabe, who adapted and directed the work, provides an amazing evocation of the village center, with a continuous cavalcade of performers – 16 actors in 20 roles, including a musical band, with the requisite pool and working fountain in the town square. All this takes place in the tiny quarters of City Lit Theater’s space on Bryn Mawr. De Vega's play has a living heritage: In its home town, it is performed regularly as part of a theater festival, with 150 of the townsfolk in the cast.

Much more than a historic artifact or literary novelty, Fuente Ovejuna is a something quite special, like a fine art house movie – and for that reason comes recommended. See it at City Lit Theater through February 17. www.citylit.org

La Ruta accomplishes an impossible feat: drawing a luminous theater experience from a horrific factual account. This premier at the Steppenwolf tells the tale of the scores of young women who have been kidnapped and murdered near Juarez over several decades.

And yet, it is an uplifting and inspiring show. Playwright Isaac Gomez approaches the story by relating the emotional toll these murders have taken on the mothers and families of these young women, who board la ruta, the bus line to the U.S.-owned maquiladoras border factories. Some of these women never return.

It is a startling achievement that Gomez and director Sandra Marquez can present this tale in an entrancing manner, through song and stagecraft, drawing us close so that we will not flee from hearing of an atrocity that, even as it continues, is in danger of being forgotten.

Since 1993 hundreds of grisly murders have taken place of young Mexican women working near Juarez. Peculiar patterns have emerged in these murders, known as feminicidos, and which are monitored by Amnesty International and other groups: slender young women are kidnapped, sexually violated, tortured, then abandoned in the desert or in garbage dumps. These murders have scandalized the world.

La Ruta relates some of this, and depicts the social and emotional toll it is taking in Juarez, in the province of Chihuaha from which many of the women originate, and throughout Mexico. But Gomez and director Marquez adeptly mix music, comedic and tender emotional moments, and political drama, against the gut-wrenching backdrop of this acrid history.

La Ruta opens on what appears to be a lovely evening streetscape, and we hear the transcendentally beautiful voice of Desamaya (Laura Crotte). She is singing an enchanting ancient Mexican fable of La Bruja – The Witch – who as legend holds it steals little children and sucks out their souls – foreshadowing the drama to come. On a closer look we see a dead tree, and not moonlight, but the vapid glare of a streetlamp.

The next morning a mother sees her daughter to the stop for La Ruta, and she will head to the garment factory. Once there, a music plays a central role on the factory floor. The workers scan the dial for pop songs to support their repetitive work, in one scene settling on Son Del Obrero – an upbeat tune perfectly synchronized to the choreographed movements of the women at their sewing machines, singing along as they push work through. We witness the aspirations of the young women hoping for better life through the factory floor.

Gomez also gives us endearing scenes – a young newbie worker Brenda (Cher Alvarez) is shown the ropes by Ivonne (Karen Rodriguez). And later, Ivonne coaches Brenda on how to talk to boys – a delightful scene.

Charin Alvarez is at the top of her game as Marisela, a grieving mother turned political activist who leads others to march to the state capital. She has channeled her grief into action.

And in one of the most poignant scenes in this or any play, Marisela coaxes another mother to join her on the march to Chihuaha. But that mother cannot come, because doing so would mean describing her daughter as being among the dead. She is not ready to acknowledge her daughter is permanently missing. Because her body has not been found, this mother clings to the hope she is alive. Marisela does not push her beyond what she can accept. It is hard not to be moved. 

As the play concludes, the audience rises as one for an ovation. It is well deserved. La Ruta is highly recommended, and runs through January 27 at Steppenwolf Theatre.