The Writer by Ella Hickson, now in its U.S. premiere at Steep Theatre under the sure direction of Georgette Verdin, is a maddening yet compelling exploration of art, power, commerce, and gender. It is messy, incisive, and brashly frustrating. It is the anti-Barbie, exploring patriarchy, empowerment, and self-determination in a world without a hint of pink. People in this world must earn a living, which really gets in the way of idealism. The Writer is full of unwinnable arguments, plus a few that where the victories are the opposite of what one would like them to be. In a loosely defined series of scenes and rebuttals, the eponymous Writer reveals herself through excerpts from her plays and scenes from her life, though the lines between these are deliberately blurry. Both in the fictionalized versions of herself, and in the real (but are they? —our narrator seems a little unreliable), the Writer spends much of the play defending herself and her work, with only limited success.

Verdin has assembled a fine cast of both Steep Theatre regulars and guest artists willing to throw themselves into the melee that is this play. Lucy Carapetyan plays the Writer with an edgy and anxious self-righteousness that invites sympathy but not empathy, and occasionally veers into unpleasant self-absorption. As her fictional doppelganger and sometime lover, Krystal Ortiz’s grounded presence often makes the Writer’s points more effectively than the Writer herself, while also showing the pitfalls of the Writerly vision. Peter Moore as the Director is tasked with representing the Patriarchy and does so with the right amount of creeping condescension tempered with a pragmatic humanism that allows his arguments to resonate more than Hickson may like—or exactly how much she would like. Nate Faust makes one want to like his characters, bringing a guileless charm to his roles as the character of the Director and the real-life boyfriend of the Writer; he plays the former with a disarming openness that makes his over-bearing attitude more grating, and the latter with a weirdly imperious lack of self-esteem. Jodi Gage and Allyce Torres take on multiple roles throughout, but especially in a second act scene that breaks both the conventions of the play and the urban setting, embodying a mythological world where women are freed from the constraints of patriarchal norms in a piece that seeks to surmount conflict and tension in a modern, tribal ritual dance (Successful? No... but it requires commitment from its performers nevertheless).

The design elements also reflect the ephemeral nature of the theatre experience and the idea that reality itself is an extension of this experience. The “staged” scenes are stripped to their essentials—performer and text, with occasional projections to amplify this relationship and break away from the more concrete spaces of the rest of the play. The scenes that presumably show the Writer’s real life are played on precariously assembled sets that only partially define the spaces that they create. Scenic designer Sotirios Livaditis has created deliberately artificial stage sets with visual counterpoints that reinforce the spaces’ connections to the Writer, though the many moving parts make for some clunky scene changes. As the Writer’s perception of reality shifts into the metaphorical—writing being a calling and a life—the lighting (by Brandon Wardell) and sound (by Thomas Dixon) reflect the increasingly tenuous scenic elements, and occasionally mirror the darkness and self-doubt of the characters’ thoughts. Costume designer Gregory Graham conveys the practical concerns of the characters (and creates the modern tribal costume—accessorized athleisure: why not?) and clearly defines the difference between those who need to project a certain image and those who are privileged not to do so. Movement director Claire Bauman creates a plausible performance art ritual dance. Intimacy Director Gaby Labotka struggles with the reality of the more intensely sexual moments as far as pacing and masking (there is a lot more blanket work than there probably would be if the characters were as alone as they are meant to be), and the beats of the intimate scenes feel both awkwardly slow and rushed.

Director Verdin mostly allows the ambiguities of The Writer to be as frustrating as Ella Hickson most likely intended. She also leans into the bracing humor and combativeness of the dialogue, which is often laugh-out-loud-funny, even as the characters struggle to find common ground or solid answers. Having been written at the beginning of the #MeToo movement, the play mostly deals with the power of institutional patriarchies to shape attitudes, tastes, social hierarchies, age (what happens when an angry young woman grows older?), art, and, yes, sex. There are brief nods to intersectionality and economic class, and Verdin’s production acknowledges that these nods leave several elephants waiting in the wings in order to focus on feminism. The play and production are smart enough to understand that this two-hour dialectic is premised on the privilege of being part of a world where art provides a living for some and is affordable to others. Most people will find something to nod in agreement with, and that may not always be what the person next to them is nodding about. Hickson has written a metatheatrical puzzle box of polemical arguments, but fortunately she has also created characters that go beyond their arguments, especially in the hands of a sensitive director and a talented and empathetic cast. The Writer offers an opportunity to question what makes good Art (theater specifically, but as a metaphor for capital-A Art), the role and responsibility of the artist in society, and whether art is an extension of patriarchy or a tool to fight it. It does not offer any answers, which may have some echoing the words of one of the characters, who demands in vain that the Writer “write an ending.” But then they would miss out on the opportunity to do so over drinks after the show.

The Writer runs through September 16 at The Edge Theater 5451 North Broadway, with performances Thursday, Friday, and Saturday nights at 7:30 pm, and Sunday matinees at 3pm. For tickets and more information contact the box office at (773) 649-3186 or www.steeptheatre.com.

Hopes and reality rarely align. Fairytale marriages only exist in fairy tales, and parenting is not nearly as easy as television shows that wrap up family crises in a half hour including commercials would indicate. Yet people keep getting married and having children, and discovering that, while spouses and children are far more complicated and not nearly as perfect as the fantasies promise, they’re worth the investment. In Kristine Thatcher’s play, Emma’s Child, Rogers Park couple Henry and Jean Farrell have figured out how to make their marriage work despite the other’s flaws and have spent a decade and a half trying to bring a child into their lives, finally turning to adoption. The process exposes unexpected differences in expectations and when they finally meet the child they had intended to adopt, their marriage is threatened by their different approaches to confronting a reality that neither they nor the birth mother, Emma, anticipated. Thatcher’s play, under the direction of Terry McCabe, who also directed its 1996 premiere, explores what it means to be a parent, and the challenges that arise when the reality of parenthood strays beyond the bounds of any expectations. Raising a child with a profound disability is an overwhelming prospect and in Emma’s Child the difficulties are compounded by the question of motherhood—who is responsible for the care of an infant who is not the child that anyone was prepared to welcome into the world?

Thatcher’s play, which takes place in 1990-1991, jumps quickly between locations and timelines, which sometimes leads to powerful juxtapositions, but other times serves little purpose and minimizes the dramatic tension as the end of scenes is already revealed in previous scenes set in the future. However, in general, the narrative is easy to follow and the Thatcher wisely avoids offering easy answers to questions that have none. The characters are all portrayed sympathetically, even as they sometimes try the patience of those around them and the audience. Director Terry McCabe keeps the action moving between locations including the neo-natal intensive care unit at Christ Hospital, the Farrell’s Rogers Park apartment, various offices and a wooded area in Michigan. Samantha Gribben’s unfussy set is dominated by an incubator which always keeps the theme of the play visually present; one cannot overlook the baby in the room. Lighting and sound designer Benjamin Dionysus helps fill in the minimal settings, and props designer Jeff Brain keeps the action grounded in the reality of each space. Costume designer Louise “Scout” Gregory uses layers and accessories to support shifts in time, while giving each character a look that suits their personality, from the slightly tweedy Henry, to Jean’s harried polish, her friend Franny’s looser flair, to various versions of scrubs and suits.

The large cast all give nuanced, grounded performances under McCabe’s direction, recognizing the truth portrayed in Thatcher’s play that no one really has the time or resources to care for Robin, the child at the center of the adoption. Kat Evans anchors the show as a tightly wound Jean, who is forced to confront the limits of her ability to parent a child with special needs. In early scenes, she comes across as someone who needs to maintain control to not fall apart. As she becomes more invested in Robin’s well-being, Evans’s performance shows Jean’s evolution into a powerful advocate and pragmatic parent, while constantly being confronted by the knowledge that the child is not hers, biologically or legally. As her husband Henry, James Sparling goes from charming to slightly prickly as he faces the fact that, not only does he not have the same capacity to deal with Robin’s disability, but he is losing his connection with his Jean as she insists on caring for the child. Sparling remains sympathetic even as his character insists that Robin should be left to institutional care. As Franny, Jean’s friend who steps in to lend support when Henry is struggling to do so, Rebecca Sparks captures both the affection of a long-time friend and the aloofness that is possible for an outside observer. Fran’s marriage is unsatisfying, and she is having an affair, while also playing intermediary between Jean and Henry, and trying to support Jean, who, in turn ends up trying to support her friend’s mid-life affair despite her misgivings about it. Sparks effectively balances caring and flightiness in a character that takes on too many roles. A standout in the supporting cast is Lee Wichman as Laurence, the NICU nurse charged with Robin’s care. Wichman injects much-needed humor into the intense care that Robin requires. Laurence understands more than anyone the needs of the infant and rallies his caretakers with a respectful disregard for protocol. He also initiates Jean into the care routine but recognizes her limitations more than she does. Wichman’s gentle, sardonic performance perfectly aligns with his role. As Mary Jo, Laurence’s heir-apparent, Maria Zoia brings a deadpan toughness to her role, using humor, enthusiasm and studied cluelessness to give Robin access to what he needs. marssie Mencotti brings down-to-earth warmth to both her roles, as the adoption agency representative who recognizes the limitations of prospective parents, but also the value of her work, and as the doctor who wants the best for the infant Robin, while being constrained by bureaucracy and caseload. Andrea Conway-Diaz toes the bottom line as hospital administrator Vivian Radmacher, rarely allowing her compassion to creep into decisions that she knows all too well could affect the future of the hospital. As Sam Stornant, Jamie Black brings aggrieved stoicism, tempered by late-emerging self-awareness to his role as Franny’s abandoned husband (though who abandoned whom is a point of controversy); his conversations with Sparling’s Henry allow both the characters and the audience another perspective on the questions of marriage and parenthood that the play explores. As two birth mothers, Katie MacLauchlan and MiKayla Boyd make the most of roles that seem deliberately pushed to the edges of the drama. MacLauchlan as Emma is practical and direct, revealing both her concern for the infant that she gave up and her relief at not having to add this responsibility to an already complicated web of caretaking. As the young Michelle, Boyd balances her understanding of the enormity of giving birth with her knowledge that she is not ready for the child she is carrying.

Thatcher’s play unsparingly examines both the familial and societal toll of caring for children, wanted or not, who require more care than most people can give, while also introducing the audience to the difficulties of placing children whose birth parents want to provide good homes but cannot do so. Thatcher avoids judgment, though the audience may not, recognizing that people have expectations and even prejudices that color their decisions (as evidenced in the pre-adoption interviews and Emma’s casual assessment of Laurence). There are a few subplots in Thatcher’s play that may occupy a bit too much time and distract from the central theme of parenting, especially the examination of the Stornants’ marriage as juxtaposed with the Farrells’ marriage, but McCabe’s straightforward direction, and the clear-eyed performances by the ensemble provide plenty of material for discussions of what responsibility parents, we as a society, and the medical community have to provide care for the most vulnerable among us. While not a cheerful play, Emma’s Child offers compassion and hope along with the hard questions it raises, and City Lit’s new production powerfully portrays the challenges and joys of parenthood.

Emma’s Child runs through May 29, Fridays and Saturdays at 7:30pm and Sundays at 3:00pm, with Monday performances on May 16 and 23 at 7:30pm. Tickets are $34, seniors $29, students and military $12. Performances take place at City Lit Theater, 1020 W. Bryn Mawr Ave., inside Edgewater Presbyterian Church. Tickets and information are available at www.citylit.org and by phone at 773-293-3682.

Sons of Hollywood by Barry Ball and Carl Menninger, now receiving its world premiere at Windy City Playhouse, is both a love letter to the Golden Age of Hollywood and an homage to its victims, who survived beyond the ends of their careers, but not without scars. It is also, specifically, about gay Hollywood. More specifically, it is about two gay Hollywood icons, Ramon Navarro and Billy Haines, who rose to the pinnacle of Hollywood in the 1920s and 30s, only to fall to relative obscurity as the Hayes Code reached into the private lives of actors as well as the characters they portrayed. To show how much the Hayes Code affected Hollywood, the new play begins with an earlier Hollywood revolution, talkies, which claimed their share of glamorous matinee idols who could not adapt to sound, and the Hayes Codes, which claimed the careers of more stars who refused to conform to its reactionary idea of morality. The stars at the center of Sons of Hollywood (two sons and a daughter), survive and thrive in the advent of talkies, but struggle to forge careers and lives after the Hayes Code. Spanning four decades, full of period slang and name-dropping, peppered with quotations from the people portrayed, and bolstered by songs that defined the decades and setting, Sons of Hollywood is a zippy tribute that does not have time to delve deeply into the lives of its protagonists, but does give a compelling and entertaining glimpse behind the silver screen.

Though Sons of Hollywood is about the sons of Hollywood, the heart of the play is the decades-long friendship between Ramon Navarro, Billy Haines and Lucille LeSueur, who would achieve fame as Joan Crawford. The three actors who play these roles do a remarkable job of inhabiting them, both physically and emotionally, while growing from relatively innocent Hollywood newcomers, to savvy players, to mature relics of the Golden Age. Haines and LeSueur proved more adept at reinvention, though not without their own trials (though Ball and Menninger’s play wisely eschew delving into Crawford’s Mommy Dearest period and keep the focus on Haines and Navarro), while Navarro became tragically stuck in his past. As Navarro, Trey DeLuna captures the complexity of his character: his blend of self-loathing religiosity and confident embrace of his identity, as well as his increasing desperation. Abby Lee is a glamorous yet unrelenting Lucille, not only doing what she needs to do to advance in her career(s) and marriages, but also steadfast in her support of Navarro and Haines. Adam Jennings brings matinee-idol looks and swagger to the role of Haines, who defied convention and the Hayes code—refusing to enter into a sham marriage with a woman for the sake of his career, then built a flourishing career as an interior decorator. Kyle Patrick brings a charming vulnerability to his role as Jimmie Shields, Billy’s “husband” before this could be legally recognized; in an unconventional yet enduring relationship, Patrick and Jennings capture the loving bond that outlasted tests both internal and external. Acting as Greek chorus, both sung and spoken, the versatile ensemble of Adriel Irizarry, Ben Dow, Jonathan Connolly (whose voice is well-suited to the standards and pseudo-standards he sings), and Max Stewart easily move between roles including lovers, singers, studio executives, publicists and singers. While the quick cuts between scenes do not allow for their roles to have much of an arc, the members of the ensemble create distinctive characters that leave an impression on the audience as they do on the principal characters.

Director David H. Bell emulates the style of early 30’s talkies, in keeping with the quick cuts between scenes. The dialogue, especially in the first act, is effervescent and light (though it could use a little more zing in the pacing). When the play takes a dark turn in the second act, Bell effectively shifts gears, though the switch is abrupt. On Lauren Nigri’s versatile sound stage set, the audience has front row seats (even the most distant “House” seats give an intimate view, while the “Top Shelf” seats are sometimes uncomfortably close to the action) as its members are transported into living rooms, brothels, dressing rooms, sets, and pool-side. Helping make these transitions, providing the right palette and warmth, and guiding the audience’s gaze to the right balcony, stairwell, parapet, and room is lighting designer Anthony Forchielli’s well-executed task, while sound designer Willow James provides a wide-ranging sonic backdrop. Costume designer Sydney Moore perfectly captures the looks of the periods portrayed, as well as the economic shifts in the character’s fortunes from striving to flourishing to worn. Foiles grounds the scenes in the period, deploying phones, cameras and other artifacts and textures of the past in the props design and set dressing. Violence and intimacy designer Max Fabian brings a sense of ease to the intimacy  between actors (important when within a foot or two of the audience), as well as a realistic brutality to the violence, at times by shifting the pacing. Finally, music director Shraman Ghosh does an excellent job of blending recorded orchestrations with live vocals (and of working with the excellent vocalists in the cast).

Sons of Hollywood has some identity crises to work through before it is entirely successful. It has yet to find the right balance between the glib Hollywood gossip-page homage, which seems to project the lives of its real characters onto a silver screen version of themselves, and the more documentary style that delves more deeply into the wrenching emotional consequences of Hollywood’s (and America’s) gender politics. Sometimes the style puts the story at a distance, making it hard to connect to what is truly at stake. It also needs to figure out its musical backdrop. For now, the most successful songs are those that are part of the fabric of the play—the period songs sung in a male brothel and Navarro’s post-screen musical career (though these songs are not nearly as entertaining as some of the others). Some of the introductory songs provide an entertaining counterpoint to the scenes they present, but too many others distract from the emotional connections of the story. Despite these tonal inconsistencies, Sons of Hollywood will appeal to those who are familiar with the Golden Age of Hollywood, whether they know the backstage stories or not. The cast perfectly captures the characters they inhabit, and playwrights Barry Ball and Carl Menninger offer a well-researched glimpse into gay Hollywood and some of its more famous personalities. Adam Jennings as Billy Haines and Trey DeLuna as Ramon Navarro not only look remarkably like their famous characters, but bring emotional depth and intelligence to their portrayals, backed up by an ensemble that is able to shift between time periods and characters and hit their marks every time.

Sons of Hollywood runs through April 17, 2022, at Windy City Playhouse, 3014 W. Irving Park Avenue. Performances take place Wednesday-Thursday at 7:30pm, Friday-Saturday at 8:00pm and Sunday at 2:00pm. Patrons are required to show proof of vaccination and wear masks. Tickets, which includes two seating options, and more information are available at www.WindyCityPlayhouse.com.

Owen Wister’s 1902 novel The Virginian: A Horseman of the Plains has been adapted for the stage at least once (by Wister himself along with a co-adaptor) and has had five screen adaptations, not including the television series based on it. This leads to the question of why it is necessary to adapt this seminal Western novel once again for the stage. According to director Terry McCabe, “The value of any national myth lies in its availability to everyone.” The diverse cast certainly seems to enjoy the opportunity to bring the well-worn trappings of the myth of the American West to life, and, hey, who wouldn’t? Wister’s novel is considered the first to introduce the Wild West to the American mainstream, with its black hat/white hat dichotomy, rough justice and rugged individualism. With prose capturing the unspoiled glory of Wyoming, both the novel and this new adaptation by L.C. Bernadine and Spencer Huffman evoke a time and place that exist only in the imagination, but nevertheless have shaped the “American Character.” Is it valuable to return to those dusty streets? This production does not make that case. Is it fun? Most certainly, especially in this tightly written adaptation, under the inventive direction of McCabe, with a creative and committed cast and design team.

L.C. Bernadine and Spencer Hufffman have done an excellent job of adapting Wister’s 400+-page novel into a stage version that clocks in at just over two hours, including the intermission. The play hews closely to the plot of the original, though the novel’s narrator has been eschewed with his elegiac praise of the Virginian and the Wyoming landscape assigned to other characters. In making the myth available to everyone, the playwrights have also made a few changes; for example, Steve calls The Virginian “Whiskey” instead of “Jeff” (for Jefferson Davis, which would be discordant in this production) to honor his Southern roots. The dialogue, much of it lifted from the novel, is remarkably fresh and entertaining, though the playwrights have used the time constraints and desire to preserve elements of the novel’s descriptive prose as an excuse to give proportionally more stage time to the female characters, which also allows for a more critical gaze at the mythological Western version of masculinity. There are also nods to the economic disparities between owners and employees, and the hardships faced by small-scale ranchers, as well as the nascent Women’s Suffrage Movement. Despite these changes, Bernadine and Huffman’s adaptation is a faithful rendering of the American classic.

Director Terry McCabe has more practice than anyone in dealing with the constraints of the tiny City Lit Theater space, and it shows in his ability to effectively shoehorn a sprawling Western into its confines without sacrificing the sprawl. First and foremost, McCabe embraces the fact that this is a stage adaptation, and his production deploys a wide range of theatrical devices with aplomb. He also embraces the sepia-toned nostalgia for an America that never was. The cowboys look cool in their jeans and gun belts, the ladies elegant in their high-waisted skirts. The costumes by LaVisa Williams perfectly capture this Western fantasy world. Resident set designer Ray Toler has created a set that bends and folds and pops out into various locations, with the Great Plains represented by beautiful rolling fabric drops. Though smoothly executed by the cast, the scene changes are helped along by composer/cellist Kellee Vandervall’s score, which emulates and incorporates American folk music (and Wister’s own compositions). Liz Cooper’s lighting design helps recreate the sundrenched colors of the Plains and focus the action. Steven Widerman of the Puppet Company designed the expressive horses, which are integral to the action.

The large ensemble cast is uniformly strong, smoothly moving from location to location, transforming the set as they go. The well-choreographed scene changes never break the momentum of the performances. Robert Hunter Bry brings a quiet, intelligent charm to the Virginian, convincingly filling the shoes of ranch foreman and architect of change in the West. As his love interest Molly Wood, the schoolmarm from Vermont, Liz Falstreau embodies the well-mannered rebelliousness of her role, and makes a solid case for reexamining the traditions of Western vigilantism. Ben Auxier brings enough dimension to the antagonist role of Trampas to almost garner sympathy—and enough to make some good points about the inequities of the democracy of the Wild West—but fortunately comes up short on this front to create a compelling villain. David Fink’s performance as animal-loving, gullible Shorty is affecting as he maintains his heart through adversity. Aaron Sarka is an affable, winningly impetuous Steve. Varris Holmes is charismatic and grounded as Judge Taylor, while bringing the necessary gravitas to the role. As Mrs. Taylor, Andie Dae brings just a touch of aristocracy to her strong-willed character. Tom Lally is imperious as the cruel ranch owner Balaam. Rounding out the cast of cowpokes are DC Cathro, Tyler DeLoatch, Tony DiPisa, and Huy Nguyen; each creates a distinct character that goes beyond the archetypes they are portraying to breathe life into the sometimes cliched dialogue. Likewise, as Molly’s relatives back home, Hilary Hensler and marssie Mencotti fully realize the characters behind their Vermont attitudes. Adele Watel brings spirit to both her Young Bride and sharp-tongued barmaid Krista. The horses could not horse without horse without the talented puppeteers who animate them: Linsey Falls, Sarah Franzel, Adele Watel and David Wiesenhahn, who allow the animals to not only move but express emotion. The horses are also given life by their “riders,” who each give them a distinct gait. 

The trend in Westerns these days is to go beyond the mythologizing to the harsh brutality that inspired it. This production does the opposite, though it does open the door to a more inclusive portrayal of the myth. The dialogue pays lip service to condemning extra-judicial killing, vendettas settled by showdowns at sundown, and unbridled masculinity, but the adaptation does not veer far enough from its source to make a serious stab at an alternate morality. The Virginian unabashedly celebrates the men who won the West with horses and six-shooters and opened the land to those who would come after with railroads and coal shovels. Terry McCabe’s City Lit Theater production of Owen Wister’s The Virginian: A Horseman of the Plains, as adapted by L.C. Bernadine and Spencer Huffman, is an enjoyable, fast-paced, inoffensive step back into a time that never really was, but that inspired generations, now made available to everyone.

The Virginian: A Horseman of the Plains runs through February 20 at City Lit Theater at 1020 W. Bryn Mawr Avenue, on the second floor of the historic Edgewater Presbyterian Church. Performances take place Fridays and Saturdays at 7:30 and Sundays at 3:00, as well as Mondays February 7 and 14 at 7:30. Tickets are $34, seniors $29, and students and military $12. Information about the run, including COVID policies and transportation, are available at www.citylit.org or by phone at 773-293-3682.

More jukebox than musical, Theo Ubique’s production of 8-Track: The Sounds of the ‘70s, conceived by Rick Seeber with musical arrangements by Michael Gribben, is a tribute to 70’s AM radio, performed by an ensemble of powerhouse vocalists, showcasing a range of tunes from Motown to the Bee Gees. There is no metal, punk, or hip-hop, but the range of pop sounds that provided the soundtrack for the decade is wide enough that, in the hands of the capable musicians who perform them in this lively rendition, there is something for everyone in the set-list. The actor/singers do a good job of creating distinct characters, but plumbing the depths of relationships or creating anything resembling a plot is an elusive quest when there are 50 songs to get through. Director/Choreographer Jamal Howard has done his best to pay tribute to the social movements of the 70’s, but this backdrop only makes one wish for a deeper dive; the production is more successful when the music guides the choreography and relationships are lighter. Music director/conductor/designer and keyboardist Jeremy Ramey keeps the tempos brisk and the harmonies tight, providing a musical setting that ensures one is not sucked into the morass of the more saccharin or outdated numbers. The cast is respectful of the material but does not allow their reverence to try to sell numbers whose expiration date is past—though they still have fun with them. Billed as a holiday production, this is a light-weight but entertaining option for people who loved even some of the music of the 70’s or those whose pop music education began in later decades and want a quick primer.

Performed by a stellar eight-person cast led by four lead singers, Jamal Howard’s production pays tribute to the social movements that defined the decade, especially the post-Stonewall gay rights movement. Several characters explore their sexual orientation, questioning and fearing their feelings of attraction until finally embracing them with the advent of disco at the end of the decade.  The Vietnam War was nearing its end at the beginning of the 70’s, but the draft was still claiming the lives of young men without the means of it, and the music and Howard, with assistant director/choreographer J Alan, honors those who were forced to take up arms. Feminists were starting to demand equality of pay and opportunities for women, which was reflected in the music of the time (Helen Reddy’s “I Am Woman” being a more obvious example), though there were plenty of songs that countered that narrative as well (the Commodore’s “Brick House” being a rousing but egregious example). In trying to bring these narratives into a musical without a book, Howard occasionally creates frustratingly mercurial relationships that leave one wanting some dialogue to flesh things out, but the historical framework offers insights into the decade that younger viewers will not have. Howard’s choreography is serviceable throughout, but shines when he draws on the dances of the time period.

The design elements also help transport the audience to the era. Mara Ishihara Zinky’s scenic design combines elements of wood-paneled basement and music club. Costume designer Jasmine Aurora Medina’s first act designs seem to be a year-by-year march through the Sears catalogue, though characters become more consistent as they “find themselves” and the disco looks are truly fabulous. Lighting designer Piper Kirchhofer brings a concert-like feel to the evening, relying on super-saturated colors to provide shifts in mood. Sound designer Stefanie M. Senior adds additional period context, and audio engineers Isaac Mandel and Max Cichon provide invaluable support.

The eight cast members all create distinct characters and bring both acting chops and vocal expertise to the experience. There is a lot of music, and the arrangements are complicated by the addition of voices to the core cast of four, but all the performers flawlessly execute the vocal journey and choreography. The four lead singers, Wesly Anthony Clergé, Mia Nevarez, Patrick O’Keefe and Jasmine Lacy Young all bring confidence and exuberance to their performances, capturing the emotions of their characters’ relationships and the songs that provide the vehicles. Jasmine Lacy Young brings soaring vocals to the anthem “I Am Woman,” and more meditative songs like “Just the Way You Are.” Wesly Anthony Clergé brings out the anger in “War” as the veteran who could not avoid the draft. Clergé’s well-modulated voice and ingratiating smile are a highlight of the show. Mia Nevarez, a relative newcomer, has a beautiful, smooth soprano that manages to make even “You Light Up My Life” rise above its schmalzy mediocrity. Navarez and Clergé join forces for a beautiful rendition of “The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face.” Patrick O’Keefe rounds out the quartet of principals; he ends up having to sell some of the less sturdy music of the decade and his character takes a while to come into his own, but he brings a nice longing to songs like “I’m Not in Love” and “Desperado.” The remaining members of the ensemble provide become love interests and swell the sounds of the music. Chamaya Moody distinguishes herself with her dance moves, but all the actors, Moody, Alli Atkenson, Matt Patrick and Roy Samra find ways to create characters that remain consistent while changing with the decade. The show is at its most joyful and fun when the eight-member ensemble joins together for “tracks” (the show is divided into eight of these, appropriately), including a raucous party in the first act, and a road trip and disco tribute in the second. With a versatile band consisting of Jeremy Ramey on keyboards, Perry Crowder on guitar, Egan Franke on bass and Carlos Mendoza on drums backing up the vocals and rocking out on their own, the production more than does justice to the artists that created the sounds of 70’s.

If one has musical memories of the 70s, 8-Track: The Sounds of the ‘70s will provide a joyful trip to the past, with the talented cast breathing life into even the most moribund hits of the decade. If one is too young to recollect the times, many of the hits may still ring a bell, and the show will provide an energetic introduction to those that don’t. If you are looking for complex plots and characters, this is not your show, but director Jamal Howard and the exuberant ensemble have created a respectful but not too reverent time capsule that provides a nice break from the winter weather as well as a reminder that every decade has its own struggles and celebrations.

8-Track: The Sounds of the ‘70s runs through January 23 at Theo Ubique Cabaret Theatre at 721 Howard Street, Evanston. Tickets are on sale at www.theo-u.com or 773-939-4101. Prices are Thurs. & Sun. $42 bar seats, $45 riser seats, $50 table seats; Fri & Sat: $46 bar seats, $49 riser seats, $54 table seats, except ticket prices for the New Year’s Eve show (including a champagne toast) are $70 for the show only. No performances Christmas week Thursday, December 23 through Sunday, December 26. Optional three course prix fixe dinners catered by Good To Go Jamaican Cuisine are available for $29.00 per person, per show. Dinner reservations must be placed one week in advance of the desired performance date. Theo Ubique will be requiring all audience members to be fully vaccinated from COVID-19 this season. Photo ID and proof of vaccination (photos or photocopies are acceptable) will be required at the door. (Starting one hour before curtain, all unsold seats will be released for $20.)

This year’s incarnation of Shakespeare’s gender-switch comedy Twelfth Night, Midsommer Flight’s holiday tradition returns to the Lincoln Park Conservatory as “an immersive journey.” Under director Kristina McCloskey (with associate director Stephanie Mattos), “Audience members will follow performers promenade-style from scene to scene, often having to choose which characters or plot points they’d like to follow.” Unfortunately, once you have chosen, you must commit to your choice—and I regretted a few of mine. And sometimes, you are forbidden from choosing which scene to follow when too many others have made a choice. As a result, I caught much of the interplay between Cesario, Orsino and Olivia (except for the part about how Viola became Cesario). I missed almost the entire subplot involving the maltreatment of Malvolio by Sir Toby, Maria, Aguecheek and Feste. I did see the moment when Antonio revealed to Sebastian that he could not show his face in Illyria, but others did not, which would make Antonio’s intervention on behalf of Cesario seem baffling to an audience unfamiliar with the play. There is still a lot to like in this Twelfth Night, likely more than I can report on. The amazing setting—which one can see even more of this year—is a bonus, especially if one likes a walk. The original music and songs by Elizabeth Rentfro and Alex Mauney (with additional music by Grant Brown, Caroline Kidwell and Lexy Hope Weixel, returning from previous productions) underscore the emotions and action of play. There are some strong performances. However, the “choose your own adventure” mode would make this a very confusing evening for anyone unfamiliar with the play. For anyone who wants to see how all the characters develop, it can be frustrating. Allowing the audience to promenade a little more freely might help, but ultimately, no matter which direction one goes, one will miss a lot.

Though I saw too little of some characters to form an opinion on the performances, I was able to see some almost fully. As Viola/Cesario, John Payne brings a little too much gravitas to the role, belying the character’s youth. Their voice can also be drowned out by the surroundings, though they create beautiful, intimate moments with Orsino, Olivia and Feste alike (the relationship with Feste, which can get lost sometimes, is amplified in this production to great effect as the intermediaries between the two courts find communion in their alienation from both worlds). Amy Malcom’s Olivia lacks the mournful hauteur normally found in Olivia, her grief for her brother seeming more like a figurative “headache” presented as a reason for rejecting Orsino’s advances, but she brings warmth and humor to her interactions with her court, and a palpable desire to her interactions with Cesario. As Orsino, Polley Cooney captures the nobleman’s imperious egocentrism at the outset, while slowly growing into the recognition that love cannot be demanded. Izis Mollinedo’s wise Feste becomes the glue of the production, providing much of the musical accompaniment as well as the clever wordplay that shows the foolishness of the many unrequited crushes. With a powerful singing voice and wry wit, Mollinedo is a worthy foil to the passions. Kathleen Mitchell is a powerful and passionate Antonio, who mysteriously risks all for Sebastian; in this production, Antonio’s attraction to Sebastian is obvious, though Audrey Napoli’s Sebastian seems much more ambivalent. I wish I had seen more of Tatiana Pavela and Grant Brown as Maria and Sir Toby Belch, respectively, as well as Lexy Hope Weixel’s Sir Andrew Aguecheek (though I appreciated Weixel’s hangdog, sniveling Aguecheek in the moments I did see—particularly in the ill-fated duel). Sonia Goldberg as Malvolio brought a heartrending sense of betrayal to the character’s imprisonment (though they were unnecessarily hidden behind a screen from my vantage point), followed by a seismic rage in the final scene, though I missed the machinations that brought Malvolio to this point. Special mention should go to ensemble members Kristen Alesia and Jillian Leff, who take on multiple other roles (Leff is very entertaining as Valentine), help manage audience movement, and provide musical accompaniment and vocals.

Directors Kristina McCloskey and Stephanie Mattos have done their best to bring the parts together in key moments, but much of the action still takes place in the next room, no matter which room one is in. This is not helped by the ending, which involves some nice reconciliations, but ultimately feels abrupt—while the typical resolution is too tidy and forced, in this production, the ending feels irresolute. As to the design, the backdrop to the action could not be more beautiful. Placing the Olivia’s first scene in the Orchid House is inspired, and the action allows for a good viewing of much of the Lincoln Park Conservatory. Unfortunately, the foliage can also make sightlines tricky, and some lines get lost in the ambient sound. The costumes by Cindy Moon range across time but convey the stations of the characters; the Hawaiian cruise-themed stage management is a nice tongue-in-cheek touch and Antonio’s, Viola’s and Sebastian’s costumes all have a vaguely nautical feel that works well. Props and scenery by Nina D’Angier are minimal, as they must be, but create effective spaces for Olivia and Orsino, and lend some specificity to the various scenes. The team of stage managers also deserves praise for keeping the audience moving, helping people who need assistance and guiding audience members to spaces for viewing—though they will probably hone their parts in this performance as they encounter all the many pitfalls this format potentially contains.

Though Midsommer Flight’s Twelfth Night is still a beautiful and joyful version of Shakespeare’s comedy, the “choose your own adventure” format, while an interesting concept, contains more problems than payoffs. For anyone unfamiliar with the play, the already confusing plot would be nearly impossible to follow. Those who are familiar may still miss favorite scenes. The performances are entertaining, and the music brings the love story to life. However, with each audience member following a different path, no one gets the whole story, and there is a lot of story to miss in Twelfth Night.

Midsommer Flight’s Twelfth Night runs through December 19, Thursday – Sunday at 7:30pm at the Lincoln Park Conservatory, 2391 N. Stockton Drive, Chicago, IL 60614. Tickets are pay-what-you-can with a suggested donation of $30, and are available at Twelfth Night (Winter 2021) | Midsommer Flight. Audience members must wear masks and stand during the performance (accommodations for mobility can be made with advance notice), which runs 100 minutes, and must show proof of COVID-19 vaccination.

In 2020, the Ovals of Ostropol, the fictional troupe of travelling players that bring the story of Hershel and the goblins who menace him to life in Strawdog Theatre Company’s holiday tradition, were forced to spread Hanukkah cheer and occasional chills online. This year, the Ovals are back in a surprisingly rollicking (given the size of the troupe) live production of Hershel and the Hanukkah Goblins, adapted from the children’s book by Eric Kimmel by Michael Dailey, with music and lyrics by Jacob Combs.  Tickets are free, making this story accessible to all, though donations are welcome and well-deserved. Director Hannah Todd has marshalled a team of designers and performers that create a charming and joyful holiday entertainment for the whole family. The enthusiastic cast play multiple roles and instruments, using deliberately low-budget stage magic to transport the audience to the town of Chelm, where they must convince the community that stories are worth retelling...and that performers are deserving of food and shelter. Only the most jaded will not be convinced.

Eric Kimmel’s children's book tells of one man’s efforts to save Hannukah from the goblins who have taken over the old synagogue and who, for reasons unknown, hate Hanukkah and blow out the candles and throw the latkes on the floor whenever anyone tries to celebrate the holiday. Michael Dailey’s adaptation frames the story with a troupe of down-on-their-luck traveling players, including a descendant of the book’s principal character, also named Hershel. This year’s company, wearing Oval-branded masks against the anachronistic COVID-19 pandemic, are a troupe of vaudevillians whose skills do not earn them enough to pay their dinner, though they make for an entertaining pre-show. Which brings them back to Chelm—the town where Hershel’s grandfather set out to outwit the series of goblins. Hoping to find a warm welcome, windows lit with Hanukkah lights, and food and shelter, the troupe instead finds a dour shopkeeper who explains that the town has no need for stories and turns them away. After some cajoling and bullying Hershel convinces her to listen to the story of how his ancestor defeated the goblins and then make her decision. The troupe scrambles to put together the show, sharing all the elements that will become the props and goblins through theatrical magic and commitment.

Hannah Todd and the ensemble of performers and designers have created an accessible, low-tech performance that relies on mild Catskills-style humor, slapstick, and some dance and acrobatics. Nothing fancy. The Ovals seem to rely more on charm than skill, which explains their destitution. However, they have charm in spades, which makes it nearly impossible not to root for them. Todd does an excellent job of keeping the pace moving, allowing just enough time for laughs (or groans) and audience responses, and, finally, a moving celebration of stories and community. She introduces all the elements of the play-within-the-play either in the preshow, or in the “panic” to pull together a show in a moment’s notice, and it is fun to see how the elements are transformed when the story of Hanukkah-hating goblins is performed. The cast convey the urgency of their characters predicament without ever losing their connection to the audience and their message of togetherness. As Hershel, Morgan Lavenstein plays Hershel with just the right amount of swagger, easily switching between physical humor and solemn songs of the season, which beautifully ground the production. She also does a great job of encouraging the moments of audience participation. As Hershel’s foil and partner, Leor, who does not share Hershel’s faith that all will be well, Charlie Baker plays multiple roles, including a greedy goblin who must battle a pickle jar, with physical aplomb and comic timing. The droll Rebecca Marowitz as Max teams with Baker for vaudevillian hijinks and brings the Innkeeper to life. LaKecia Harris as Sara brings energy and warmth to her role in the ensemble, as well as a big vocal presence as one of the more menacing goblins. Christopher Thomas Pow and Amy Gorelow provide the musical spine, with Pow on violin and Gorelow on the upright bass underscoring and accompanying much of the play. Pow also voices an oddly charming, tiny tong-goblin, and Gorelow adds some comedy with her character’s attempts at acrobatics. The whole company does an excellent job of manipulating the objects that comprise the set, props and goblins. There’s even a goblin-brawl!

Scenic designer Caitlin McLeod has created a puzzle-box wagon that contains the entire play, with a few scenic touches that unite cast and audience in the spirit of Hanukkah. The wagon provides a backdrop for the Ovals’ act, holds chests of props and accessories, and then transforms into a stage. Lighting designer K Story subtly shifts focus from exterior to interior, allows the “candles” to shine, and helps create the dramatic Goblin King entrance and the miracle of the Hanukkah lights that eventually comes to pass. The props by Foiles, and puppets by Foiles and McLeod, with Stephanie Diaz serving as puppetry consultant, exemplify stage magic—common objects are transformed into goblins of all shapes and sizes, including an initially terrifying Goblin King. Both the design and performance of these puppets are delightful. Daniel Etti-Williams’s sound design relies heavily on old-fashioned Foley effects, which adds to the sense of theatricality; the coming of the King of Goblins is particularly foreboding. The movement by choreographer Amanda Crockett, incorporates acrobatics, vaudeville and traditional dance elements to tie together the worlds of players and play. Gregory Grahams costume designs bring the story closer to modern times, early in the 20^th century, with a mix of urban and rural styles. Music director Ricky Harris deploys the considerable instrumental and vocal talents of the cast to perform Jacob Combs’s klezmer-inflected score, creating a rich musical backdrop for the play. From the energetic Dreidel song, which provides a good primer of the rules of the dreidel game—helpful for later in the play—to spare settings of the Hanukkah prayer that accompany the lighting of the candles, to goblin encounters and a final musical lesson on latke-making, Harris’s musical direction fills the space.

Even the youngest members of the audience will be able to figure out what will transpire long before it does, but in the hands of Strawdog’s energetic ensemble, Hershel and the Hanukkah Goblins is a fast-paced, magical love letter to storytelling and community. Though Hershel and the goblins both are delighted by geld, Hershel and his company ultimately desire just enough to keep themselves fed and sharing stories. Though enjoyable for children of any age (there was only one child in attendance at the performance, but he represented his generation well), this show will delight younger theatergoers with opportunities to join in songs, offer advice and dance along. Hershel and the Hanukkah Goblins is a joyful and moving part of the holiday season, and well worth a visit.

Hershel and the Hanukkah Goblins, now in its fourth consecutive year, runs through December 12, 2021 at Rivendell Theatre, 5779 N. Ridge Ave. in Chicago. Tickets are FREE and currently available at www.strawdog.org. Please note that audience members 2+ must wear a mask, and all audience members 12+ must provide proof of vaccination or a negative COVID-19 test before entering the theater. Performances take place Saturdays and Sundays at 1 pm and 4 pm, and there will be an added understudy performance on Friday, December 10 at 7:30 pm.

This is the third year that Strawdog Theatre Company is presenting its adaptation of Eric Kimmel’s children’s book Hershel and the Hannukah Goblins, but this is 2020 and a pandemic has forced the performance to go online. The outlines are still there: a traveling troupe of vaudevillian players fallen on hard times barters with an innkeeper for room and board, sharing a story for food. Hershel and the Hannukah Goblins is that story, about the wily grandfather of the troupe’s leader and his efforts to save Hannukah from the goblins who have taken over the old synagogue and who, for reasons unknown, hate Hannukah and blow out the candles and throw the latkes on the floor whenever anyone tries to celebrate the holiday. The cast is talented and energetic and give their all, interacting with the unseen virtual audience, but the absence of that audience casts a pall on the proceedings. The show is still a sweet reminder of the traditions of the season: the food, the lighting of the menorah, the dreidel, and, most importantly, the community and generosity that is celebrated. But without an audience of children to play along, the show struggles to take off. That said, Strawdog has done what they can to ensure that families (though not reviewers watching in their living rooms with blind cats in their laps) can create a fun and festive event with a little advance preparation. There are coloring pages that help tell Hershel’s story and there are moments when parents can guide their offspring to offer magic words or evaluate the quantity of gold required for a dreidel game. There is a song to guide the making of latkes, and songs to light each candle. If you are a parent of kids, especially those under 10, who wants to create a live living room experience, the ingredients are all available.

Hershel and the Hannukah Goblins recalls the stories of Sholem Aleichem, with the title character tasked with outwitting an ever-more threatening gaggle of goblins to save Hannukah, which the town has not been able to celebrate since the goblins took up residence in the creepy, old synagogue. Director Spencer Ryan Diedrick has recruited a young, musically talented ensemble to tell the story, and even tries to recreate the live theater experience with a pre-show warm-up of songs and knock-knock jokes. All the actors take on multiple roles and perform from their own homes. Diedrick has ensured that props make their way smoothly from screen to screen, the action is fast-paced, and the cast connect as best as they can with their young spectators. The spritely songs by Jacob Combs, mostly performed live by the cast under the musical direction of Celia Villacres, are klezmer-based but with an appealing contemporary beat to make them accessible and danceable for audiences new to the genre. Even though the performance would not exist without the magic of technology, this is a decidedly low-tech adaptation, with actors employing masks, puppets, costume accessories, acoustic instruments and papier-mâché props to tell the story. Aly Amidei’s costumes are reminiscent of the early 19^th century, but also reflect the homespun aesthetic of the “traveling” company. The props by Manny Ortiz are bold and colorful and easy to manipulate onscreen. The masks and puppets that represent the goblins are a clever range of folded paper puppets to sock puppets to baroque papier-mâché masks which convey the ever-more-menacing goblins. No need to worry about frightening the children, though; these goblins are not the sharpest demons in the drawer and should not give even the youngest and most sensitive viewers any trouble sleeping.

The cast, led by Rebecca Keeshin (who also plays a mean ukulele) as Hershel, and including Julia Atkin, Sonia Goldberg, and Ian Minh, interact as best as Zoom will allow with each other and the audience. They quickly add costume pieces to take on different roles, share songs and jokes, and gleefully inhabit various goblins (or interact with different goblins, in the case of Keeshin). Their performances will no doubt encourage young people to talk to the screens in front of them.

Though the end of Hershel’s quest is never in doubt, any more than the players’ welcome into the community, Hershel and the Hanukkah Goblins will provide a joyful diversion for families of young children willing to add some spirit at home. Despite the opportunities offered by moving the show online, Strawdog Theatre Company has opted for a stripped-down, old-fashioned children’s theater experience. If you have a young audience at home, and want to take them to the theater, clear some space in front of the screen and play along. Then they can color in the show-related pictures and help make latkes. It will take some effort at home, but the Hannukah show can be saved.

Hershel and the Hannukah Goblins will be performed live, online, through December 20, Saturdays and Sundays at 1pm and 4pm. Tickets are $25 - $30 and are available at www.strawdog.org.

Before seeing the co-world premiere (with Actors Theatre of Louisville) of Liliana Padilla’s How to Defend Yourself, read their program note. In it, they reflect on their fear that the play might be “harmful and re-traumatizing” (it might). They also state their aspiration “to be in the truthful chaos—to hold a space of pain and grief and complexity.” This it certainly does. With forays into montage and speculation, clearly delineated by shifts in light and sound, the truth is not in the reality, but in the emotional journeys of the characters. Padilla has an ear for realistic dialogue that cuts to the quick, despite a good dose of situational humor. Directed by Marti Lyons with a cast that physically and emotionally throw themselves into the highs and lows of the fraught relationships they navigate, How to Defend Yourself is a taut and powerful, if ultimately frustrating examination of sex, sexuality and consent in a world where #MeToo and Tinder hookups coexist. As one of the characters points out, it’s hard to express one’s desires if one isn’t sure what they are (and whether they are acceptable).

The play begins when a young college student, Susana, is hospitalized after a brutal sexual assault. Her sorority sister and mentor Brandi, a black belt, decides to act and host a self defense class. She recruits her sorority sister Kara to help. However, despite the emotion that the crime elicits, only three students show up—Diana and Mojdeh, who seem as eager gain access to the sorority they hope to pledge, and painfully shy Nikki. Diana is disappointed in the lack of firearms. Mojdeh is distracted by her upcoming date. Nikki struggles to speak audibly. After an empowering session of punching, Brandi introduces the fraternity men who have agreed to assist with the workshops, the overbearing Andy and the well-intentioned Eggo. It soon becomes clear that all the participants are bringing their own baggage and attitudes to the workshop, and a fair amount of guilt. The characters are well-drawn and well-spoken; all articulate their views with clarity, though emotions soon run high as they prove to have some irreconcilable differences. Despite the reason for their meetings, most of the conversation revolves around sex: communication, consent, and sexual desire. There are no villains, but sides are chosen and there is no way to avoid the feeling that complicity in the rape culture that led to Susana’s victimization takes many forms.

Reinforcing Padilla’s script, director Marti Lyons has assembled a cast that is diverse racially, ethnically, and in body type. The contrast between the leggy, confident sorority sisters and the shorter, less secure would-be pledges and the mousy Nikki serves as a constant reminder of the power dynamic they inhabit, as does the difference between the powerfully built Andy and the less physically imposing Eggo. In addition to the physical types, which serve as a reminder of the typical dynamic between victim and attacker, the characters cannot escape their skin or their backgrounds. For example, it is clear that part of what has shaped Eggo’s considerate attitude toward sexual partners—besides the fact that he’s a nice guy—in contrast to Andy’s gladiatorial attitude, is the fact that, as an African-American male, he needs to be more concerned about mis-read cues than Ken-doll Andy. Lyons keeps the rapid-fire dialogue tight and pulls no punches with the heavy themes that underscore the play. Yu Shibagaki’s scenic design transforms the Victory Gardens space into a photo-realistic gym. Christine Pascual’s costumes show the evolution of the characters in athletic wear, as well as giving insights into their transformations outside of the safe space, and, in an extended sequence of evolving parties, traveling through time and developmental stages. Paul Toben’s lighting design and Thomas Dixon’s sound design shape the focus on the play between intimate exchanges, amped up training sequences and resonant emotional asides. Movement director Steph Paul, fight director Matt Hawkins and intimacy director Rachel Flesher work seamlessly to show the relationship between fighting, friendship and sex. Training violence spills over into real violence, which gives way to an easy physical camaraderie, a simulated attack leads to the recognition of a spark of attraction. The balance between violence and sexuality that is explored in the script is well represented by this movement design team and the actors who realize their work.

The cast not only looks perfect, they fearlessly commit to Padilla’s vision, which is not always comfortable. Though on the surface, the characters are the sort of enviable success stories of college, the assault on their sorority sister reveals doubts and fears that are impossible to shake. As Brandi, the woman who tries to teach her peers how to defend themselves, Anna Crivelli is poised and self-possessed until the questions from her trainees start chipping away at her surprisingly brittle veneer. Crivelli portrays Brandi’s downward spiral initially with gritty resolve, then with frightening vulnerability. Isa Arciniegas’ Diana struggles to fit in, but her role as outsider makes her a sounding board for the other characters’ fears; Arciniegas finds the insecurity behind her character’s survivor mentality. Ariana Mahallati’s Mojdeh is awkward and desperate, trying to achieve the comfort in her own skin that the other characters seem to have by adopting the script that she thinks she is supposed to learn, whether or not it is her own. Andrea San Miguel’s Nikki goes from barely visible and audible, hiding behind a baggy sweatshirt, to embracing her physical and verbal power, with heartbreaking results. San Miguel navigates this journey in an often hilarious portrayal as her character surprises herself moment to moment. In a powerful and complex performance, Netta Walker as Kara defends her desires while recognizing that they might give license to men who extend them to other women. It is arguments like the one between Kara and the solicitous Eggo that most powerful convey the difficulty of effective communication. Invited into the space by Brandi, the men in the story struggle with their role there, as they find themselves cast alternately as attackers, objects of desire and representatives of masculinity. Jayson Lee’s Eggo brilliantly encapsulates the dilemma faced by men who want to care for women the way they want, while Ryan McBride’s Andy articulates the need for positive consent but disparages Eggo’s version of this as less masculine, calling him an Incel at one point. McBride somehow balances his character’s entitled self-confidence with a desire to do the right thing. All the characters do their best to communicate and ensure a sense of safety, but even with the best of intentions safety proves elusive.

Liliana Padilla’s How to Defend Yourself does not give any insight into how to do this. In fact, it clearly shows the difficulty in doing so when attackers are often people one knows, when even shifting attitudes and the ability to clearly and openly talk about desires and sex do not necessarily get to the point, and when one is smaller or less well-armed than potential aggressors. Padilla’s play articulates that, with all the progress that appears to have been made, there are still entrenched attitudes about gender, sexuality and communication that make this world no less dangerous than the one that fostered Harvey Weinstein. Under the incisive direction of Marti Lyons, supported by a crack team of designers and an ensemble that mines the script’s humor while committing fully to the underlying themes. Often raucously entertaining, How to Defend Yourself finally arrives at the conclusion that learning self-defense may not be as effective as one would like, and, more importantly, it should not be what we learn.

How to Defend Yourself runs through February 23 at Victory Gardens Theater, 2433 N. Lincoln Avenue. Performances take place Tuesdays – Fridays at 7:30 pm, Saturdays at 3 pm and 7:30 pm, and Sundays at 3 pm. Regular performances are $31 - $65. Tickets can be purchased at www.victorygardens.org or at the box office. 2433 N. Lincoln Avenue. 773-871-3000.

The title is a huge clue that Bill McMahon’s new play about Nancy Pelosi, The Adult in the Room, is not going to be a balanced political commentary. If you are a Trump supporter, be warned that he is cast as Voldemort to Pelosi’s Dumbledore. For anyone looking for a dissection of the venerable Speaker of House’s political history or an incisive examination of the dynamics of the office that she holds, this is not it. If you are looking for an entertaining hour or so with a political pioneer that gives a reverent overview of her entrance into politics and her evolving position, both ideologically and professionally, this is a very pleasant way to spend an evening. In the course of an online chat with the members of Running Start, a group of aspiring female politicians, Orlagh Cassidy’s unflappable Pelosi—elegant in a white pantsuit even when stress-eating chocolates or downing an emergency cold beverage—calms down her high-strung assistant who relays the latest tweets from He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, schools members of the CPC “Squad” on the importance of procedure, and inspires her young online interlocuters, who lob softball questions for Pelosi to knock out of the park. As directed by Heather Arnson and Conor Bagley, Cassidy nails Pelosi’s sense of humor, her understanding of the performative aspects of politics (especially as a pioneering congresswoman), and her passion for and faith in the Constitution and the government it informs.

There is no denying that Bill McMahon has done his homework on Nancy Pelosi. The Adult in the Room is a concise and entertaining biography of the sometimes-polarizing politician, recounted in the historical moment before the House embarked on impeachment proceedings. His Pelosi covers a lot of ground in the brisk 70-minute run-time, beginning with her introduction to politics as child watching her father campaign for and win a series of elected offices, and watching her imposing mother organize his campaign staff and rally supporters. She discusses her Catholic faith, her rejection of her mother’s desire that she enter a convent, and how she reconciles the tenets of the Church with her liberal views, including her unflagging support of gay and reproductive rights. She outlines her own relatively late entrance into the political arena after raising five children, inspired by Sala Burton, whom Pelosi succeeded in the House of Representatives after her death in 1987. McMahon does an excellent job of showing how her early inspirations shaped her uncompromising ideals and progressive values. With a strong actor in the title role, which this production certainly has, McMahon’s play makes a strong argument for the continued importance and legacy of the 79-year-old Representative. However, what little dramatic tension is generated is promptly buried in chocolate, drowned in diet Dr. Pepper, postponed, or dropped in a system reboot. The Instagram device gives Nancy Pelosi a great reason for telling her life story and outlining her political philosophy, but the scrolling questions that don’t get answered give a hint of what is missing, an antagonist in the room. The apocalyptic vision of a divided America that prefaces the coda of the play does not serve to add tension, and also seems out of keeping with the optimistic, consensus-seeking Pelosi who has been mildly scolding the Squad and her online acolytes throughout the play, even when she resorts to naming her would-be nemesis. 

Directors Heather Arnson and Conor Bagley have created a sleek, streamlined look and feel for the event, which serves the play well. Ann Beyersdorfer’s set reflects the no-nonsense Pelosi and affords opportunities for perching and pacing as needed. David C. Woolard takes his inspiration from the white pantsuit that Pelosi wore to Trump’s inaugural address in a show of solidarity with suffrage campaigners from the past and current female Representatives, while a costume change for the final scene mirrors the Congresswoman’s articles of impeachment black. Jamie Roderick’s lighting design is unobtrusive but highlights important moments and allows Brian Pacelli’s media-savvy projections—often ironic chat-heads, emoticons and screen names, along with a nod to the Constitution—to take focus when they should. Christopher Kriz’s sound design complements the action of the play, with nods to the onstage references and electronic interruptions. It is Orlagh Cassidy’s portrayal that makes The Adult in the Room worth a visit. Cassidy fills every moment and knows how to allow both the comedy and the somber moments to come alive. Though she does not mimic Pelosi’s voice, her vocal cadences combined with her elegant, yet energetic, physicality and a weaponized smile make Pelosi a figure that we want to listen to. As a bonus, Cassidy also slips into spot-on imitations of the voices that inspired Pelosi, and, in one well-curated moment, Donald Trump. Approachable, empathetic and intimidating at once, Cassidy’s Pelosi embodies the qualities that have enabled her real-life counterpart to forge her remarkable career.

Bill McMahon’s The Adult in the Room is not going to rock the world, but it is an entertaining tribute to Nancy Pelosi and a reflection of the current political moment. Orlagh Cassidy embodies the Congresswoman with passion, dignity and humor under Heather Arnson and Conor Bagley’s stylish, brisk direction. Nancy Pelosi’s journey from political neophyte to House Majority Leader, all the while espousing causes from AIDS advocacy, gun control, and health care to varying degrees of success, is a worthy playbook for her would-be successors to study. Pelosi’s mantra in McMahon’s play is “organize, don’t agonize.” There is not much agonizing in the play, but this leaves room for a plea to make things better for the next generation—and for the next generation to take up the mantle of social justice.

The Adult in the Room is now playing at Chicago’s Victory Gardens Theater’s Richard Christiansen Theater (2433 N. Lincoln Avenue) through February 15. Performances take place Tuesdays through Fridays at 8 p.m., Saturdays at 2 p.m. and 8 p.m. and Sundays at 2p.m. and 5p.m. Tickets to “The Adult in the Room” are priced at $49 and available through victorygardens.org or by calling the box office at 773-871-3000.For more information visit theadultintheroomplay.com