Blue Man Group premiered the newest version of its show Thursday night at Briar Street Theater, where it has been ensconced since 1997 – making it the longest running act in Chicago. 

Wearing shiny blue face paint, skull masks covering hair and ears, and blue rubber gloves, the Blue Men are clad in non-descript black sweat suits and soft leather boots, giving the individual performers a generic look - though the program gives bios of seven Blue Men whose background trends toward percussionists. The Blue Men move with reptilian precision, navigating the stage, and inspecting each other and audience members in an inherently hilarious manner.

The updated 90-minute program, which is described as "new moments" in this latest iteration (developed by director Michael Dahlen and creative director Jeff Turlik) is a series of sketches that includes some now legendary vignettes, a bit of it inspired by that adolescent humor in which bored frat boys might engage on Saturday morning.

But Blue Man Group is also transgressive, breaking the  bounds of propriety and expectations – a steady series of small shocks that is provocative and creative. The vibrant additions to the show give audiences a whole new reason to attend the Blue Man Group - even if they have seen it before. 

In a reprise of greatest hits the Blue Men chomp and spit out Cap’n Crunch (ewwww!); unerringly catch by mouth marshmallows (and paint balls) hurled 30 feet across the stage; and pound paint-laden drums, splashing the audience – the first five rows of which wears protective ponchos.

One fixture of the shows is a large screen projection of a video cam that follows embarrassed latecomers to their seats. Another pins an audience member against a large canvass and Blue Men shoot paint at them from super soakers. Volunteers for this and several other scenes are selected silently by the blue performers, and frankly no one resists. The troupe marches across the top of the audience's seats, picks through shopping bags and incorporates the ticket holders into the act. 

Another  recurring feature is the selection of quirky hand-built musical instruments whose components could have been sourced from Home Depot’s plumbing aisle and a bike mechanic’s benchtop. From PVC pipe and other elements, the group has long created such devices, one of which is a cross between a drum and a trombone – sounding like a digiroo. Newly constructed and remastered instruments include the Light Horns and the Trigger Vibes. Original music compositions in this updated Chicago production include the theatrical debut of “Vortex,” a piece from Blue Man Group’s latest studio album “THREE.”

For its latest show, the Trigger Vibes percussion instrument has grown to the size of a pipe organ, and is beaten with paddles, generating loud xylophonic sounds. Another addition is a stringed instrument, the Spinulum, that looks like a tall vertical slide guitar crossed with a bicycle drive train. Though the Blue Men are always silent, the instruments are not, and a back-up band behind a screen in a loft above the stage is even louder – unfortunately at times overshadowing the Blue Men’s acoustical efforts.

Awareness of this trio of blue-masked men is high, with more than one million tickets sold to their shows in Chicago, which combine drumming, mime, music, original digital video, and in the latest version an even higher degree of audience participation. The performers were historically largely anonymous, and are likely interchangeable among the major cities in which Blue Man Group claims residence: Berlin, New York, Orlando, Boston, Las Vegas. I’ve seen them in three cities for a total of seven shows over the years.  

That’s more than I’ve seen of a similar stage syndication, Cirque de Soleil, which acquired Blue Man Group from its founders in July 2017.  Like Cirque, Blue Man Group is also a marketing phenomenon, performing private shows and at conventions, and releasing albums. YouTube videos of their NPR Tiny Desk appearance will give you a feel for the music. A clip of Blue Man Group’s Meditation for Winners (not performed in this show, unfortunately) is both hilarious and a trenchant social commentary.

Though the Blue Men are genericized in dress, Scott Bishop, Tom Galassi, Eric Gebow, Callum Grant, Gareth Hinsley, Michael Angelo Smith and Brian Tavener are credited in the program (three perform in each show). 

In fact, Blue Man Group is not just silly, but through the years has maintained implicit social commentary in its shows about the perils of surrendering our humanity to technology. The audience must swear a pledge to disconnect from its phones during the show, and one very powerful sketch finds three individuals wearing a digital Find Friends apparatus, which leads them on a wild goose chase (complete with a Wayze- or Google-like GMS misdirection) to find friends – who were actually standing right next to them to begin with. The strength of this single vignette is enough to merit a ticket to the new show.

Bringing out a new show is certainly a bit unnerving for the creative team behind Blue Man Group, given its origins as a just-for-fun street performance art team in New York City. It was formalized in 1991 by founders Chris Wink, Phil Stanton, and Matt Goldman. And like successful rock starts, the Blue Men must balance the demands of a growing roster of greatest hits, with a need to refresh the show, stay current, and be true to their own creative leadings. Packing the hits up front gave them just a whiff of being obligatory, while the new stuff seemed a bit squeezed in the remainder of the program. Nevertheless, having seen Blue Man Group multiple times, I still laughed spontaneously throughout. This show is highly recommended – catch it at at the Briar Street Theater. 

Refuge Theatre Project likes to pick up what it calls under-appreciated musicals and put them on in non-traditional settings.

They hit that mark with The Last Session, an off-off-Broadway musical from 1997 that ran for about 20 weeks off-Broadway. Set in a 1990s Los Angeles recording studio, this production takes place in a real-life commercial music recording studio, Atlas Arts Studio at 4809 N. Ravenswood – giving complete realism to the setting and excellent sound quality for the performances.

Directed by Christopher Pazdernik, The Last Session tells the story of Gideon, a 1990s songwriter, who is tiring in his battle against AIDS. (In the early years of the epidemic, the treatments for the disease were much more intrusive than today’s refined drugs, with brutal after-effects like those associated with powerful cancer chemotherapies.)

Gideon’s medical weariness has led him to a decision to end his life – but he wants to do it after recording one last album. This concept album-in-the-making is to capture Gideon's life journey, from son of a Texas preacher, to married religious musician (the "Baptist Barry Manilow"), then to a man living in an openly gay relationship and penning pop-music hits. It also will capture his battle with AIDS. 

The Last Session is largely autobiographical, with music and lyrics by Steve Schalchlin – the real life Gideon - with book by Jim Brochu, his lover. Brochu encouraged Schalchlin (who was, like Gideon, suffering with AIDS) to channel his angst into a creative work. Thus, The Last Session stage musical. 

It's a workable dramatic piece, with interesting characters (all of them in the music business) and motivations for the encounters on stage – though the plot is contrived, e.g., no one knows it’s his last session - they only know that they must sing in a cold read from the sheet music, and each take is to be the final track recording.

As the play opens, we meet two back-up singers for this session who are also sworn enemies: Schalchlin’s ex-wife Vicki (a zestful performance a tad overplayed by Elizabeth Bollar); and a dishing-but-wise diva, Tryshia (Darilyn Butler’s excellent performance is on another plane from the show). And then there is Buddy (Ryan Armstrong is surely Broadway bound), a fundamentalist fan-boy musician who has tracked Gideon down, hoping to apprentice to him. Jim gets hired for The Last Session recording too, discovering to his horror that his Christian idol has veered from the path of righteousness, to put it mildly.

Putting in a striking performance as the star, Gideon, is Erik Pearson – who plays and sings affectingly and with deep conviction - performing pretty much continuously through the two acts. Pearson is mesmerizingly good. This demanding role has him at the piano, singing or speaking, almost non-stop. Brochu and Schalchlin modeled Gideon from real life, and Pearson inhabits that role.

What about the music? It’s good, even very good. The songs run the gamut from comical ditties, sensitive ballads, and lots of blues-inflected tunes. There are a several memorable pieces – Going It Alone is a standout. (You can hear The Last Session soundtrack through Spotify). http://www.thelastsession.com

As a gay-themed play, The Last Session is much more personal and focused than, say, Torch Song Trilogy or Angels in America. It’s a personal story and a good showcase of Schalchlin’s range as a songwriter. See The Last Session through December 2, 2019 at Atlas Art Studio. 

Singer Nancy Wilson first rose to fame on the strength a demo single of what became her signature number, “Guess Who I Saw Today.” In Wilson's searing rendition this torchy anecdote becomes a torturous revelation of a husband's infidelity. 

That demo recording was so powerful it led Capitol Records to sign Wilson in 1960; the song’s popularity spawned five albums. And Wilson continued to sing that song masterfully for decades. 

It takes a certain kind of singer to do that, and in an October 13 tribute to Wilson at the Studebaker Theater, local jazz eminence Bobbi Wilsyn delivered that song and a taste of the magic of Nancy Wilson in a retrospective put together by the Chicago Jazz Orchestra. Actually it took a trio of prominent jazz vocalists - Wilsyn, along with the incomparable Roberta Gambarini and rising star Sarah Marie Young - to give just a sampling of Wilson's ouvre. With these three remarkable performers, it was clearly a labor of love. 

Wilson was chanteuse, jazz interpreter, song actress, and pop and R&B singer all rolled into one. Those of us who can recall popular music before the British Invasion know Nancy Wilson well, even if we haven’t recalled her lately. In the early 1960s her jazzy renditions of Broadway standards repeatedly climbed the pop charts. It wasn't always clear to contemporaries that Wilson was a jazz singer; she was simply a popular singer, and jazz was more a embedded into our musical idiom then. In retrospect, she is definitely singing jazz - now a rarity outside those who specialize in it.

Wilson’s career retrospective (she stopped singing in 2011) was part of a year-long celebration of is Chicago Jazz Orchestra's 40^th anniversary that continues with a December 21 Holiday Ellabration (Ella Fitzgerald as interpreted by Dee Alexander) and a May 18, 2019 All-Star 40^th Anniversary Concert. 

The orchestra was also beefed up to 40 pieces, with a full complement of strings along with the orchestra’s retinue of percussion and brass. This was terrific, as each of the singers made three appearances, delivering two or three songs in each: a jazz classic, a song book standard, or a song closely associated with Nancy Wilson. The strings were brought to bear on some of those numbers, like Lush Life, which Roberta Gamborini performed magnificently - ala Wilson. The performances were studio quality across the board. 

For some numbers, the strings were silent and the orchestra pared back to just vibraphone (Thaddeus Tukes) guitar (Lee Rothenberg) piao (Dan Trudell) and bass (Dennis  Carroll). When the brass was in the lead and sax were soloing, I only regretted they were set way back on the stage, instead of up front of the strings. 

The artistry by these three was not in mimicking Wilson, but in resurrecting her interpretations. And for the orchestra, it was recovering and recreating the orchestrations – a specialty of the Chicago Jazz Symphony under Jeff Lindberg, the conductor and artistic director. It’s a little known fact that Chicago has a Jazz Orchestra. And it is renowned for its growing library of transcriptions – sheet music of arrangements drawn from recordings of the genre’s masters.

Founded in 1978, the Chicago Jazz Orchestra is the city’s oldest professional jazz orchestra in continuous operation and one of the oldest jazz repertory orchestras in the country. Its mission is to develop and promote an appreciation for and understanding of music for the American jazz orchestra as it was originally conceived, performed and recorded by jazz master composers and soloists.

Jeff Lindberg and the late Steve Jensen first came up with their big band concept in 1978 (founded as the Jazz Members Big Band), which evolved into the Chicago Jazz Orchestra, a 17-piece premiere jazz ensemble that has garnered both national and international recognition. Lindberg is one of the foremost transcribers in jazz. As a result, the orchestra’s repertoire draws upon his vast library including the works of Duke Ellington, Count Basie, Dizzy Gillespie, Lionel Hampton, Benny Carter, Oliver Nelson, Ray Charles. Because the CJO has its own transcriptions of the original recordings, much of the music in its concerts cannot be heard anywhere else. The CJO also performs compositions and arrangements by CJO members, including Associate Artistic Director Charles Harrison. www.chicagojazzorchestra.org

Martin McDonagh's The Lonesome West brings us Coleman and Valene Connor, two brothers fighting continuously over issues large and small: which brand of potato chips is better, who of the two do girls find more attractive, and who really owns their house.

As the play opens, Coleman (Robert Tobin), the older brother is at the table with the village priest, Father Welsh (Mark Tacderas), who is wheedling for a glass of poitin – the illegal local hooch brewed from potatoes. The two discuss a funeral held that day, Coleman complaining to the priest about the lack of refreshments. 

“If I held the purse strings” there would have been food and drink, Coleman says. That complaint pales in contrast, or perhaps increases in significance, as we learn that it was Coleman's own father who was buried today. His lack of engagement with the loss of his parent, however, is our first signal that something is amiss. And somehow, it becomes slightly understandable, as we learn that Coleman has killed his father with a shotgun.

Father Welsh, who is also very thirsty for his poitin, handily provides the audience some exposition in this scene - recounting aloud to Coleman how fortunate he is that a witness saw him trip, providing an alibi that described the shooting as completely accidental.

Soon enough Valene enters the cottage,and the two go at each other, attacking each others' emotional vulnerabilities, and battling physical as well. Father Welsh is forced to intervene to stop them, reminding them of the solemnity of the occasion - about which neither brother seems to care. We also see that Valene has marked items around the house with his initials - V  -and we learn by and by that he has used his father’s death and Coleman's emotional state, to seize ownership of all the property from his sibling. How this happened is the crux of the drama, and we will avoid spoiling that.

Let it be said, though, that this worsens what is clearly a very bad dynamic between the brothers since their early years. Now Coleman must beg, borrow and mostly steal to wrest his sustenance from his younger brother. How this happened is a key to the intrigue of the play, and as it is revealed, we witness Martin McDonagh’s signature touch in a slow, unfolding of the plot. In all McDonagh’s works, we see a gradual reveal of the story, as he peels the onion – shocking and surprising us as the action advances. 

For the dramatic action, McDonagh’s characters are not merely arguing vehemently.  Colin and Valene are at each other’s throats, and private parts, with knifes, guns and fists. It becomes apparent that their father kept the two young men from killing each other, thus far.

Years of childhood enmity repressed by Dad come roaring to the surface, like a volcano erupting. With him gone, we watch in ensuing scenes as Coleman and Valene come perilously close to mutual injury and possibly murder. 

All the pummeling draws Father Welsh to intervene several times in the course of the play – stepping into the role Dad must have held. But this priest is a fragile figure, and he soon despairs of ever straightening out the boys, or anyone in his benighted parish.

“I thought Leenane was a nice place when I turned up here,” he confides to Girleen Kelleher (Phoebe Moore). “But then I find out it’s a murder capital.” Unfortunately for Father Welsh, Kelleher is a sadistic blackguard who taunts the suffering priest mercilessly, driving him further to despair. She also happens to be the local purveyor of poitin, on which Father Welsh is very dependent.

The brothers are chastened by Father Welsh after another neighbor commits suicide, and the two make efforts to mend their ways and to get along. But the deeper patterns of emotional dysfunction rise to the fore, and things go from bad to worse.

I won't reveal more of the story; go see this play. The performances by the cast are very strong.  The black humor of The Lonesome West is also part of its attraction, as well as the gradual unfolding of the plot. In his recent star turn, Three Billboards Outside Billings, Missouri we see how far McDonagh's mastery has progressed. This earlier work is a little less smooth, but is still a strong, if shorter, pleasure. 

The current production excels in physical performance, and this show is very physical. But it is somewhat hampered by the challenge of capturing the lilt of McDonagh's Irish English - the cast is consistent in their reach for the script's accent, but the language (and meaning) is lost at times to pace and cadence. Nevertheless, most of it comes through, and the underlying performances are uniformly good. 

The Lonesome West is directed by Dana Anderson and produced by AstonRep Theatre Company. It runs through November 18 at The Raven Theatre in Chicago. 

Martin McDonagh has lately become even more widely known for his screenplays, and is among those select writers whose byline can draw ticket sales. (He wrote and directed In Bruges with Colin Farrell and Ralph Fiennes; and Seven Psychopaths with Farrell, Woody Harrelson, and Sam Rockwell. His star rocketed with highly acclaimed Three Billboards Outside Billings, Missouri, which he wrote for Frances McDormand and which garnered two Oscars and won Golden Globe Awards. 

But before all that McDonagh was writing plays in Ireland in his native Irish English (he was born in England of Irish parents), set in Western Ireland, with titles like A Skull in Connemara, The Cripple of Inishmaan, and The Banshees of Inisheer, all towns in the vicinity of Galway and the Aran Islands.

The Lonesome West (1997) is the third in McDonagh’s Leenane Trilogy, perhaps the most famous being The Beauty Queen of Leenane (a Tony nominee for Best Play 1998). He set the very successful Pillowman outside Ireland, and A Behanding in Spokanee was his first set in the U.S.  All this by way of saying, do not miss an opportunity to see a Martin McDonagh work played live and well on stage in Chicago. 

“Downstate” is a bit of a dog whistle for Chicagoland, suggesting a cultural distinction between urbanites in the north, and the vast agrarian expanses to the south – downstate - where trash goes, sewage flows, and where the state government builds prisons.

The word becomes generalized in Downstate, a new play by Pulitzer Prize winner Bruce Norris, which looks at the fraught issue of finding housing for convicted pedophiles after they serve time for their crimes. During parole, these men are returned to the” community,” but not to their home.

Instead they live in halfway houses operated by non-profits, sited in carefully proscribed areas that must be so-many hundreds of feet away from schools and other areas children may gather. The inhabitants are not allowed to go online, or possess a smartphone, keep alcohol, use Facebook, or move about freely.

Norris takes the less politically correct position of empathy in showing the suffering imposed on these pariahs, who in the world of #MeToo are unlikely to get a second thought. They are subject to regular inquisitions by parole officers, and a concatenation of rules and restrictions means there are few locations for them to live in such transitional halfway houses. So, they are shipped Downstate.

“I started doing a lot of reading about the things paroled sex offenders increasingly face– registries, residency restrictions, neighborhood watches, self-appointed vigilante groups,” says Norris. “These are post-incarceration punishments, that don’t exist for any other category of criminal.”

That in a nutshell is what Downstate is about: four men holed up in a house run by a Lutheran social service agency. They can go to work and come home, and that’s about it – even the local IGA grocery store is only 2,450 feet from the elementary school. They are indeed strange bedfellows, and Norris gives us the nuance of the caliber of their individual violations:

• the piano teacher Fred (Steppenwolf stalwart Francis Guinan) who had sex with two adolescent male students. Guinan, in an understated performance, shows the range that can be expressed within a very constrained character.

• Gio (Glenn Davis in an amazing, hyperbolic performance) a frenetic man on the make with a plan in his hand, whose crime was considered Category 1 (lower level) statutory rape of a young woman below age.

• Felix (Eddie Torres) who was convicted of incest with his daughter. Torres conveys the abject suffering and torment as he loses access to his family.

• A Broadway choreographer and accomplished promoter and musical artist, Dee, who fell in love with a 14-year-old boy in a road show of Peter Pan.

As Dee, K. Todd Freeman gives what will certainly become a definitive expression to the role. He is the settled voice of reason and a nurturant center of gravity within this ad hoc family of men, shopping for them and helping to make a home for them. As audience, we listen to Dee: he dishes and gives back as good as he gets – and he becomes our guide and the closest thing to a voice of reason.

Norris may be toying with us, then, by making Dee a very sympathetic character, while at the same time making him an unrepentant advocate for man-boy love – the movement that sees adult male love of minor boys as a victimless crime, and which advocates for release of those convicted of it. 

“There’s not many cases of death by blowjob!” Dee asserts. Gio, for one, abhors Dee both for his gayness and for his pederasty, with some violent outbursts in the house as a result.

Norris focuses this tension with the introduction of Andy (Tim Hopper), a Northshore suburbanite who with his wife Em (Matilda Ziegler) comes to visit Fred to seek redress, to “process” the issue and obtain formal emotional closure by getting him to sign an explicit statement acknowledging his wrongs. Norris contrasts Andy’s suffering with the experience of Dee, who comes to the defense of Fred, while revealing that he, too, was abused as a child – and claims to be none the worse for it. Fred and Em bring all the conventional middle class psychological expression to their claims - but framed within the context of Downstate, it begins to sound more like "white people's problems." 

Norris seems fearless in treading into such troublemaker territory. His Pulitzer winning Clybourn Park visited historic efforts in 1959 to block African Americans from moving into a white Chicago neighborhood, then returned 50 years later to watch a reversal of prejudice as whites tried to gentrify the same now-black area. Downstate will test its audience even further, since pedophiles are largely today's lepers.

Downstate is directed by Pam MacKinnon, and she had her hands full to balance the energy emanating from this remarkable company of performers. A call out to Cecilia Noble as parole officer Ivy - it's almost a thankless role to play the character who has a thankless job, in a play like this. But thank you, Ivy, for very good performance. 

Of particular note, the production is a joint effort by Steppenwolf and the National Theatre of the U.K. It may surprise you to learn the cast is transatlantic. The flawless, broad, working class accent of extreme south suburban Effie (played by Aimee Lou Wood, a Manchester, England native) and the dulcet Kenilworth articulation of Em (played by Londoner Matilda Ziegler) were learned right here on Halsted street, under the tutelage of Gigi Buffington.

Downstate plays through November 18 at Steppenwolf Theatre in Chicago. After that it moves to the National Theatre London in January 2019.

The new show running at the Den Theater, Fun Harmless Warmachine, may surprise you. While treating the world of video games, which struggles for recognition against more established art forms, it delivers an important commentary on a powerful social phenomenon.

Video games are a cultural mainstay; when a new game “drops” it can earn $1 billion, far more than a typical Hollywood blockbuster. Often dismissed as trivial, video games are full, multi-media expressions, and they truly merit our attention.

Fun Harmless Warmachine is also seriously good, I dare say even an important play. But its setting in the social world of virtually-interactive video game players could not be further afield from the living, breathing world of live theater. Playwright Fin Coe has successfully brought that extremely virtual world to its polar opposite, the location known IRL (In Real Life) as the Stage.

The story tracks Tom, a realistic gamer who is one of the many loners, men (and a few women) who could be located anywhere in any location and time zone on earth, and who bond in massively interactive competitive battles, as a rule, without ever meeting each other.

The show’s production at Den Theater is wonderful largely because of great performances. Ayanna Bria Bakari lights up the stage from the moment she enters as Ekaterina. It is impossible to stop watching her performance, as she presents the essence of an empowered, emancipated coquettishness, providing a dramatic pivot point for the play, and for Tom, an everyman gone astray played convincingly by Daniel Chenard. We also witness a jaw droppingly powerful delivery in the closing soliloquy by Emily Marso as Melissa. 

Fun Harmless Warmachine looks at the horrible undercurrent of the misogynist male gamer, which rose to public awareness during the 2013 and 2014 scandal of #GamerGate, years before #MeToo, when women begin to complain about misogyny in the games, and others complained about their gratuitous violence.

This brought to public attention a group of violent gaming advocates, not so different from guns rights militants, who harassed their critics and attempted to stifle the discussion. 

In Fun Harmless Warmachine we meet Tom (Chenard), a wandering, disaffected youth, turning ever more cynical as he realizes he has been captured on a treadmill of a dead end job with an overbearing boss. The more trapped he feels, the more he escapes to the world of gaming, withdrawing from his real relationships with work friends, leaving calls from his family unanswered, and becoming further depressed by a lack of romance in his life.

Tom's world devolves ever more into role playing games, where he poses as an alpha male warrior in a popular mass-participant game known as “Iron Fate.” During a match, Tom is discovered by a secret group of alt right gamer rights advocates – the "Order of the Sword.” The whole thing might remind you of an online version of the Fight Club. Indeed members are sworn to secrecy.  

This group's leader is Hunter, that familiar dominant male presence who can also fortify a weak ego (played with perfect menace by Robert Koon). Hunter woos Tom, enlisting him in Order of the Sword's efforts to stalk, shame, and harass activists who protest gaming for its celebration of violence. It's testosterone-fueled agenda also feeds Tom’s emotional void, giving him a sense of purpose and belonging. Buoyed by the group, his self-esteem rises, and he begins to find success in a new job and in his love life with Ekatarina (Bakari).

As Tom succumbs and becomes part of the group’s sinister pursuits of degrading, stalking and harassing women through social media, he finds a purpose that boosts his ego. 

Ultimately the play comes to a satisfying resolution, and Tom faces up to the evils he has wrought. While it is an Everyman story and a moral fable, this does not diminish Fun Harmless Warmachine as a satisfying dramatic work. 

Though hundreds of millions of people play video games for recreation and enjoyment, there truly is a subset of hyper-masculine, frequently misogynistic communities who combine into teams formed in this world of massively interactive video gamers.

By trial and error such kindred souls bond, and in this social landscape some less healthy individuals do actually form small, and insidious groups of alt right meanies. The groups coalesce into a terribly unhealthy social cliques, often choosing women as targets of their uncivilized behavior.

These folks increasingly transferred their virtual cruelty into real life harassment of harmless individuals who had the misfortune of being caught in their crosshairs. As gamers began to be called out for their misogyny, the term Gamergate arose - resonating too in the pre-#MeToo complaints about Silicon Valley misogyny.

“I finished it in 2015, and I was afraid it wouldn’t be relevant anymore,” says playwright Coe. But given the #MeToo movement and the recent tribulation of the Supreme Court appointment hearings, the world is even more ready for this play. After its run at Den Theater, it would not be surprising to see Coes work reappear at someplace like Steppenwolf Garage or another new voices program. Dramaturgs take note!

Don't miss your chance to see Fun Harmless War Machine through November 4 at The Den Theater in Chicago.

The story of the aftermath of the U.S. involvement in the Vietnam War has been told and retold, but never in such a lively and colorful manner as Vietgone, now playing at the Writers Theatre in Glencoe.

Written with the insight and perspective of a first-generation millennial, the play by Qui Nguyen gives us a fresh take not only on the story, but on storytelling and dramatic style and structure – a work that is part musical, part performance piece, all of it fitting for our era of Hamilton-style historical drama. Directed beautifully by Lavina Jadhwani, Vietgone features original music and music direction by Gabriel Ruiz, who has gained acclaim in Chicago’s venturesome Teatro Vista’s Ensemble. It features great choreography by Tommy Rapley.

If you feel the story of the Vietnam War has been covered ad nauseum already, you will be immensely surprised and entertained by this take from a group of people who were most directly affected the fallout of the event – Vietnamese who were hurriedly and even chaotically evacuated in April 1975, as South Vietnam’s capital, Saigon, fell to the North Vietnamese forces.

In Vietgone, we meet a series of character “types” – the author himself (who introduces the play as “possibly true”); also his father; and a young woman who plans to thrive on her new found freedom; her opportunistic middle-aged mother, who hopes to find romance, and to avoid learning English; U.S. soldier who falls for a Vietnamese girl; even a racist biker who stands in for the legions of Americans who had trouble laying down enmity against their Asian enemies after decades of war against the North Vietnamese Communist regime.

One character, a South Vietnamese army pilot, desperately wants to return to his wife and two young children. But if he does, he will likely be punished as a war criminal by the victors from Hanoi. Nguyen forthrightly addresses such stories of individual suffering and the culture clashes that ensued for these sudden transplants whose families and way of life were abruptly torn asunder.

But Nguyen also conveys the joy that was discovered in contemporary American rhythm and blues and rock and funk and dance as these individuals found their way. From this grounding springs an entrancing musical experience. Lyrics to the songs are rapped clear as a bell, with some songs “nearly sung” quite delightfully. This entrancing musical performance overlay may belie the darker aspects of the deeply powerful story that it also conveys. But the form brings us into the work so we can receive that story.

Vietgone centers its tale on the initial phase of evacuation, 130,000 South Vietnamese who were transported to via Guam into the United States, landing at resettlement camps at four military bases: Fort Chaffee in Arkansas, Camp Pendleton in California, Fort Indiantown Gap in Pennsylvania, and Eglin Air Force Base in Florida. Nearly two million more people followed them in separate exoduses, settling at points around the globe under U.N. auspices. 

Along with telling the story of that first cohort, Qui Nguyen introduces us to numerous memorable characters, whose background and personalities stay with us following the show. To have established so many individuals so vividly and concretely is quite an impressive accomplishment - all to the credit of this sterling cast. Standouts are Aurora Adachi-Winter as Tong and Matthew C. Yee as Quang. 

Vietgone is highly recommended. It runs through September 23 at Writers Theatre. 

*Extended through September 29th

Stacy Keach storms the stage for one of the best performances ever, as he takes on the role of author Earnest Hemingway in Pamplona at Goodman Theatre.

This world premier at Goodman was originally planned for Spring 2017, but Keach fell ill opening night and the full run was suspended until now. Clearly the delay has only enhanced his delivery, as Keach commands our non-stop attention in this one-act by Jim McGrath.

Set in 1959, we meet Hemingway holed up in a hotel (it would be the Hotel Quintana) in Pamplona, Spain – the site of the famous running of the bulls – faced with writers block as he struggles to finish a 90,000-word piece on bull fighting for Life magazine. Anyone who has been challenged in writing will recognize how playwright Jim McGrath captures those patterns of distraction and stimulation used to release the story.

Hemingway was an accomplished journalist who very well knew how to pound out the words on deadline. But in the lonelier pursuit of making art, it’s a different matter.

Hemingway indeed struggled to complete his first creative works and determined to let the pressure build until the real work came - ultimately yielding a new style if fiction writing, and a model for stylish manliness that American males widely adopted down to his haircut and sweaters.

In Pamplona, Hemingway tries to boost himself by reading aloud his letter thanking the Nobel Prize Committee for the 1954 award he received following publication of The Old Man and the Sea. He plays loud swing and jazz on the radio and phonograph. His back pain distracts him, and he inventories his bottles of prescription drugs, finding the one for pain. He considers taking a drink but stays away, knowing that will lead him astray – he has asked hotel staff not to bring him liquor.

Though Keach works alone on the stage, there are several characters introduced via his phone and sounding through the walls of his room – further distractions from his work. His lawyer calls with the news of taxes due. The hotel desk clerk calls frequently, despite orders that Hemingway not be disturbed, as a guest in the next room repeatedly complains of noise. On one level, the plot of the play revolves around that unseen and unnamed guest. We later learn he had specifically requested the room next to Hemingway. Who is this unseen force messing with Hemingway’s mind?

By injecting this abstraction into the play, McGrath transcends the level of a purely biopic storyline, just as Hemingway did with in his own works: beyond the literal surface of stories about an old fisherman, or a young matador, the characters are encountering their mortality and facing down death.

Keach and McGrath worked together for years on the development of this play, and it seems to embrace the continued scholarship into the forces that shaped and wound Hemingway’s outlook. So that audiences will have enough detail to follow, one-person plays by necessity have the performer delivering all their own background exposition – a requirement that may not always be in keeping with the character.

In this case, McGrath has balanced that demand well, and Keach captures the big blustery and frankly theatrical quality of Hemingway, who was by most accounts this blustery, larger than life figure we see on the stage. Hemingway's monologs of self-deprecation over his failed marriages and his neglect to aid his own ailing father, somehow seem natural, Keach convincingly makes Hemingway sound like he is "thinking aloud." (Keach also won a Golden Globe for playing the role of Hemingway in a 1988 TV mini-series.) 

Directed nimbly by Robert Falls, with sets by Kevin Depinet, Pamplona is a chance to see an actor truly in his element and delivering an enthralling performance. It runs through August 19 at the Goodman Theatre, and may be the very best show on stage in Chicago.

Two kinds of people are loving the Broadway musical roadshow Waitress: fans of Sara Bareilles, the multi-platinum singer-songwriter who created the songs and lyrics; and fans of the 2007 Sundance sleeper hit film, Waitress.

That right there is a big built-in audience, and Broadway in Chicago is drawing them in to the Cadillac Palace Theatre – perhaps many of them new to live stage.

In this vibrant, energy-packed show, Desi Oakley plays Jenna, a young woman in a small town, who faces an unwanted pregnancy, trapped with an extremely abusive husband in a loveless marriage (for her, anyway), while working as a diner waitress at Joe's Diner & Pie Shop. (Jenna was played by Keri Russell in the film.)

Jenna’s specialty is pies, and these will be the key for one day to run her own shop – the successful resolution of the story in the film and a made-to-order happy ending for a Broadway show. The staff and customers of the diner provide the de rigueur corps of sidekicks, supporting characters, and chorus of singers and dancers. The sidekick trio largely makes the show work: Charity Angel Dawson is Becky, the tough waitress with a heart of gold; Lenne Klingaman play the ditzy waitress Becky; and Ryan Dunkin is Cal, the diner cook who looks like a tough biker but is really a pushover.

The show is lively and colorful, and avoids veering into the extremes of “manufactured musical” (like Jimmy Buffet’s Margaritaville) or jukebox show (The Cher Musical) – largely on the basis of Sara Bareilles’ excellence as a songwriter. The emphasis by Bareilles also seems to be on how the mother-to-daughter relationship transmits strength, values and aspirations - the baking is a metaphor for all those life values a mother hands off to her daughter. 

Bareilles’ music is generally not the kind you would associate with a Broadway show - which requires big dance numbers, and sufficient belting to the rafters to telegraph the story to the audience. But Bareilles does provide these numbers, as well the dance sequences (though most are done by seated members of the troupe in Joe's Diner & Pie House). We also get the humorous interludes, duets, and the familiar “advice” song styles, such as “Take It From an Old Man” by the wise old man Joe (Larry Marshall).

The more delicate and emotionally expressive style of Bareilles dominates the second act, with small settings away from Joes Pie Diner – making it really like two plays, Act II bringing us the emotional angst and catharsis – as Jenna finally asserts herself and leaves her horrid husband Earl (Nick Bailey is both a hunk and a dastardly bastard) that we associate with the film. (Interestingly, the film's writer and director also played a supporting role in the movie, the role of Dawn. 

Waitress runs through July 22 at the Cadillac Palace Theatre. You can't go wrong if you see it, especially if you area fan of Sara Bareilles.

Tilikum, by Kristiana Rae Colon, is based on the real-life tale of four killer whales – technically orca whales - held captive at an aquatic park in Florida. It is drawn from a 2016 incident at SeaWorld Orlando, in which an orca whale named Tilikum killed its trainer, Dawn Brancheau.

Recounted from the point of view of the captive whales themselves, the story is told powerfully and largely effectively under Lili-Anne Brown’s direction. The play opens with the capture of Tilikum in the Bering Sea. He is a highly intelligent animal living a glorious life, siring many offspring and pursuing the latest object of his desire, Kinsalla Bal, whom he met in the Puget Sound.

The part of Tilikum is played with an exuberant ferocity by Gregory Geffrard. We watch as he is unfurled from a net and released into the tank he will share with three female whales. In his performance, Geffrard uses a stylized movement that mimics the swimming motions of the whale, while he also conveys an animal behavior. 

The villain is the park's proprietor, The Owner (Matt Fletcher), who has brought Tilikum to the aquarium hoping he will father babies with the females. Instead Tilikum drifts into despondency - unhappy in the too-warm water and claustrophobic quarters of the tank. While Tilikum is played by actor Geffrard, the females are portrayed as animated drawings projected on large screens across the stage, in a lovely dramatic scenic design by William Bole.

The females form something of a Greek chorus to the lamentations of Tilikum over his captivity, in drumming replies.
“How can you all sleep in here?” he asks the females. “The water is not deep enough to sleep.” 

In the script, Colon also posits that the females and Tilikum speak a different whale dialect and must take time to learn to communicate. Just as in the original case, the females attack Tilikum (his presence was believed to have has upset their established whale pod social order) and the aquarium owner must build him a separate tank – heightening his loneliness and disaffection. Geffrard conveys the animal intelligence of his character, and we sympathize with his plight. 

For this production at the Victory Gardens Theatre, Colon has developed a novel linguistic technique to convey the whales’ thoughts – a mix of amplified whale echoes and cries, drumming, supra-titles and spoken word. We know whales have elaborate language patterns. Colon is also suggesting how they think, feel, and the way they see the world. It is a wonderful, creative vision of what might be on the mind of another species. 

For all the good in this work of art, there are some sticking points in the script. The Owner is a somewhat one-dimensional baddie. A scene in which he sexually harasses and verbally abuses Tilikum’s sympathetic trainer Dawn (wonderfully played by Sigrid Sutter) is overburdened with a pile of evil doing. While The Owner’s terrible qualities are all believable and of a piece with his nefarious nature, it is too much to cram into one scene.

It might add to the show if audience was given a clue of the real-life background of Tilikum, a factual aspect which makes the story all the more powerful. (We instead hear an acknowledgement of the indigenous peoples displaced as Chicago was created - a worthy concern, not explicitly relevant to this show.)

Tilikum makes us feel the suffering of the whales, and identify with the injustice of using them as performing animals, by offering a glimpse of what must be running through their minds. While progress has been made (including with efforts such as the child-inspired Free Willy movement), as of February 2018 there were still a total of 60 orcas held in captivity (27 wild-captured plus 33 captive-born) in at least 14 marine parks in 8 different countries. 

Tilikum is an inspired and impassioned explanation of why this is wrong. It is highly recommended, and runs through July 29 at the Victory Gardens Theatre in Chicago.