While I’m familiar with Studs Terkel’s oral of history of workers, titled of course ‘Working’, I came into opening night of Theo Ubique’s production of Stephen Schwartz’s musical adaptation completely ignorant of its content, its music, any of it. I didn’t know Schwartz had originally written and staged it in the late 70s. I didn’t know it featured music by a 70s icon, James Taylor. And I didn’t know it had been refreshed in the past decade with tunes by a more modern musical icon, Lin Manuel Miranda. Sometimes it’s nice to come into a show blissfully ignorant; doing so gives you those rare moments of surprise that come in adulthood.

So, I was surprised by much of it. I was surprised by the musical numbers. And I was surprised by the unevenness of this Broadway giant’s work here. But I was not at all surprised by the enthusiasm and talent on display by the cast assembled at this great little treasure of a theater where Chicago and Evanston meet near the Howard station (its name proudly part of the tasteful set).

The musical numbers were a lot of fun — 70s Broadway stuff since, as I now know, this is 70s Broadway stuff. Musical director and keyboardist Jeremy Ramey (who killed it earlier this year in the same roles for Theo Ubique’s killer Hedwig) has maybe the best time of anyone in the house, channeling his love of music and love of this music through his fingers and his constant movement. His band, featuring Hedwig’s Perry Cowdery on guitar and Carlos Mendoza on drums, as well as Rafe Bradford on bass, are in lockstep the whole way, complementing both the cast and the score.

A couple members of said cast really show off their musical talent here, too. Stephen Blu Allen, who I’d yet to see perform, impressed with his overall talent. Maybe the youngest member of the cast, he moved like a veteran and sang like one, too, possessing a smooth voice that worked as well as a lead instrument as it did when hitting just the right harmonies when accompanying his castmates. The presence of Cynthia F. Carter, who’s quickly become one of my favorite local actors and singers (having seen her shine in the Black Ensemble Theater’s tributes to Mahalia Jackson and Chuck Berry), assured me upon seeing her name in the playbill that I was in good hands. And wouldn’t you know it — I was in the steady and experienced hands of both her stewardess and her streetwalker, and blown away by her cleaning woman’s closing number, “If I Could Have Been.”

And that number’s where I’ll list my gripe — only one gripe, really — a gripe not with the players, but with the piece itself. The show could’ve ended right there, with Carter’s number as the closer. But it kept going and kept preaching. When Schwartz lets the characters and their lives do the talking, ‘Working’ works. But when he tries to sum up what the workers have said, wrapping it up all tidy-like and preaching to the audience, it gets, well, a bit preachy. Any audience deserves the playwright’s respect, especially an audience there to see an adaptation of a book by Studs Terkel. They don’t — we don’t — need to be told what to think. We just need a work that’ll make us think, whatever that thinking might be and wherever that thinking might lead.

In ‘Working’’s first half, there’s more of that preaching going on. A schoolteacher played by Loretta Rezos preaches at us with all the stereotyped gripes about kids these days (especially those in neighborhoods where schoolteachers might be especially harried) — knives and drugs and Ritalin, but no respect and no grasp of the English language (except as a second language). Michael Kingston’s moneymaking and money-worshiping businessman is more of the same — a stereotype of money and business without anything new to say about it. But in the second half, both Rezos and Kingston get characters with more to do and thus more to say. Rezos’ restaurant worker gets perhaps my favorite number, turning the work of waiting tables into an art. And Kingston’s “Joe” brings the feels without the heavy-handed attempts to get them as his elderly titular character monologues about watching housefires and long-ago waltzes and old Sunday drunks with cash hidden in their socks.

I can’t forget the last two members of this talented cast, all of whom play multiple characters. Jared David Michael Grant is the show’s heart, as a long-haul trucker, as a laid-off worker, and especially as the fireman at one of those housefires Joe spends his retirement chasing. The firefighter’s soliloquy, not just about the work of first responders but about the world they respond to, was every bit as meaningful as it must’ve been when Terkel and Schwartz encountered it over forty years ago. And Kiersten Frumkin is sort of the cast’s utility worker — in a play about such folks — nimbly playing a millworker, a lot lizard, a housewife, and more. It’s her last worker, a woman proudly watching the child she’s raising grow, that’s her best, and features a beautiful duet with Allen’s nursing home worker.

So, while the play itself is far from perfect, it gets better after intermission. And while the play itself is far from perfect, its cast perfectly plays the many roles they’re asked to play. And, isn’t an imperfect what workers and their worlds are? As Allen’s southside community organizer says late in ‘Working’, “history is made up of a lot of little people,” and ‘Working’ gives all of those little people a voice and a stage to tell their messy, imperfect, and real stories of ‘Working’ and of life, now through January 26 at what’s become one of my favorite spots, Theo Ubique on Howard in Evanston.

The first time I ever saw Oliver!, it was the 1960s movie version. I saw it at one of those old-timey theaters where an “old” guy (this was the 1980s and I was a wee lad, so the organist very well could’ve been a pimply teen keyboard prodigy and I’d have still pegged him as a geezer) played the pipe organ and they showed “old” movies (I remember seeing Laurel and Hardy there, too) and it was supposed to make you feel like it was the good-old days. Well, I know I didn’t recall much of the plot, but that Oliver!’s characters and musical numbers sure made a big impression — a big enough impression that my reintroduction to them, all these years later, by the Marriott Theatre’s current production, made it feel like being reacquainted with shabby old Cockney chums on the Victorian London streets in which they make their questionable livings.

When my date for the night, my six-year-old daughter who’s already a Broadway kinda gal, asked me what Oliver! was about, I told her it was “Annie with boys.” That explanation appeased her beforehand, and it made even more sense as we watched the show, because in Oliver!, it’s the kids who do the heavy lifting. From the opening number, “Food, Glorious Food,” the urchins whose lives are spent in either the poorhouse or on the London streets are the focus whenever they’re onstage. And the boys (and yes, unlike Annie’s female orphans, these kids are all male), despite their coal-smudged cheeks and their ratty rags and hand-me-down threads, light up the stage whenever they take it, especially in big numbers like the afore-mentioned “Food, Glorious Food,” as well as “Consider Yourself” and “You’ve Got to Pick a Pocket or Two.”

The two young stars of the play do as much shining as any of their peers. In the performance I saw, Kayden Koshelev played the eponymous orphan (he’ll be alternating performances with Kai Edgar). Koshelev is a little guy, tiny in comparison even to the other kids. But that makes him stand out, actually, and makes the audience care for him even more. Patrick Scott McDermott’s Artful Dodger steals each scene he’s in, his Cockney accent on point, his top hat held high, his eyes twinkling through the gloom and doom of his homeless, criminal existence.

And the adults who force this existence on their youthful stage mates are every bit their younger peers’ equals. In the movie version, I remember being terrified of Fagin. But in this production, William Brown brings the heart he recently brought to Into the Woods — sure he’s a crook and takes advantage of the boys who are his wards, but he’s a vulnerable villain. The same cannot be said for Dan Waller’s Bill Sikes; I wish Waller had a bigger part, because while he wasn’t the imposing figure, size-wise, I remember the film Sikes being, Waller’s demeanor and attire sure made a dark impression. Matthew R. Jones’ Mr. Bumble was also a daunting adult for the poor kids to deal with, although he was allowed some humor thanks to Bethany Thomas’ Mrs. Corney (Thomas, too, displays her range, this time as a character actress after carrying the recent Into the Woods).

But it was yet another star from Into the Woods who shined brightest in Oliver! — Lucy Godinez’s Nancy. Godinez starred, of course, as Little Red Riding Hood, and helped make that production. But, if it’s possible, she’s even better here, showing just as much warmth as Brown’s Fagin for the ragamuffins, and providing the highlight of the show with her take on “As Long as He Needs Me” — her performance of that song alone will have me looking for any future productions she’s in.

So, just like the film version’s plot made little impression on a little me, while its cast and music did, I can say the same for the Marriott Theatre’s current production of Oliver! — come for the charming Cockney characters and the tunes, glorious tunes. You won’t leave with an empty belly.

At Marriott Theatre through December 29th. For more information visit https://www.marriotttheatre.com/.  

Let’s begin with a children’s story. A children’s story about children’s stories, really.

Long, long ago, there lived a boy who could not decide what he would be when he grew up. He might have grown up to sing songs or tally bills, to right wrongs or treat ills, but he just could not decide. Then one day, the boy met a wonderful enchantress — a creator and a raconteur who herself had vowed never to grow up, and who lived her life telling stories for children. She told the boy that he, too, needn’t ever grow up, for he had been placed in this world for the same purpose as her — to tell tales that enchant children, young and old. And so, the boy did just that for many years until one day, as boys sometimes do, he grew up and went on to smaller, lesser things. And while that ageless enchantress still tells stories to children while the tired, graying boy does not, somewhere deep inside him lurks a longing for that storybook world he left behind, a longing let out now and again when he reads or hears or sees a story told truly and lovingly, told for and to those who have yet to grow up.

I begin with that story because Hans Christian Andersen’s fairy tale “The Steadfast Tin Soldier” was always the gold standard when that boy considered what a true and lovely children’s story is. Lookingglass Theatre’s The Steadfast Tin Soldier, written and directed by Mary Zimmerman, is the rare adaptation of a true classic that’s not only worthy and respectful of its source material, but takes it to new and wondrous places.

Show, don’t tell. That’s perhaps the first rule of good storytelling, and Zimmerman’s production adheres to that maxim. From the curious pre-show goings-on that evoke an advent countdown to both Christmastime and the curtain’s rise, to the inspired puppets and streamers and set pieces that create worlds within worlds on the Lookingglass stage, to the powdered wigs (“That’s Mozart!” my six-year-old cried when she spotted music director and arranger Leandro Lopez Varady take his seat at the piano) and classical instruments that arm the four-piece orchestra tasked with playing Andre Pluess and Amanda Dehnert’s exceptional score, a time and a place and a mood have been created before the story even begins.

Show, don’t tell. For the length of the play, not a word is spoken. I imagine that Ms. Zimmerman drew inspiration from silent movies, as her cast tells the story with what they show the audience — with their actions, with their bodies, with their faces, with their eyes.

John Gregorio and Joe Dempsey are the play’s active, madcap jacks of all trades, filling pointed elven shoes as puppeteers, scene-makers and set-movers, and various roles throughout. Dempsey’s Nursemaid is positively Pythonian in her prissy, proper pomp and posture. And Gregorio’s Rat, one of many parts he plays, adds a sense of gnawing doom and gloom.

As the ballerina, tucked away inside a doll’s house into which the audience is soon invited, Kasey Foster enchants both said audience and the titular tin soldier with her grace and her beauty. But she’s equally charming later on as a rambunctious rapscallion wreaking havoc in the Danish streets.

Anthony Irons’ costumes and props — as a wine-buzzed master of the house, as a masked fairyland creature of questionable species, and as a jack-in-the-box goblin who sets the story’s plot in motion — often capture the eye, but it’s his facial gestures I noticed most. From grins to glares to grimaces, Irons harkens character actors like Don Knotts with his oversized expressions that translate from the stage every bit as clearly as his castmates’ bodily movements.

But it’s Alex Stein’s Steadfast Tin Soldier who’s, quite literally by the end of it, the play’s heart. While the others frolic about, Stein’s one-legged plaything is destined to remain static, so it’s his eyes that show us all we need to know. Above, I wondered if Mary Zimmerman was inspired by the silent movies of yesteryear, and I think it’s Stein’s Buster Keaton-esque ability to tell it all with just one look that got me thinking that way, every bit as much as the entire wordless production did. When Stein’s eyes gleamed, brimming with tears, so did mine.

Perhaps he’s as old fashioned as those silent films of yore, but that boy who’s all grown up now is not a crier. Then this holiday play for kids of any age went and brought him to tears, the same as Hans Christian Andersen’s original children’s story always did. And maybe, just maybe, this children’s story told truly and lovingly will also remind that boy that he hasn’t yet grown up all the way and that there are still children’s stories of his own to tell — stories that delight and inspire, that entertain and touch — just like Lookingglass Theatre’s The Steadfast Tin Soldier is doing from now through January 26.

It seems to me the Joffrey Ballet’s been picking literary shows as of late based on books I either never finished or don’t remember. Last season, they presented Anna Karenina, which I admit I never read all the way through, but which delighted me in its transformation to the Auditorium Theatre’s stage. And now, the Joffrey’s 2019-2020 season opens with another 19th century classic, Charlotte Brontë’s Jane Eyre. Now, I know I finished the novel, as every moment in the ballet was recognizable to me, but I can’t for the life of me recall when I read it, whether it was high school or college. Shows that perhaps the book didn’t make that big of an impression. But I’ve got to admit, the ballet did make an impression. Seems to me that a much younger me could have used Joffrey productions of required English class reading as a mix of Cliff’s Notes and nights on the town. Alas, a younger me never had that opportunity, but the older me sure is lucky for the chance.

Just as she played the lead role in the Joffrey’s magnificent Nutcracker last winter, Amanda Assucena takes on the eponymous role of Jane for this production. And boy, does she deliver. But every bit as important to the main character’s story is Yumi Kanazawa, who plays a young Jane through the first couple scenes. Kanazawa matches Assucena in passion and performance, and seamlessly portrays the woman as a girl, handing the part off upon her arrival at adulthood.

Now, the two ballets I’ve mentioned above — The Nutcracker and Anna Karenina — are spectacles, the former by tradition and the Joffrey’s Chicago-centric twist on the tale, the latter because of the source material’s length and depth. Jane Eyre, on the other hand, lacks the marvel and magnitude of those two, instead centering on the experience and personhood of the title character. And, while still delivering some of the sights and sounds of the other productions, this production allows the Joffrey’s performers to shine, just as the characters in Brontë’s book are the reader’s focus, with Jane as both the book and the ballet’s focal point.

When Jane’s classmate Helen, played by Brooke Linford, dies from tuberculosis or cholera or whatever old-timey predicament Brontë killed her off with, we feel Jane’s pain at the loss. When Greig Matthews’ pompous Rochester at last succumbs to Jane’s charm, so do we. While the visual beauty of the set is still there, from the sad-sack orphans Lowood School to the fire that endangers Rochester at his Thornfield estate, of  it is the visual beauty of the dancers that is the star of this show, just as the characters — or the character, of Jane, really, is the star of Brontë’s novel.

So join the Joffrey Ballet at the Auditorium Theatre through October 27, as all its world-class company of talent once again digs deep into a literary classic to turn words into images, memories into reality, and a 19th century novel into a 21st century evening of entertainment.

So, remember a while back, when I took my kindergarten daughter with me to review the American Girl Doll Musical? No? Well, I wish I didn’t remember it, either. But I do. And I learned two lessons from it in the time since.

First, before the show started, my daughter was just as delighted to take her doll Violet, who is the Target-brand version of an American Girl doll, to see the American Girl Doll Store across the way. While there, I heard a girl in the store point out that Violet wasn’t a real American Girl doll, to which my daughter just shrugged and gave Violet a hug and told her she loved her. And right then I realized I love my little girl for being that kind of person who loves something unconditionally, warts and all. Maybe I’ve done something right.

And the second thing I learned that night was, as soon as I walked into that theater, I realized I’d done something very, very wrong. I wasn’t the target audience. But my daughter and all the other little girls in the seats were the target audience, and they were thrilled and delighted and entertained by what this old man thought was a bunch of snake-oil-salesmanship.

I was reminded of that second lesson this past Friday evening at the opening of the Factory Theater’s Oh Sh#t! It’s Haunted! I wasn’t the target audience. Nope. The target audience is indeed an old man, but an actual old man (I just play one here on the internet and after 8pm on weeknights). And he’s an old man from Chicago, which I’m not. And he’s an old Chicagoan who’s Polish and likes jokes about Polish stuff and likes Peter Cetera and likes jokes about Peter Cetera. That guy is the Oh Sh#t! It’s Haunted! target audience, I thought as I sat there, unsmiling, wondering when the Scooby-Doo spoof I’d been expecting was going to yank the mask off and reveal itself.

But then I looked around at everyone else there — the Factory’s cozy stage and cozier seating makes for the audience being as intimate with one another as they are the actors who I worried would trip over the feet of the folks in the front row — and I noticed that a good portion of them — all ages, all backgrounds — were cracking up and having a blast.

A big reason for that was that the cast seemed to be having a blast, especially Timothy C. Amos, who played Pa Aldrichzewski, the very kind of dad-joke-telling, kielbasa-chomping, Peter-Cetera-namedropping Chicago old guy who I pictured as the target audience. Christy Arington played Pa’s wife, Ma, and the two of them would be perfect for some kind of 1970s Polish Good Times or All in the Family or something. They looked their parts, too, thanks to Rachel Sypniewski’s costuming (she also nailed 50s sweetheart looks for Jose Cervantes and Raven Nichole, and a ghostly Jimi Hendrix played by Michael Jones). This was a total night for character actors, with Eric Frederickson’s looming Peter Jasonczevik landing somewhere between a spook and an Eastern European villain you’d see being dispatched on the big screen by James Bond or Liam Neeson or Keanu Reeves, and Stacie Barra’s needle-nosed, preening, scoffing real estate villainess stealing any scene she strutted into.

So, yeah, I get that the enthusiastic and eager cast earned both the audience’s attention and admiration, but I guess it was the play itself I just didn’t get. There were some Scooby-riffic music cues, and a haunted house and a ghost story and a gang, I guess, in there somewhere, too. But I guess I just wasn’t the target audience for what the Factory’s ensemble was trying to do with Scott OKen’s play. Apparently, most of the rest of the crowd was, leaving me remembering the first lesson I learned way back on my American Girl evening — maybe they’re all the understanding, accepting, loving little girls who can love something warts and all, while I’m the prissy little sourpuss pointing out those warts. In that case, if you enjoy humor that leans toward Chicago (the land and Peter Cetera’s band) and the Polish, then you just might enjoy Factory Theater’s Oh Sh#t! It’s Haunted!, running through November 9. If not, then maybe join me and the rest of the party poopers while we watch some old Scooby-Doo reruns, so long as it’s before 8pm.

I’ve said it before and I’ll surely say it again: We Chicagoland theatergoers find ourselves wandering through — lost in, even — a fairyland of shows and venues and world-class talent. And never was that more evident than when I experienced the Writers Theatre’s current production of Stephen Sondheim’s Into the Woods, directed by Gary Griffin.

The show, of course, is part of the Broadway canon, beloved by so many and sure to please. And the theater, with its in-the-round set transformed by Scott Davis into something both sensational and sinister, promised the same as soon as I ventured into its woods found my seat therein.

But, as I’ve said before and will surely say again, it was the cast that performed the most magic, that inhabited the characters who are Sondheim’s wondrous woods’ inhabitants and explorers and tragic tales. As strong as any cast I’ve ever seen, here or elsewhere, this was an all-star ensemble of Chicago’s artists and actors.

Set by Writers Theatre artistic director Michael Halberstam (as narrator) and conductor/pianist Charlotte Rivard-Hoster’s three-piece orchestra, the stage becomes a world that reveals one fantastic character after another — characters fantastic since their creations centuries before, but made even more so by those now portraying them.

Lucy Godínez’s Little Red Riding Hood is bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, but winkingly so, letting the children of all ages watching her that this fairytale land isn’t what we remember it to be. Michael Mahler (who I last admired for his Jeff-winning musical direction of 2018’s The Buddy Holly Story) grounds us as the longsuffering but steadfast Baker. And Ximone Rose’s Cinderella is equally spellbinding whether grubby from soot or gowned for the ball. Each of the stars is a force to be reckoned with.

The force those characters all must reckon with, however, is Bethany Thomas’ Witch. From beginning to end, whether hunched over in rags or wowing with her presence and her voice, Thomas is the star of the show. Even when surrounded by sights and sounds that would catch eyes and ears and turn heads in any other setting, Thomas is the focus whenever she’s onstage. Sure, that comes with the role. But Thomas’ talent magnifies the inherent star power the Witch possesses. She’s imposing, enthralling, enchanting.

But so, too, is the ensemble that populates the Witch’s world. Brianna Borger grounds the woods in the real, human world as the Baker’s Wife. William Brown brings gravity (and a bit of gaiety) whenever his Mysterious Man appears. Mary Poole’s a hoot (or a moo?!) as Milky White. Ryan McBride and Alex Benoit bring the princely racket with both renditions of “Agony.” And just as riotous are Cinderella’s kin, played by Kelli Harrington, Nicole Armold, and Molly Hernandez (like Mr. Mahler, also part of Buddy’s Jeff-winning ensemble).

So, be assured that this production is one that not only that does right by Sondheim, but gives his classic a stunning and unique interpretation. And, as I’ve said before and I’ll surely say again, the fact that this unique interpretation is available to us Chicago theater lovers — and performed by the unique gathering of talent we are so blessed with — is magical, indeed.

At Writers Theatre through September 22nd.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I’ve probably said this before — the sheer volume of shows we here in Chicago have on offer makes me count my lucky stars whenever I enter a theater, be it for an opulent touring production or for a more intimate local performance. But it’s always the latter for which I feel even more blessed — that I am, that we all are, privileged to witness the variety and virtuosity of talented artists who ply their trade around town. And no show has left me smiling more widely, tapping my toe as hard, humming along as loud, and feeling more blessed to be a witness to Chicagoland’s theater scene as Theo Ubique’s current production of John Cameron Mitchell and Stephen Trask’s now-classic Hedwig and the Angry Inch.

Entering the Theo Ubique Cabaret for this show, you enter the show’s world immediately — a bar and a black box, both — as the tools of a rock band’s trade sit onstage and colorful and off-color and culturally significant graffiti decorates the walls around it. Along with the earplugs offered at the door, Colt Frank’s simple but striking set lets you know you’re in for an evening of rock ‘n’ roll, and the best kind, to boot — the kind that’ll piss off those it’s supposed to and provoke those it’s meant for.

And an evening of rock ‘n’ roll it was! Will Lidke, headlining the show and fronting its band The Angry Inch, turns what was an Off-Broadway and Broadway musical about a rock frontwoman’s concert into said concert. Lidke’s got the posture, the preening, and the pipes to pull it off, too. Strutting on heels, flashing his fishnets, and flaunting wig after wig (all of them designed by Keith Ryan), Lidke’s Hedwig is transfixing from start to finish, equal parts Transformers-era Lou, Ziggy-era Bowie, and East German derelict and diva. He tears things apart on numbers like “Tear Me Down” and “Sugar Daddy,” breaks our hearts with “Wicked Little Town,” and makes us all a part in the singalong “Wig in a Box.” I kept thinking to myself, what I’d give to see Lidke front a band in a small rock club, and then I’d realize, I’m getting to see that right here at Theo Ubique!

Equally stage-worthy is Jacob Gilchrist (AKA Mikki Miraj), who plays Hedwig’s first husband as well as her backup singer on our side of the Berlin Wall/cabaret stage. Each time we were graced with Gilchrist’s enthusiastic song and dance, I’d think they’d be someone I’d love to see fronting a band, too. And wouldn’t you know it — by show’s end my wish came true when Gilchrist came out as Hedwig’s one-time understudy in life, rock star Tommy Gnosis.Lidke and Gilchrist are joined by a ridiculously talented cast and band. As Hedwig’s spouse and sidekick Yitzhak, Brittney Brown shows she’s got perhaps the best voice of the bunch. And as Hedwig’s Berlin mutter and his backup singer East, Adriana Tronco keeps up with her castmates throughout.

And the whole shebang wouldn’t be a banging rock show without a killer rock band, The Angry Inch. Led by pianist and musical director Jeremy Ramey, these guys KILL. Guitarist Perry Cowdery gets things started by shredding “America the Beautiful.” Jakob Smith, also on guitar, switches between electric and acoustic as the mood requires. Joseph Drzemiecki brings the bong-rattling bass. And drummer Carlos Mendoza brings the beat.

So, if you want an intimate rock show, see Theo Ubique’s Hedwig. If you want to see a production of a musical that’s now hung around long enough to reach classic status, see Theo Ubique’s Hedwig. And if, like me, you just love being reminded what terrific talent our wicked little town’s blessed with, see Theo Ubique’s Hedwig and the Angry Inch from now through the end of July.

I know I’m not the target audience of the current production at the Broadway Playhouse (or of the American Girl store nearby), but I suppose my wallet is. What I do know is that my six-year-old daughter was excited for the show, and I was excited to watch her watch it. There’s something about seeing someone else experience joy that’s even better than experiencing it your own self. And that’s what I got to experience while watching a whole audience full of joyful kids watch American Girl Live.

If you’re considering attending this show, then I needn’t educate you on the line of American Girl dolls that have not only built a successful franchise but have now spawned an actual touring Broadway production. And if you’re considering attending this actual touring Broadway production, then I need only tout its impact on the little girls or guys you’ll be taking along. For the wee ones, this show’s a success, mostly thanks to its spunky cast and the onstage world they inhabit for the two hours (yes, two hours) that the play runs.

We’re greeted at Camp American Girl by Monica Poston’s over-the-top counselor, Alyssa. Alyssa not only greets us, but five girls who’ll be attending camp right along with us. Jenna Bruce plays the hesitant newcomer, Tori. Ashley Diane’s Bella is ready to go, though, as are Shelby L. Miguel’s Rosie and Laila E. Drew’s uber-talented Nia. But the camper who bounced and flexed and made the most of her time onstage was peppy Kelsey Pressnall. Each of the actresses got their moment to sing a solo number, and each of them did a nice job on backing vocals throughout.

Gina Rattan’s direction keeps the story going, even when the story drags, and Lauren Helpern’s scenes and Faye Amon-Troncoso’s props and set design keep things moving, as well — from the bunkhouse to the deep, dark woods.

But back to that dragging story…overall, the show’s a nice-enough tale of girls at summer camp. And yeah, I know it’s about American Girl dolls, but the way that the girls’ six dolls were shoehorned into the show was not at all organic or natural. Each of the six actresses are fine when it comes time to appear as one of the toys from another era (we meet, in chronological order, a Russian-Jewish immigrant at the dawn of WWI, a Hawaiian girl in Pearl Harbor as WWII gets underway, a boomer-to-be in sunny 50s Fla., a Motown hopeful from 1964, a hippie in San Fran, and an astronaut from today). But despite me being a history buff, I couldn’t help feel like my beloved history was being used not to educate or inspire young women, but rather to inspire young people’s future consumerism (or their parents’ present purchases).

But I guess I shouldn’t gripe too much. My daughter and all the other kids in attendance absolutely loved the show, and I was charmed by the cast and crew’s dedication and talent. So as long as you can stomach blatant capitalism, then this show’s not a bad trip to Camp American Girl.

The first time I saw ‘A Chorus Line’ was when I worked backstage for a touring production while I was in college. Perhaps it was my youth, or perhaps it was the fact that I was in the midst of the hustle and bustle of the fit and fabulous cast, but at the time, the show struck me as one of optimism and youthful energy. But all these years later, Porchlight Theatre’s current — and fantastic — production Michael Bennett’s classic look at the often-anonymous dancers on Broadway’s stages held a much different meaning for me. Instead of just being wowed by the performers’ talents, I really understood their pain and the lives they’ve lived on said stages — in the words of the number “At the Ballet”: “It wasn’t paradise, but it was home.”

I realized that part of that is the brilliance of the show, itself — that it acts every bit as its famed mirror backdrop, reflecting the audience members’ experiences and baggage back at them. But this depth also comes from this brilliant cast and their brilliant performances brilliantly directed by Brenda Didier. Of course, the talent is youthful and top-notch, as it must be for such a classic show. Christopher Chase Carter’s choreography populates the stage and pleases the eye, while the music propels things, thanks to Linda Madonia’s direction. Matthew Weidenbener gets things going with Mike’s Vaudevillian number, “I Can Do That.” Ayana Strutz’s Connie Wong confidently struts and fills the stage despite her diminutive stature. Terrell Armstrong’s Richie wows with his acrobatic dancing. While the show’s one about dancers, not singers, much of the cast has pipes aplenty — Taylor Lane and Aalon Smith’s vocals stood out, and Grant Carriker’s and Chloe Nadon-Enriquez’s married duet “Sing!” was flawless (although Nadon-Enriquez’s Kristine is not supposed to be able to sing). As far as vocals go, Adrienne Velasco-Storrs’ Diana got the show’s two big opportunities to sing — Marvin Hamlisch’s standards “Nothing” and “What I Did for Love” showed that she can sing and brought the house down, as they’re supposed to do.

But, again, it was the sadness, the weariness, and the experience that shone through to this weary and experienced version of me who attended this version of ‘A Chorus Line,’ and that was as much thanks to the performers’ take on the material as the material itself. Of course, Paul’s iconic monologue, here delivered with all the feeling one would expect by Alejandro Fonseca, manufactures emotion. But Erica Evans’ world-weary Sheila, looking for one last shot on the line, provides those same feels from start to finish; I couldn’t take my eyes off of her. Natalie Welch’s Val also draws the eye, even before her showstopper “Dance: Ten; Looks: Three,” although Welch’s age is a bit on the young side for the veteran Val. But while Val’s at last got the “it” she needed to succeed and Sheila laments the “it” that once made her successful, both of these actresses definitely have “it.”

But the real It Girl in this show is Laura Savage’s Cassie. The red dress draws the eye, of course, as does her constant backstory back-and-forth with director Zach, given both authority and empathy by Richard Strimer. But it’s the mix of confidence and brokenness that Savage brings to the role that did it. Only after the show did I learn that Savage, during last year’s Marriott Theatre production of Newsies in which she dazzled with her dancing, seriously injured herself, and has only at last recovered enough to lead this production. But lead it she does, shining as the starlet who’s looking to start back at the beginning, and who’s looking at herself in that mirror she sings about. And it is Savage’s Cassie, I guess, that spoke to me the loudest and most longingly, that gave this show the depth it was meant to have, and that most brightly shined, to myself and the rest of the audience, during this breathless, breathtaking, and unbeatable take on a timeless Broadway tale.

Through May 31st at Ruth Page Center for the Arts.