Displaying items by tag: John Drea

Like a lot of people, Louisa May Alcott’s Little Women has been mostly a cultural curiosity for much of my life. I know it’s perennially referenced when talking about women and their struggle to achieve personal agency and autonomy. Since it was published in 1868, shortly after the Civil War, Alcott’s quasi-autobiographical novel about a close knit family with its quartet of sisters has never gone out of print.  It’s been adapted to stage dozens of times, turned into an opera and Hollywood seems to have made a habit of rediscovering it and presenting a new interpretation of this undisputed American classic every generation or so.  Most recently, Greta Gerwig’s 2019 film version of Little Women drew a deluge of praise for the way it reimagined Alcott’s novel for a new era. Still, since it wasn’t required reading in my downstate high school, I never quite understood the magnitude of the story’s import until the other night at a world premiere.  Northlight Theatre, together with three other prominent regional theaters across the country, commissioned one of the nation’s most prolific and produced playwright’s, Lauren Gunderson, to develop her own vision of Alcott’s signature creation. Gunderson’s adaptation, now premiering in Skokie before making its way across the country to the other sponsoring companies, has made the blind me see. 

Over her career, the San Francisco playwright has developed a reputation for many laudable abilities. Chief among them is the way she can tap into the essence of her characters and turn them into people we easily recognize, empathize with or see startling resemblances to ourselves. She’s also a brilliant architect who can construct a story framework that’s as sturdy as a fortress, is wonderfully meticulous in its detailing and is usually flawless in plot continuity. Those attributes and more run rampant in this production. Joined by an elite creative team, Gunderson turns a 150-year-old classic into an unexpected revelation whose positive messages extolling character, resilience and determination shine with freshly burnished clarity.  

A progressive family whose parents fostered the pursuit of any interest their daughters found stimulating, the March’s in Little Women is a mirror image of Alcott’s own family. The four sisters were all modeled after the author and her three sisters. The second oldest, Louisa, or Lou as she was known to family and friends, was the driven one. Independent, ambitious and literally gifted, she chafed at the constraints imposed on women in the 19th century; just as women today are dismayed about similar career and societal constraints present in the 21st. 

That Little Women’s Jo is in fact Alcott’s fictional self has long been well established. But aspects in this account go further to draw attention to the similarities between the real and imagined person. In this iteration, the author and her alter ego become so enmeshed that the actor playing lead, Tyler Meredith, occasionally slips into portraying Alcott in addition to Jo March. Dressed in trousers that resemble pantaloons under her period dress, her attire becomes one more feature that distinguishes her. Playing Jo with forceful confidence, Meredith fills her character with an unshakable will that’s fed by the encouragement of her family.  She writes spirited plays that she and her sisters enact.  And the responses she gets from her writing submissions tell her the aspiration of becoming a self-sustaining writer is conceivably within her grasp.

While we’re admiring her tenacity and preternatural intelligence, we also take in the rest of the family and marvel at how quickly and distinctly their own personalities emerge.  Her older sister Meg (Janyce Caraballo); traditional, beautiful and pragmatic, is a stabilizing figure in the family modeled after their mother, Marmee (Lucy Carapetyan), the family’s true anchor and moral touchstone. Quiet and reserved, Beth (Demetra Dee), just below Jo in age, is musical and plays piano. Her profile rises in this effort to the point we have a much stronger understanding of how pivotal her place in this family is.  When she contracts scarlet fever after caring for an ill infant, the slow demise she endures gives us time to see how essential her presence is to the family. Dee is demurely marvelous in a role that highlights how diverse families can be within themselves and how that diversity is a secret strength.

The youngest sister, Amy, played with all the petulant entitlement of the baby in the family by Yourtana Sulaiman, is only slightly spoiled and enjoys painting. Her real-life counterpart went on to become an accomplished and recognized painter.  

Alcott would live out her life just as she imagined and hoped, unmarried and successful in her craft. Neither her publishers nor her public wanted the first of those two things for Jo, however. The friendship she strikes up with the parentless boy across the street who’s living with his rich grandfather seems as if it might lead to romance. Immediately infatuated by his spunky neighbor, Laurie (John Drea) can’t, and doesn’t want to hide his attraction to this dynamic young girl with the invincible spirit.  They both exude so much energy and potential on stage that their power seemed to pulse through the theater. Add to that the purity of Laurie’s guilelessness as he tries to make his friend more than a friend, and you’re virtually convinced this intrigue will lead to the altar. Jo’s too committed to her dream to jeopardize it with marriage. Especially since she doesn’t love her friend in the same way he does her.  Watching their friendship take flight, mature and endure after Jo rejects him for a final time; causing him to go on to marry one of her sisters, is a masterclass in how to live. Only exceptional writing and equally adept directing could present it with such compassionate coherence. Along with the playwright, Georgette Verdin as director strives to bring the fullness of what Alcott achieved in Little Women to the fore. There are countless lessons on the potency of familial love and the capacities of the human spirit to prevail despite discouraging odds. Bracketing the effort with novel approaches in directing and generous splashes of humor made this project as exciting and entertaining as it was enlightening. Placing it in the hands of such able and gifted actors simply added to its appeal. Watching Erik Hellman’s inspired transformation from Laurie’s self-effacing tutor to the German professor Jo meets in New York and eventually marries was a particular delight. It was also emblematic of the fine acting that filled this delightful experience.

Louisa May Alcott's Little Women

Through January 5, 2025

Venue: Northlight Theatre at Northshore Center for The Performing Arts

9501 Skokie Blvd. Skokie, IL  60077

https://northlight.org/series/little-women/

CYMBELINE? CYMBELINE?? I’d not even heard of Shakespeare’s CYMBELINE. Wikipedia admits it’s “one of Shakespeare’s lesser-know plays”. There’s a great deal of speculation on the whys and wherefores of its obscurity but now I know the answer: CYMBELINE has remained largely unknown because it hadn’t yet been played by Midsommer Flight.

There’s debate over CYMBELINE’s genre – tragedy? comedy? romance? – but Midsommer Flight’s Director (and founder) Beth Wolf is absolutely certain: CYMBELINE is a comedy, and a hilarious one! While staying true to the original script, she has directed the (superb) actors to make it incredibly funny by via expressions, postures, and gestures.

The storyline is as simple and convoluted as all The Bard’s plays. King Cymbeline (Barry Irving) lost his sons Arvirargus (Juliet Kang Huneke) and Guiderius (Logan UhiwaiO’Alohamailani Rasmussen), kidnapped in infancy and raised by Belarius (Jessica Goforth). Cymbeline is therefore determined to get a true-born prince by marrying his daughter Imogen (Ashley Graham) to dreadful prince Cloten (John Drea), royal son of his Queen (Talia Langman). Imogen, however, has fallen in love with and secretly married a commoner who was orphaned at birth and therefore named Posthumous (Keenan Odenkirk) [and they wonder if this is a comedy??]. King Cymbeline learns of the nuptials and banishes Posthumous to Italy, leaving Imogen to fend off the loathsome advances of nasty little Prince Cloten.

Meanwhile, the evil Queen plots to murder both Imogen and Cymbeline using a deadly poison concocted by Doctor Cornelius (Jillian Leff), But Cornelius, no stoopnagel, suspects funny business (the wrong kind) and hands over a harmless sleeping draft. The Queen passes the potion to Imogen & Posthumus’ loving servant Pisanio (Bradley Halverson), telling her it’s a medicine.

In Italy Posthumous meets Iachimo (Shane Novoa Rhoades), a dodgy sort of bloke with whom the gullible (not to say rather thick) Posthumous makes a most imprudent wager: Iachimo bets that he can seduce Posthumous’ wife Imogen snicker-snatch (erm … sorry, snicker-snack). Imogen retains her virtue, but Macho Man Iachimo can’t accept being trounced (Italian, remember?), and presents false evidence of her capitulation to Posthumous.

When Pisiano (the faithful servant who everyone confides in} tells Imogen of Iachimo’s treachery the irate young princess determines to find Posthumous and set the record straight. Imogen shows herself smarter than her boo by dressing as a boy for safer travel. She christens her trans self Fidele, for faithful.

Etcetera, etcetera, and so forth. I don’t think it’s much of a spoiler to disclose that, after various sophistry, skullduggery, knavery and chicanery, everyone is reunited, reinstated, and restored. All the bad guys are foiled, and a happy ending is had by all – all the good guys, any road.

Typical Shakespeare, yeah?

Jillian Leff as Doctor Cornelius in Midsommer Flight's 'Cymbeline'.

What’s not so typical is Midsommer Flight’s management of this gallimaufry.

This is the third year I’ve reviewed a Midsommer Flight production and I’ve been consistently impressed, but CYMBELINE was more than impressive – it was truly awesome.

Founded in 2012, it is Midsommer Flight’s mission to bring quality, accessible performances of Shakespeare to Chicago communities. Accessible is key here: too many people don’t bother to even try understanding Shakespeare’s vexatious language and convoluted plots. Midsummer Flight makes this intimidating material accessible at several levels: financially by offering all performances for free, culturally by casting diverse artists, textually by working with actors to bring iambic pentameter into comprehensible language, geographically by touring to different areas of the city, and physically by performing in public spaces – specifically, Chicago Parks. I saw CYMBELINE last weekend, July 14, in Gross Park. Each weekend they’ll perform Friday and Saturday night in a different park: Kelvyn Park at Logan Square, Nichols in Hyde Park, Lincoln Park, and Touhy in Rogers Park. Check Midsommer Flight’s website for details.

The performance is prefaced by the actors briefly outlining the plot to orient the audience to the play’s action; this Cliff’s Notes intro was really helpful. Midsummer Flight also offers musical diversion from a troupe of five minstrels (Jessica Goforth, Bradley Halverson, Juliet Kang Hunecke, Jillian Leff, Andi Muriel, and Aloha Rasmussen); there are also a few a capella songs, all composed and directed by Jack Morsovillo.

Scenic and Props Designer Jeremiah Barr manages the problems of an outdoor setting by wisely choosing Less is More. The sets, after all, will travel to several different open-air stages, so he keeps them starkly uncluttered. Likewise, Costume Designer Rachel M Sypniewski makes simple cloaks and mantles that can be donned in a tent, yet vividly distinguish the characters.

CYMBELINE, like all Shakespeare’s plays, includes quite a bit of intimacy and fighting (though the beheading occurs offstage), deftly directed by Maureen Yasko, Jillian Leff, and Chris Smith. Stage Manager Hazel Marie Flowers-McCabe, with assistant Ayla Sweet, keep the proceedings vigorous and vivacious without degenerating into pandemonium.

Special kudos to Text Coach Meredith Ernst! As I said earlier, making iambic pentameter comprehensible is a major problem with Shakespeare, but in CYMBELINE I heard and understood virtually every word. And congratulations, of course, to Director Beth Wolf and Assistant Christina Casano, who transformed an undistinguished and ambiguous play into a thoroughly successful comedy.

The actors, of course. They made innuendos and improper phrases irresistibly funny, using facial expressions, posture, gesture, and all the other tricks in an actor’s toolbox. A special shout-out is due to Jillian Leff, who made the stodgy Doctor thoroughly waggish. It takes a gifted actor to have the audience howling through her report from of the Queen’s deathbed.

Bradley Halverson’s Pisanio was also prime. Shakespeare doesn’t usually give much stage time to menial characters, but Pisiano was a key role, juggling allegiances from all-powerful King and Queen to beloved Imogen and Posthumous. 

My absolute favorite was John Drea as the ghastly prince Cloten. His comedic gestures hovered perilously close to slapstick – jumping up and down and shaking his fists like a tantruming toddler – but he remained safely high camp without descending into pratfall – hysterically funny but never Three Stooges.

Comedy was amplified by the actors often playing directly to the audience, winking to bring us in on a joke or making us complicit with an aside. This can be difficult to manage without breaking character or disrupting flow, but this cast pulled it off without a bobble – good work, Casting Director Karissa Murrell Myers!

Well, that’s about it for my review. In short: CYMBELINE by Midsommer Flight is absolutely marvelous – see it!! It’s playing through August at various Chicago Parks – find the one you want to visit and bring lawn chairs and a picnic, like at Ravinia.

But wait just a tic: in these perilous times I needs must append some commentary.

As MAGA condemns drag shows and bans books, they would do well to wipe the shelves of Shakespeare, for his plays are rife with gender fluidity. At the Globe all female parts were, of course, played by cross-dressing males, who enacted romance and desire with the other male actors – men kissing men right there on the stage OMG! Gender-swapping characters, like Imogen/Fidele in Cymbeline, are key in As You Like It, Merry Wives of Windsor, The Merchant of Venice, and of course Twelfth Night. Gender is also critically explored in tragedies like Hamlet and Othello, and Lady Macbeth’s dominance over her husband is totally discordant with societal expectation. Her cry, “Unsex me!” hints that Shakespeare found much amiss in Elizabethan society's dictum of “the natural order”.

Same-sex romance is acceptable in Shakespeare as well. In Twelfth Night, Duke Orsini falls in love with the young man Cesario, but is undismayed when ‘he’ is revealed as Viola (though he continues to refer to her as ‘boy’ during his proposal). Boy, girl … whatever, he wants it. His wife Olivia also falls for Cesario, largely because she admires ‘his’ feminine ways, and when she marries Viola’s twin Sebastian (believing him to be Cesario/Viola), he assures her that, like ’Cesario’, he is ‘both maid and man’.

The Buggery Act of 1530 made sodomy a capital offense and punishable by death, defining the rigid expectations of heterosexuality. Still, 17^th century England saw many examples of same-sex relationships: King James I and King William III, for example, each had several male lovers. We can assume that what went on in the King’s chambers was also happening in less august beds. After all, gender fluidity was a cornerstone of the Elizabethan rule. In her oration to the troops gathered to fight the Spanish Armada Elizabeth says, “I know I have the body but of a weak and feeble woman; but I have the heart and stomach of a king, and of a king of England ....” Good ol’ Liz. I’ve always liked her.

In high school I was fascinated with Henry VIII and his desperate attempts to wring a healthy boy from his pox-ridden testicles. Then his daughter, the child he disowned and condemned (not to mention orphaned) goes on to become one of England’s most revered sovereigns. Take that Henry, you misogynistic, mistaken, misanthropic, myopic, misguided monomaniacal monarch! I’ve always loved that by the time he got to his sixth wife Henry was actually henpecked – though his brain was tapioca by then; he may not even have noticed.

But I digress.

SEE CYMBELINE!! Even if … especially if you don’t like Shakespeare.

How well does a three hour Russian science fiction film translate to stage? Surprisingly well. Griffin Theatre gives the North American premiere of David Grieg’s 2019 adaptation of the classic Tarkovsky film. The intimate staging at Raven Theatre gives audiences the same sense of deprivation one might have on a floating space station.

“Solaris” is a water-based planet around which a space station is orbiting. Strange things begin happening to the crew who live in isolation aboard the space station. Dr. Kelvin (Isa Arciniegas) is sent to the space station after the suicide of a crewmember. Once she arrives, she notices the emotional disturbances for herself. Though Solaris remains a mystery to the three doctors aboard the space station, one doctor is convinced of its malevolent intentions. While Dr. Kelvin starts to become enamored with Solaris, Dr. Sartorius (Nicole Laurenzi) warns that the visions Kelvin is experiencing can’t be trusted.

Director Scott Weinstein keeps the pace moving, divesting the show of some of the film’s more laborious elements. The small cast led by Isa Arciniegas and John Drea (as her manifestation), capture the moodiness of planet Solaris. There’s not much melodrama here, but rather a slow and steady unraveling. In order to believe the relationship between Kelvin and Ray, romantic chemistry is essential. Arcinegas and Drea play well off each other and their flirtation, however unsettling, is palpable.

Original reviews of the 1972 film version of “Solaris” praised the advanced set design. Scenic designer Joe Schermoly rises to the task. Futuristic spaceship can be tricky to do on a theatre budget, but this story doesn’t call for a lot of technological achievement. Schermoly’s set is functional and stylish. The stark backdrop lends to the feeling of coldness.

“Solaris” is a modern love story set in space. It’s less an exploration of the far reaches of the galaxy and more of an exploration of the human subconscious. At the time of the novel’s release, the USA and the Soviet Union were engaged in a highly competitive race to put the first person on the moon. What “Solaris” does is examine the space race from a different perspective. It asks what psychological effect space travel has. Science fiction films about aliens were popular in the midcentury, as humans took to space. “Solaris” bucks this popular theme in that the lifeforms in this story seem to come from a place of love. It’s a variation on the classic alien story, but perhaps a more uplifting, or at the very least more mature.

“Solaris” is an essential story in our futuristic world of personalized operating systems and hyper-realistic video games. A play, even an adaptation, must ask a central question in order to be useful to an audience. The themes at the center of “Solaris” are much more Earthly than the scenario might seem. Love is a powerful emotion and it often clouds reason and judgement. Is it a feeling we can rationalize ourselves out of? Author Stanislaw Lem makes a strong case against rationalizing romantic love. In the end, Lem was a romantic and “Solaris” is ultimately an unlikely romance. Through March 27^th at Raven Theatre.  6157 N. Clark Street - 773.338.2177.