Displaying items by tag: Isa Arciniegas

When a play’s opening moment is mystifying and its closing moment is satisfying, the stuff in between must be doing its job. John Kolvenbach’s Love Song presents us with a young man in a spartan room, silently observing a lamp that seems to have a mind of its own. Love? Song? We have our doubts.

The back wall of the room slides open and reveals a high-rise apartment, sleekly decorated and offering a panoramic view of an unspecified city through a vast window. Enter a couple as sleek as their home, bickering with such intensity – not to mention hilarious verbal agility – that we continue to wonder if love and song will have anything to do with what’s happening onstage.

Indeed, it does. Remy Bumppo’s production, directed by the company’s Artistic Director Marti Lyons, revives a play that premiered at Steppenwolf 18 years ago. Though full of unanswered questions, Love Song proves worthy of another viewing. With equal parts sensitivity and tartness, Lyons and her cast tell the story of Beane (Terry Bell), who suffers from an autism-like condition and spends the play’s 85-minute length defying the expectations of his loved ones.

Actually, it’s just two loved ones: his sister Joan (Sarah Coakley Price), a demanding professional who is lost in a tirade about an incompetent intern; and her husband Harry (Ryan Hallahan), a fellow professional who challenges his wife’s firing of said intern for misdeeds such as crying “at noon!” and temporarily misplacing an important file.  

Witty as their banter may be, they are hard to like. When Beane visits his sister and brother-in-law, Harry subjects him to a questionnaire designed to provide psychological insight that mostly makes fun of his literal responses. Joan doesn’t do much to ease the situation.

Beane returns to his empty apartment, where he encounters an intruder by the name of Molly (Isa Arciniegas). She too launches into a tirade, though hers has a very different feel from Beane’s sister. Molly attacks architects and their curated minimalism, meanwhile deriding Beane for his lack of possessions for her to steal. A cup but no plate, a spoon but no fork. “What kind of criminal did you say you were?” he asks with the same literalness that aggravated Harry in the previous scene.

Molly’s brand of burglar remains unknown, but it sure excites Beane’s hormones. Off they go on a passionate adventure that leads Beane to talk so much that Harry now describes him as verbose. Beane’s liberation from his sister and brother-in-law’s (and probably society’s) expectations turns him into a different person altogether. And that jolts Joan and Harry from their calcified marriage into rediscovered sensuality.

Without really addressing the issues at hand, Love Song morphs from rapid fire wordplay into a lyrical romance. As staged by Lyons on a set designed by Joe Schermoly, the transitions from Beane’s lonely planet and Joan and Harry’s fraught high rise seem organic.

The cast, too, seems organic. Each of the actors onstage could have fallen into some sort of cliché – Joan as a career-driven ice princess; Harry as a wisecracking sidekick; Molly as a voracious loony; and most notably, Beane as a victim of the other three. But Coakley Price, Hallahan, Arciniegas and Bell all take charge of their characters and allow us to enjoy their transformations.

Love Song, produced by Remy Bumppo Theatre Company, is playing now through April 21 at Theater Wit. Tickets can be purchased through Theatre Wit’s website.

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Before I set foot in the Goodman’s Owen Theatre to see the Chicago premier of Sarah DeLappe’s acclaimed play The Wolves, I tried not to read or hear or learn too much about it. I knew it had been a finalist for a Pulitzer, and won other awards. I knew it was about a girls’ high school soccer team. And that was about it.

The first tidbit informed my own expectations – this ought to be good, I figured. And the second informed who I’d bring along – my own 14-year-old soccer-playing daughter. I was excited that the subject matter might excite her, sure, but was more intent on using her as a litmus test for not just the play’s quality, but its authenticity. And boy, did we both find that it delivered on both counts.

While the play’s 20-something playwright and cast might seem like whippersnappers to an old dude like me, their ilk are positively elderly to a teen. After the play, my daughter admitted she’d been worried that the presentation would be the usual – what old people think young life is like these days. But The Wolves portrayed young life – the young life of today, of yesterday, of time eternal – in a way both dad and daughter found realistic. That is, the play portrayed life realistically.

Sarah DeLappe’s script sets up this portrayal like a champ. After the play, I read that DeLappe was influenced by old war movies – the kind where a gang of guys gain personal revelations in the face of greater situations – and I can see that. I also sensed the influence of 12 Angry Men or Tarantino’s Reservoir Dogs – art that finds greater truths by plopping a disparate troupe of characters into a script. But instead of machine guns and military rations, instead of a jury room or a bank heist, the troupe on the Goodman’s stage was armed with shin guards and phones and backpacks and headbands. But the idea was the same – flesh out a story by fleshing out the people telling it. DeLappe tells her story through her girls’ banter as they stretch and warmup before a series of soccer games. Her gift for said banter is something else – making it sound like how not just girls talk, but how people talk, as the characters flit from discussions of world events to feminine products, from hopes and dreams for the future to the sex and sexuality that seems so pressing in their present. Talk goes from Pol Pot to periods, from weirdoes who live in “yogurts” to punk rock chicks who lick coffeehouse microphones. The stuff real people talk about. And how real people talk about that stuff.

And, more than any play I can remember, director Vanessa Stalling’s production of a team shows it takes a team to pull it off. First off, the cast is great. Those grown-up ladies onstage could totally, like, pass as a gaggle of teen girls. And that’s not to belittle them or the material they’re working with. Most likely because I’m a nerd, myself, I connected with Sarah Price’s neurotic know-it-all, #11 (yes, the characters are only identified by jersey number, further enforcing the team concept, and further highlighting how both script and cast breathe life into these nameless roles). As the team captain, #25, Isa Arciniegas is – to continue the earlier war motif – Pattonesque in a Napoleanic package. Cydney Moody’s #8 is the moody one. Angela Alise’s #00 is the lonely goalkeeper. Erin O’Shea is the red-headed, homeschooled, yogurt-livin’ outsider (think Lindsay Lohan in Mean Girls, except with mad ball-handling skills). And the heart and soul of the team are Natalie Joyce and Aurora Real de Asua. Joyce’s #7 has the mouth of a sailor but the problems and insecurities of a girl, while #14 is the ego to 7’s adolescent id. The teammates kick around conversations as feverishly and randomly as they do their soccer balls, again making it sound not just like how high school girls talk, but how people interact.

The teamwork on display does not stop with the script and its interpreters, however. Collette Pollard’s set gave this soccer dad, who’s spent too much time hanging out at fields both outdoors and under domes, flashbacks. Lighting by Keith Parham is spot on, as are the musical choices by sound designer Mikhail Fiksel, both providing energy and intensity that match the actors’.

And so, this whole team comes together to not just tell a story of young girls, but of people. What starts as dissonant and diverse digressions between types and tropes turns into a realistic back-and-forth you’d hear not just on the field or in the mall or in a classroom, but at work, on the train, in the checkout line, on the street. Given great material to work with, the cast and crew of the Goodman Theatre’s production of Sarah DeLappe’s The Wolves give us something that’s funny, sad, uncomfortable, cute, ugly, and beautiful – that is, art that pulls off the rare feat of feeling like real life. And, like, my teen daughter seconds that!

*Extended through March 18th

There was so much energy when I went into The Den Theatre, which I will rightfully chalk up to Haven Theatre Company’s infectious vibe. Upon entering, patrons were greeted with ear plugs before being thrust into a cloud of fog, as though attending a rock show. Curious, yet anxious, the crowd seemed spunky and exhibited a healthy amount of excitement in simply just being present. Unique and bold, “We’re Gonna Die” is the latest Haven Theatre Company production, and it’s engaging from the word “Go”.  

“We’re Gonna Die” features a live band, riveting storytelling and even some stand up comedy as the cast share true to life experiences in order to connect with the audience on a subject that not many choose to talk about – death. Its message is direct. Despite our darkest hours and personal tragedies, we are not alone.

When the show begins, Spencer Meeks who plays the guitar, gives us a brief history of the play and how it is part of a 12-part series. With his eyeliner meticulously applied, Meeks promptly kicks off the evening with a loud beat. 

Soon after, the main singer played by Isa Arciniegas emerges. She talks about her Uncle John and the experiences she shared with him when she was younger. The band breaks out into a song and it is quickly apparent that Isa is a natural entertainer. Arciniegas’ energy is contagious as she runs back and forth on the stage. She proceeds to tell the audience a couple more stories and concludes with a moving song about the death of her father. 

Soon, everything comes together. Many people are uncomfortable with death, and to be fair, death is sad. We miss the people we lost and are swiftly enveloped with so many different emotions, first asking ourselves how something so tragic could happen to questioning the fairness in death. As Arciniegas continues to sing, she profoundly exclaims, "We're all going to die!" 

In Young Jean Lee's “We’re Gonna Die” it is somehow made okay to be comfortable with death, a point made while jamming along with the show’s kick ass drummer played by Sarah Giovannetti. "We're all going to die!" is repeated over and over as confetti pours out from the ceiling along with balloons everywhere. Simply put, the play is a true celebration of life and a reminder that we all should live each day to the fullest since - we are all going to die. 

The talented cast and team for "We’re Gonna Die" includes: Isa Arciniegas (singers), Sarah Giovannetti (band), Jordan Harris (band), Elle Walker (band), Spencer Meeks (band) and Kamille Dawkins (singer u/s). The production team for We’re Gonna Die includes: Josh Sobel (director), Abhi Shrestha (assistant director), Julie Leghorn (stage manager), Krista Mickelson (production manager), Spencer Meeks (music director), Claire Chrzan (light designer), Izumi Inaba (costume designer), Mike Mroch (scenic designer), and Jon Martinez (choreographer).

Well-directed by Josh Shobel, “We’re Gonna Die” is an interesting play that sheds light on a scary subject. It is a play that really gave me a chance to reflect, as I am sure would be true with the rest of its audience. All in all, I left smiling and excited that I went to the newly renovated Den Theatre (1335 North Milwaukee) to see this very original and thought-provoking play. I recommend checking it out while you can as it will be performed through June 4th. Tickets are priced at $18 and can be purchased at www.haventheatrechicago.com.