As the audience takes its seats around the Shakespeare Theater’s Courtyard thrust stage, wraiths in black gowns and white masks silently infiltrate the aisles, imparting an air of menace and suspense about what will unfold as we near the opening of “Richard III.” Soon enough, they take to the stage, where mounds of skulls deck the bottom of industrial scaffolding, a surgical partition concealing the center of the stage. The wraiths whisk away the shield, revealing Richard III (Kaity Sullivan).

“Now is the winter of our discontent,” Richard cries, and declares an intention to recapture the throne, and sets the play in motion. In this production, director Director Edward Hall has cast as Richard III the Tony-nominee Sullivan, an athletic paraplegic who plays powerfully from a wood captains chair on wheels, and her infirmity seamlessly substitutes for that of the famously hunchbacked and deformed king, “so lamely and unfashionable that dogs bark at me.”

This is Hall’s first production as the successor to founder and long-time artistic director Barbara Gaines, who in 2023 retired after 36 remarkable years. And Hall’s production of Richard III shows we have an outstanding new talent on a premiere Chicago stage. The core of a successful Shakespeare is the language, and when the delivery is right, the bard’s Elizabethan language arrives with clarity on the audience’s ears. Hall brings us something more, too. The nuance inherent in the lines is brought forth with exquisite timing—benefitting passages of dark humor, threat, and the starkest evil as Richard III plots through murder and marriage to capture the throne.

This is not Shakespeare dressed up in contemporary, ill-fitting trappings. Any anachronistic elements—body bags, guns, chain saws—are purposeful and instantly resonate. Those ghoulish wraiths form a corps of murderous henchmen, carrying out the grisly killings of those who stand in the way of Richard’s path to the crown. Often the murders are backlit and done behind the screens, with silhouettes and bloody showers indirectly visible to the audience, making them truly horrific. As a sickle blade eviscerates George, the Duke of Clarence (Scott Aiello), we see it from behind, and his entrails are dropped over the screen into a bucket, signifying his end. Wow!

Music underscores a number of scenes, and particularly powerful are Gregorian and other melodious chants by Richard’s minions—suggesting an effort to confer weight and worthiness on this violent pretender to the throne who seeks the endorsement of the populace, using manipulative tactics and positioning familiar to anyone watching politics today.
In Act 3 Scene 7, for example,we hear the Duke of Buckingham (Yao Dogbe) report to Richard on efforts to talk him up at a public meeting, where he sought a call to the throne by popular demand:

Buckingham: I bid them that did love their country’s good cry “God save Richard, England’s royal king!”
Richard: And did they so?
Buckingham: No. So God help me, they spake not a word. But, like dumb statues or breathing stones, stared at each other . . . .

So Buckingham suggests a different tack, in which he will bring the officials to “discover” RIchard deeply in prayer, and charges Sir William Catesby (Anatasha Blakely) to act as a shill and beg Richard to take the throne, to which he will at first resist, then reluctantly accept.

Mayor: Do, good my lord. Your citizens entreat you.
Buckingham: Refuse not, mighty lord, this proffered love.

At last comes Sir William Catesby (Anatasha Blakely), entreating RIchard to accept the crown, but delivering the line in a broad Chicago accent, full of knowing irony and a wink: “O, make them joyful. Grant their lawful suit.” The moment is pricelessn as the scene plays out like something out of the storied tales of Chicago’s City Hall pols. And like Napoleon, Richard crowns himself,

Though this is Shakespeare’s second longest play, the performance speeds by, and I was surprised to find the hour when I got back to my car. Highly recommended, “Richard III” runs through March 3 at Chicago Shakespeare Theater on Navy Pier. 

Invictus Theatre’s smashingly good Chicago production of Susan-Lori Parks’ “Topdog/Underdog” brings us a dark comedy that is both gripping and layered. This Tony winner for its current Broadway revival incorporates all the qualities of a well-written play, steadily unfolding details of the brothers who share a derelict apartment—the plaster is falling, the sink is broken, the working bathroom is down the hall—with exposition artfully buried in the dialog.

Under the direction of Aaron Reese Boseman, the audience is drawn in the course of the play to learn these two black brothers were separated some 20 years ago from their parents, who named them as a macabre joke, then walked out when Booth was just 11 and Lincoln 16.

The two have made their way in the world by hustling for money. Booth (DeMorris Burrows) shoplifts and Lincoln (Mikha’el Amin) is a master at three-card monty, where he collects winnings from marks. Younger brother Booth longs to capture Lincoln’s mastery in cards, and when we first meet him alone in his apartment, he is practicing and practicing, struggling to gain his older brother’s finesse.

When Lincoln arrives, though, we learn he has given up cards, and is now working in an arcade, in white face, dressed as Lincoln: tophat, beard, frock coat and vest. Lincoln comes fresh from his work, where customers pay to shoot blank bullets at him, after which he dutifully dies. How’s that for a premise?

Lincoln gives Booth a hard time. "Bathroom's down the hall," Booth tells Lincoln, who needles his brother. "You're living in the third world, Booth."  When Booth asks Lincoln to teach him how to succeed at three-card monty, Lincoln retorts, "I don't touch the cards," and refuses to teach him. Booth complains, "Here I am trying to make a living, and you're standing in my way." We immediately feel that this argument, and Booth's supplicant role, has played out many times. 

Yet Lincoln also helps Booth, dispensing his earnings, yet Booth takes advantage of him, taking all but $13, then asking for five bucks back. What Booth really seeks is the recreation of the family of his childhood, when the two lived with their parents, as carefree children, with a treehouse, running a lemonade stand, playing practical jokes on their dad, and chowing down on their mother’s home cooking. Booth rearranges the furniture, to simulate the table around which they would gather during their upbringing. But Lincoln refuses this sentiment, putting it all back the way it has been when he arrived. 

Into the mix are added intriguing entries: Booth tells his brother of witnessing his parents preparing to leave, a traumatic experience. He secretly retains a stocking filled with a parting gift, which he believes is money, but it is never opened during the play. Booth has a girlfriend, Grace, whom he plans to marry—yet she never appears, and when he returns from visiting her, Lincoln asks Booth for a blow-by-blow of the tryst. His recount sounds unconvincingly made-up, but the inebriated Lincoln only vaguely challenges Booth on this, then passes out.These components point to yearnings Booth holds, which Lincoln only partially shares. 

Eventually, there is resolution of the action, the relationship, everything, that is both satisfying and disturbing. The actors here put everything on the boards; it's hard to imagine them recovering and doing this again, nightly. In his protrayal of Booth, Burrows is exacting, a range from humorous clowning, to high energy plaintive soliloquoy, while Mikha’el Amin's Lincoln gives a more restrained but emotionally evocative performance. This nuanced portrait of a brotherly relationship rings remarkably true. Anyone with a brother, or who knows brothers, will recognize the mix of adulation and aspiration in the younger sibling, and the kindly nurturance and meanness in the older one.

Driven from its tiny 35-seat quarters by a fire, Invictus has landed in the northside site renowned for its big sets and large enough to accommodate some riveting immersive theater. WIth existing lighting, sound, and set capability, this space allows for production values supporting in equal measure to Invictus' tradition of concentrating on the fullest expression of the script. Scenic design by Kevin Rolfs, props by Barbie Brown, costumes by Marquecia Jordan or on the mark. The touches of music by sound designer Petter Wahlback set mood at keep dramatic points, and lighting by Brandon Wardell and Josiah Croegaert illuminate and transition fully in sync with the action.

“Topdog/Underdog” carries all the ingredients of the formula for a hot production: an eminently incredible play, in its Chicago revival at the capacious and versatile Windy City Playhouse, the new digs for one of Chicago’s top acting troupes, Invictus. Definitely a must-see on all counts, "Topdog/Underdog" runs through March 31 at Windy City Playhouse, 3014 W. Irving Park Road in Chicago.

Matthew Paul Olmos is a playwright on the rise, and under the direction of Laura Alcalá Baker we have a chance to see a beautiful production of an exceptional work in its world premiere at Chicago’s Steppenwolf Theatre. As the vernacular title suggests, “A Home What Howls (or the house what was ravine)” is not a staid work, not a constrained “Cherry Orchard” where emotions are buried between the lines.

Instead, Olmos’ work is poetic, magical, and musical as well, and the characters, though poor, are living rich, happy lives in their homes. In the first act, realism rules in many scenes, and Olmos shows a mastery of dialog and detail.

The play opens with a married couple—Abrana (Charin Alvarez) and Manuel Vargas (Eddie Torres) asleep on a bed. In the adjacent room their daughter Soledad (Leslie Sophia Pérez) is hard at work on papers scattered around the floor, perhaps her schoolwork, or maybe something else.

Her parents are awakened by sounds of trickling water running outside. Soon after, sound of a helicopter roars by, and we hear earth moving equipment as well. “There are nightmares around this house,” says Manuel as he and Abrana jump from the bed, and he begins fiddling with a trap door in the floor—an escape hatch?

We begin to piece together that this family is illegally living in a home condemned to make way for a reservoir, one that will allow housing and other development nearby ravine , through which a river flows. By means of a kind of inferential exposition, Olmos paints a portrait of what happens when families are driven from their homes by development—not from the outside looking in, but from inside the homes and families.

Olmos departs from this style to solid realism filled with exposition in one crucial scene: a public hearing at which the now adult Soledad challenges government official Frank over the process by which these families in the way of development have been displaced. It is certainly the best representation I’ve run across of a marginalized community challenging the validity of an eminent domain claim by city officials to displace homeowners dwelling in an area coveted by developers.

As the ravine along which they live is being flooded, and their homes taken, Soledad challenges the city establishment at a public hearing, outing all the tropes which society accepts as the rules of the game—the original seizure of the land from indigenous people by treaty and ceremony; the surveys of businesses showing broad support for the development; Tim Hopper in the role of Frank is exquisitely obtuse. After all, he argues, a ceremony was held in which a “citizen” of the indigenous “transferred” rights to development to the city. “How was this representative procured?” Soledad asks.

The question flies over his head, as Frank goes on to describe, in all sincerity, a ceremony that he found moving—but it highlights the suggestion that the indigenous individual may have had no right to speak for his people. “You’re using the term ‘peace offering,’” Soledad says. “But Public Works uses the terms ‘relinquish’ and ‘transfer.’”

And what about the original homeowners who settled for generations in this indigenous land. ”They were not asked, but they were considered deeply,” Frank says. ”Only businesses” were surveyed, admits Frank, who is beginning to realize he has aquite an adversary in Soledad. Frank says the homeowners displaced were compensated for the value of their homes, which were dilapidated and brought them little. But a home is much more than a building, Soledad points out. How were they compensated for the loss of happiness and memories, and the dispersion of their families, she asks. Market value can’t equal that kind of loss.

“A Home What Howls” runs about 90 minutes, no intermission, and is part of Steppenwolf's Young Adults theater program. But as with other such works in the Young Adults series, it is profoundly good, so I try to see them all.

I will say that I couldn’t always follow the magical parts of the second half, as the old woman resident Syera Lama (Isabel Quintero) appears. She teams up with Soledad in a quest for the rights of the people, encountering a menacing train conductor, also played by Hopper. Quintera also appears numerous times disguised as a magical figure Coyote. Despite my own confusion, the audience was clearly digging it, and the laughter at comical scenes was quite full. “A Home What Howls" runs through March 2 in Steppenwolf’s new in-the-round Ensemble Theater. It’s a great chance to see the work of a playwright we will doubtless be hearing from more and more.

Rachel Silvert plumbs the lyrics of a dozen of Broadway’s classic romantic songs, in “Love Songs Are Weird—and other reasons I’m single,” a one-woman cabaret show at Davenport’s Piano Bar on Milwaukee Ave. in Chicago.

Silvert often begins the numbers by singing pieces straight up, then breaks between stanzas or lines to dissect the works for the more questionable parts.
In her opening number, Silvert jumps right into it with “On the Street Where You Live,” the richly melodic expression of a man’s romantic infatuation from Lerner & Lowe’s 1956 “My Fair Lady.”

I have often walked
Down the street before,
But the pavement always stayed
Beneath my feet before
All at once am I
Several stories high,
Knowing I'm on the street where you live

Singing it straightforwardly (accompanied by pianist Nathan Urdangen), the phrasing becomes more uncertain as she progresses through the stanzas, and it begins to cross my mind, is this guy a stalker? Especially, given Silvert’s patter, informing us the young woman has just told this amorous man she never wants to see him again in her life:

And oh, the towering feeling
Just to know somehow you are near
The overpowering feeling
That any second you may suddenly appear
People stop and stare
They don't bother me…

Some songs, especially by contemporary standards, have lyrics Silvert finds suspect. Take Rogders & Hart’s 1937 “My Funny Valentine:”

My funny valentine
Sweet comic valentine
You make me smile with my heart
Your looks are laughable
Unphotographable
Yet, you're my favorite work of art
Is your figure less than Greek?
Is your mouth a little weak?
When you open it to speak
Are you smart?

Silvert sees red flags all over that one: Laughable looks, a figure less than Greek, and not so smart, for starters. Likewise with other songs, with Silvert suggesting context is also important, including for shows like “Cinderella,” ("Do I love you because you are beautiful, or are you beautiful because I love you?") and from Pippen, “With You,” a sweetly benign meditation on love and fulfillment - but sung by a circus performer before a street full of prostitutes.

But Silvert never gets too heavy; this delightful confection of a show is pure entertainment. Another high point is a rendition of an eight-year-old grammar school girl passionately singing “My Heart Will Go On,” from the movie Titanic.” Drawn from Silvert’s personal experience - was that her on the lawn in 1997 with her classmates, singing with such conviction, as the meaning of the lyrics flew over her head? It’s a funny bit.

The closing number did evoke sentimental tears from this reviewer: “Some Enchanted Evening,” from Rodgers & Hammerstein’s “South Pacific.” Silvert finds nothing to question in this perfectly wonderful expression of the genesis of love. But it does serve as a perfectly touching accompaniment for the “reveal” of the evening. No spoilers here; you’ll have to catch Silvert next time she is at Davenport’s Piano Bar, which also has daily performances and open mics in its front bar. Or catch her at Hey Nonny in Arlington Heights September 21, 2024.

Shattered Globe did its dramaturgy research very well, in bringing us the Chicago premiere of “Flood,” Mashuq Mushtaq Deen’s very funny, very fresh and highly relevant script. And boy does he have a gift for dialog. It is good, complex, and funny, and charged with barrels of meaning below that surface. “Flood” reminded me for all the world of Harold Pinter or Caryl Churchill's ominous, absurdist theater works, with a quality that is very much in a league with these revered masters.

Though Deen says he eschews television, and writes for the stage, “Flood” opens with a vintage musical fanfare drawn right out of 1960s television programs.
As the lights come up we see a living room setting in classic mid century modern style - very nicely done by Lauren Nichols, set design - with late middle-aged Darren (H.B. Ward), pudgy and rotund, at his work table, wearing safety glasses and a strange mask as he assembles a wood craft project. Each piece is selected and put in place with elaborate arm flourishes, letting us know Darren is at work on an effort of the utmost importance.

His wife Edith (Linda Reiter) enters stage left, bearing a teapot, and standing silently many minutes, lest, we suspect, she break Darren's concentration. The dramatic tension delivered in this silent scene is considerable. Reiter and Ward deliver consummate performances that are the essence of what skillful acting is all about.

Eventually Edith withdraws, returning sometime later, again with a teapot. This time Daren notices her, and a conversation ensues, both innocent and frought. It sounds like any couple jousting: Darren accuses Edith of hiding from him, which she denies, noting that she is manifestly available, but that he just doesn’t notice her.

In the conversation, playwright Deen gradually increases the underlying tension in the scene, and their lives overall come into stark relief. We learn that they plan to share tea together, which Edith ardently wishes for, but Darren (H.B. Ward) says this can only happen in the future, when he finishes the great work in which he is involved at the table.

At this moment, the conversation has leapt into another dimension, as Edith queries when he will be finished.
“Add that to the book of unanswerable questions,” Darren says.
To which Edith replies, “You like me because I ask you unanswerable questions.”

Edith's pressure for Darren to finish and share tea with her elicits a vague indication from her husband that it will be “in the future.” Darren asks, “Would you deny me my dreams?” to which Edith asks, profoundly, “When will the future come?”

We eventually hear a discussion of the sex “in a parking lot” that led to their children, and later, we meet these children: Darren Junior (Carl Collins) and Edith Junior (Sarah Patin) who speak to their parents from their apartment by phone. The generational divide is expressed here, with trenchant relevance: the children are complaining of their suffering from the effects of the environmental crisis (flooding), while their parents live in a dream loop of denial, Edith all the while encouraging her offspring to look on the bright side of things. It's a conversation for the ages, and of the moment being replayed across America continuously.

“Flood” is both humorous, and a remarkable snapshot of intergenerational dynamics. And the play is mysterious as well. An intensely engaging 90 minutes perfectly cast and directed by Kenneth Prestininzi, who directed the world premiere in Kansas City as well. "Flood" runs through March 9 at Theater Wit, 1229 W. Belmont Ave. in Chicago.  

“Mother Courage and her Children,” written in 1939 by German playwright Bertolt Brecht has been a challenging play for me, and having seen it prior to this Trap Door Theatre production, I wondered why, along with “Threepenny Opera” (1928), it is so popular among theater companies and actors.

But I figured if anyone could make this thing work, it would be Trap Door, and I am delighted to report that they have, in the production which opened this week at their magical space on Cortland Avenue. Directed by Max Truax in a translation by Eric Bentley, “Mother Courage” is accessible, intelligible, entertaining and compelling.

Holly Cerny gives a tour de force performance as Mother Courage, on stage continuously and called to sing, dance, and haul a canteen wagon. Her character is based on a real-life operator of a canteen supplying soldiers in the 30 years war in Europe in the 17th century. More than 4.5 million soldiers died in the prolonged religious conflict, but for Mother Courage and her young adult children, the war means their livelihood. Her two sons, Swiss Cheese (Rashaad A. Bond) and Eilef (Bill Gordon) are conscripted, further entrenching Mother Courage in the battles.

Eventually as peace dawns, Mother Courage is distressed that her means of income will be ended. She has lost a son who was court-martialed for stealing army funds at her behest. Another dies after killing a leader whose death reignites the war. In other words, she is a contemptible character - but the audience bears witness to this chicanery without empathy for Mother Courage or her brood, an approach in this style of Epic absurdist plays that Brecht intended.

Instead, Brecht is asking the audience to hear a statement about war, and the economics that underpin the interests of participants. All this, with song and dance - more macabre than delightful; and sung with the wry humor of cabaret. All the cast is notably good in adopting the non-naturalistic style Brecht intended: Kevin Webb is the cook; Joan Nahid as Mother Courage’s mute daughter Katrin; Caleb Jenkins as the Chaplain; Nena Martins as Yvette; and Tricia Rogers as a Soldier/Officer. We connect with these characters as totems for the forces of war they represent.

Set design by J. Michael Griggs, lighting by Richard Norwood, sound design by Dan Poppen, props by David Lovejoy and music by Jonathan Guillen combine to give an expressive force to the production. Periodically, supra titles let us know where we are in Mother Courage’s adventure - a really good touch, though they were sometimes obscured by the actors on stage. Perhaps they could be placed higher on the backdrop.
Trap Door Theatre, squeezed behind a Mabel’s Table restaurant at 1655 W. Cortland in Chicago (near Ashland Avenue), has over its 30 years taken on the most venturesome and challenging absurdist plays, and that makes it a true treasure. “Mother Courage and her Children” runs through February 24 at Trap Door Theatre. 

*Extended through March 9th

“Sugar Hill: The Ellington/Strayhorn Nutcracker,” is a revelation, an absolutely delightful spectacle that may open for you a world of riches in music, choreography, and costumes—it did for me.

Just as the 1892 Tchaikovsky “Nutcracker Ballet” is a holiday dream told in dance, so is this new Americanized (and to me, much more accessible) version, having its world premiere at Chicago’s Auditorium Theatre through December 30. 

It is rooted in a 1960 holiday jazz album by Billy Strayhorn and Duke Ellington, whose reinterpretation of Tchaikovsky's ballet classic is filtered powerfully through bluesy and swinging jazz, while holding substantial elements of the Russian composer’s original.

Muata Langley, one of the sumptuously trench-coated Hooligans.

The libretto and concept is by Jessica Swan, who has created a work for this century, and the ages—with direction and choreography by Tony nominees Joshua Bergasse and Jade Hale-Christofi. “Sugar Hill” features more than 30 dances in four scenes, each distinctive and substantial, expressing the music while advancing the adventurous story.

Strayhorn/Ellington’s 1960 “Nutcracker Suite” had just nine numbers, so “Sugar Hill” has infused the work with many other Strayhorn and Ellington pieces, including Strayhorn’s “Take the A Train,” which receives a show-stopping performance in dance, the whole production backed by a seventeen-piece jazz orchestra, conducted by Harold O’Neal and associate conductor Rob Cookman, both of whom also play piano during the show.

Brenda Braxton as Mother Sugar with her cat butlers.

Like the original “Nutcracker Ballet” the story of “Sugar Hill” centers on a poor little rich girl dreaming of adventures beyond the straight-laced confines of her home. But this little girl is Lena Stall, whose wealthy Black parents live on the Upper West Side; and her dreams take her to the 1930s Sugar Hill district in Harlem, where she experiences exciting music and characters. Nutcracker traditionalists will feel at home with the fine balletic performances by some of the greatest dancers, and mice, cats, dogs and the Nutcracker are all there.

Producers David Garfinkle and Dr. Ron Simons intended to preview this show in New York City in November. Instead, our city is blessed to enjoy this world premiere at Chicago’s historic Auditorium, a perfect setting for what I am certain will prove to be a ravishing cultural event of great import. “Sugar Hill” runs through December 30 at Chicago’s Auditorium Theatre.

You have be on your toes to catch The Conspirators productions, but it’s worth the effort. The troupe’s latest evanescent performance, just three days last week, was a take on holiday shows, actually a remount of the 2019 “Ayn Rand's ‘It's a Wonderful Life’ as Performed by the Conspirators,” but this time “Under the Direction of Diane Feinstein.”

As the title suggests, it’s a funny view of the world around us. Written by resident comic genius Sid Feldman and directed by Wm. Bullion, the three-day run at Otherworld Theatre otherworldtheatre.org concluded . This show, which “was-going-to-be-annual-until-the-pandemic holiday tradition” is a parody (Frank Capra’s 1946 “It’s a Wonderful Life” as it might have been adapted today by libertarian-slanted Ayn Rand) within another parody—a holiday TV special.

But Feldman, as always, ups the ante, and in this case the traditional TV holiday special is reset with the late Senator Feinstein replaced by another director. In last week’s actual staging, Covid struck several cast members during rehearsals. But actual director Bullion and a few other script-toting fill-ins delivered a memorable opening night. Though the overarching “TV special” theme was obscured, individual scenes were funny indeed.

For example, in Ayn Rand’s filter of “It’s a Wonderful Life,” when George Bailey (James Stewart in the film) decides to jump off a bridge, the angel Clarence offers, instead of discouragement, an assist. As Clarence takes George on a tour of what life for his family and friends would have been like if he’d never been born he visits his wife Mary, at work. But unlike the film,she’s not a penniless 1940s librarian. Instead, Feldman puts her in our current time, as a low-paid, harried waitress hawking sex-on-the-beach shots at TGI Fridays. "Sex on the beach, sex on the beach," she intones drably to the diners. Still locked in the 1940s, a clueless George Bailey tells her, “No no, Mary. You don’t have to sell your body to survive!” It’s very funny on stage, the actor dead-onJames Stewart impersonation.

You’ll likely be able to see the seasonal standard in December 2024, but The Conspirators’ next appearance will be May 15 - June 8, 2024 for “Viva la Mort.”

There’s no mystery to “whodunit” in Northlight Theatre’s current production of “Dial M for Murder.” The audience watches a murder planned, while also being privy to the motivations of all the major characters. But there is plenty of suspense and intrigue as we watch Inspector Hubbard (Nick Sandys is spectacular) determine what happened. The suspense rests on whether his detective skills and penetrating questions will unravel the events the audience has witnessed, allowing the perpetrator to be caught.

Among perennial stage favorites, “Dial M for Murder” has seen multiple live and film versions - perhaps most notably Alfred Hitchcock’s noirish 1954 version - and always keeps audiences enthralled. It originated as a 1952 BBC teleplay. The Northlight Theatre production represents a well-written update, from a 2022 adaptation by Jeffrey Hatcher (endorsed by the estate of the original author, Frederick Knott).

Set in Britain, the story centers around wealthy heiress Margot (Lucy Carapetyan) and her fortune-hunting husband Tony (Ryan Hallahan is excellent) who freely admits to his grifter confidant Lesgate (Felipe Carrasco is suitably sleazy) that he married not for love, but money. Tony lives the highlife courtesy of his wife Margot, far beyond his means as a lowly book editor.

Enter Maxine (Elizabeth Laidlaw in a perfect performance), a murder mystery author, and Tony’s client at the publishing house. We soon learn something more about her relationship with Margot, the condition around which the plot turns.

Directed by Georgette Verdin, who maintains precise timing so necessary for the action, “Dial M for Murder receives the high production values that Northlight Theatre reliably delivers. The mid-century modern furnishings (Mara Zinky for set design) are exquisite, as are the couturier gowns (Raquel Adorno for costume design) in which women of Margot’s station dress for cocktails before dinner.

There were just a couple rough edges in the production. Overall, the adopted English accents weren’t finely honed, and our Midwest nasal overtones came through in most characters. This was all the more evident when the redeeming exception of Sandys’s Detective Hubbard, on whose role the play’s power rests. His British English was flawless (Sandys was born in Coventry, England), and his trained voice seemed to fill the theater space effortlessly. Sandys also seemed to be wearing his natural hair, which fit the part; the other hairstyles looked like they had a little too much help from the make-up department, and were distracting.

Those minor quibbles aside, this is an excellent staging of an intriguing and suspenseful murder saga, and “Dial M for Murder” is certain to leave you satisfied. Its run has already been extended through January 7 at Northlight Theatre in Skokie.

“Caveman Play” by Savannah Reich is a delightful confection that delves into weighty matters—the state of the earth, the fundamental challenges of civilized life—but avoids the angst.

In just 70 minutes, Reich takes us back to our primordial past, when humans first began to drop their roles of hunting and gathering food for sustenance—more aligned with their fellow creatures in nature—and settled down to become farmers.

She does this with a cast of four. Rocky (Jack Rodgers) and his wife Dandelion (Tess Galbiati) are a couple who are big advocates for the agrarian life, and are at work to promulgate its advantages to their community. Their cat, Douglas (played with droll deadpan by Evan Cullinan), resides taciturnly at a keyboard, providing musical accompaniment (and commentary) when required.

Ardently against this new-fangled agriculture drive is Rocky’s friend and hunter-gatherer advocate Chicken Feathers (a vibrantly funny Hannah Antman). She clearly has a history with Rocky, and shows up in time to catch the agriculture advocacy presentation, which has many familiar trappings of a modern office meeting to rally sales. The audience members, including some ringers, participate.

The case for agriculture includes the mixed blessings of the lifestyle: monogamy, life-long marriage, home ownership and the like. Reich also signals the out-sized burden “civilized” humans will place on the Earth. Chicken Feathers staunchly rejects all that, and poses charged questions at the rally about the wisdom of abandoning the free-form and less encumbered life of a hunter.

After the presentation, a vote is taken, and when agriculture wins, Chicken Feathers predicts nothing good will come of it, and it may seem she has been proven right over the eons. Chicken Features pointedly invites everyone down to the river for an orgy. Rocky is clearly torn, realizing that’s something else he must abandon.

The cat Douglas, for his part, never waivers. When asked where he stands on the matter periodically, he answers with a question: “Do I get food?” And he goes wherever the meal ticket requires.

Very well directed by Clare Brennan, "Caveman Play” runs through December 31 at The Edge Off Broadway Theatre in Chicago.