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.

I’ll let you all in on a little secret: Whenever I’m having a lousy day, I pull up YouTube and take in Mahalia Jackson’s performance of “Just a Closer Walk with Thee” at the 1970 Newport Jazz Festival. This performance is notable, of course, for the special guest who joins Mahalia onstage near the end: Louis Armstrong. It’s also notable for the fact that Satchmo would be dead in less than a year, and Mahalia would join him on “thy kingdom’s shore” in less than two. With that in mind, seeing this musical icon in the last bit of her life not only still in complete control of her stage and her audience (I dare you to find me any rock ‘n’ roll singer from that era, or any era, with such a commanding presence!), but exuding such joy, makes whatever gripes I might be imagining on any given day disappear.

That command, that presence, and that joy that Mahalia spread around the world are on display throughout the Black Ensemble Theater’s current production, Mahalia Jackson: Moving Thru the Light. Written and directed by the theater’s indefatigable, inspired, and inspiring founder, Jackie Taylor, the show is framed as a series of dialogues between a recently deceased Mahalia and a trio of heavenly beings there to welcome her to the afterlife. These scenes are fine — giving the audience biographical information about Mahalia’s life and her relationships both personal and political (MLK, JFK, and RFK, among them) — but mostly act as a breather between the show’s 18 wonderful musical numbers. Because, in a show about one of America’s finest musical talents, the music should be the message, right?

In the role of Mahalia, Robin DaSilva certainly has a large gospel robe to fill. But spread the gospel, she does. DaSilva’s voice is a beautiful instrument, ranging from a rich alto to shimmering highs, emoting pain and, yes, frequently spreading joy. She fills the stage and her vocals fill the theater. Joining DaSilva onstage throughout the show are Cynthia F. Carter, Dwight Neal, and Stewart Romeo as the “Masters,” three heavenly beings welcoming Mahalia to her heavenly reward. Carter charmed last year in the Theater’s tribute to Chuck Berry, and both Neal and Romeo are her equals, the trio’s voices blending effortlessly as they harmonize with Mahalia and with one another. The three also each shine on their own, with Carter’s voice showing quite a range, Neal’s tenor piercing the room, and Romeo’s energy and enthusiasm equaling his vocal prowess. During the show’s first half, an ensemble acts as the story’s narrators, but near the end of the second, they join us in a tribute to Mahalia’s life and music.

And again, it’s the music that is the star of the show. As I said, 18 different songs are featured, and many are the favorites that gospel fans would expect. From “How Great Thou Art” to “How I Got Over,” from “His Eye Is on the Sparrow” to “Precious Lord, Take My Hand,” all of Mahalia’s “hits” are there. The show ends with the crowd singing along to “Down by the Riverside” and “When the Saints Go Marching In.” And near the end of the first act, perhaps DeSilva’s finest performance comes as her Mahalia sings Rodgers and Hammerstein’s “You’ll Never Walk Alone.” But for me, it’s the tune that ends the first act that filled me with joy. As DaSilva’s Mahalia sings “When my feeble life is o’er” in her rendition of “Just a Closer Walk with Thee,” my heart soared as I was able to spend a beautiful spring Sunday afternoon with the music of this legend and the legions of likeminded fans who’d come to the Black Ensemble Theater to hear it.

Mahalia Jackson: Moving Thru the Light - through April 14th at Black Ensemble Theater.

All apologies to the teachers and professors who groomed me to be a ceaseless reader and sporadic writer — I never finished Anna Karenina. But while I never plowed through all 900 pages of Tolstoy’s novel, moments from the book have stayed with me. One of them is just a line, one seemingly effortless line among pages full of them, and what a line it is: “All the variety, all the charm, all the beauty of life is made up of light and shadow.”

As I reflect on the variety, the charm, and the beauty I was privileged to behold at the Joffrey Ballet’s world premiere of Yuri Possokhov’s production of his countryman’s classic, I realize I witnessed a whole world of light and shadow being created right there on the Auditorium Theatre’s stage.

The creation of that entire world was, most obviously, performed by Possokhov’s choreography carried out by the Joffrey’s outstanding company, of course. Victoria Jaiani’s Anna navigates said world in both light and shadow — beautiful but damaged, faced with reality but delirious. Her husband Karenin, towers over the stage, as portrayed by the magnificent Fabrice Calmels, as a stately, stern husband and father and statesman. Just as stately, while also boyish and beautiful, Alberto Velazquez’s Vronsky lures the audience just as he lures poor Anna. And parallel to the love triangle and tragedy that envelope those three is the love story between Yoshihisa Arai’s Levin and Anais Bueno’s Kitty. If the former affair gives us the shadow, then the latter relationship brings it into the light.

These lights and shadows do not flicker before us thanks solely to the dancers, however. No, the spectacle of sight and sound beyond the dancing are every bit as stunning. Tom Pye’s sets and David Finn’s lighting navigates from dusky railyards to sunny Tuscany, from opium dreams to canapé flings. Of the many delights dished out by the Joffrey’s Nutcracker, perhaps my favorite was its use of projections, and Finn Ross’ projections for 'Anna Karenina' equal those, coloring the story and conjuring spirits.

But from curtain to curtain, the visual thrills are always complemented and often eclipsed by Ilya Demutsky’s original score directed by Scott Speck. The Chicago Philharmonic’s accompaniment, shifting seamlessly from elegance to dissonance, while always both classic and contemporary, is joined by Lindsay Metzger’s mezzo-soprano — who literally joins the show by the end — to craft this world of light and shadow in multiple dimensions that quicken multiple sensations.

So join the Joffrey Ballet at the Auditorium Theatre for Anna Karenina through February 24, as all of these world-class talents work together to shade and illuminate, to craft and create the variety and the charm and the beauty one would expect from a hefty literary classic written a century-and-a-half ago and half a world away.

My gateway to Nina Simone fandom came when I was a kid, watching some crummy 90's action movie that was somehow soundtracked by Ms. Simone’s music. Her take on George Harrison’s “Here Comes the Sun” was both recognizable to young me as a Beatles tune, but it was also strange, alien, powerful, wistful, something completely different than anything I’d heard before. Not the song. But the singer. It was a gateway, for sure.

From there, I ended up with a CD reissue of her late-60s Sings the Blues album, an even better introduction for a clueless young white boy to this complicated genius — one with toe-tappers, showtunes, pop tunes, and yes, the blues. Perhaps the most powerful tune on there, perhaps one even too powerful for me at the time, was Langston Hughes’ “Backlash Blues,” which laments that “the world is big and bright and round and it’s full of folks like me who are black, yellow, beige, and brown.”

In the years since, I’ve grown, as my love and understanding of Nina Simone — the musician, the public figure, the strong woman, and the complex human being — has grown. And now maybe I’m old enough or wise enough or just ready to appreciate the picture of this woman and “folks like” her that Christina Ham’s Nina Simone: Four Women paints for us, as currently performed at Skokie’s Northlight Theatre, directed by Kenneth L. Roberson.

The play itself is named for one of Ms. Simone’s most powerful compositions, one about women “who are black, yellow, beige, and brown.” But it is also framed around what is perhaps an imagined 1960's fever dream of Ms. Simone’s, in the wake of the horrific 1963 bombing of Birmingham’s historic 16th Street Baptist Church in which four beautiful little African-American girls were murdered.

In the play, Ms. Simone is joined in the church’s wreckage by three other African-American women, each of them representing someone Nina sang about in “Four Women.” Above, I wondered if the play’s setting and the four women’s existence are perhaps imagined, based not only on Ms. Simone’s actual history, but her history of mental illness, as well.

The truth is, perhaps, somewhere in between, and that makes the play work. There are hints at Ms. Simone’s mental health throughout the play — voices and sounds she hears — but they don’t completely define her. And there are, for me at least, distracting bits of expository history — biographical details that might be fleshed out if this were a more standard “jukebox musical” — but I didn’t let them get in the way of the four women onstage. And those four women are what make the play work.

First, Sydney Charles is Nina Simone. And is she ever. I heard the rare complaint after the show that her character didn’t feel quite human. But that affect — that coldness, that stateliness, that hurt — seemed to me so in character. Ms. Charles voice, while very good, doesn’t quite match the richness and depth of Ms. Simone’s, but I’m not sure anyone’s does. But as the play went on, Charles’ voice grows stronger, as does her performance, until she is raging, proud, and loud at the world.

The strongest performance comes from the woman who shares the stage the longest with Ms. Charles — Deanna Reed-Foster’s Sarah. What could have veered into the territory of stereotype is fleshed out and deep thanks to the work of Ms. Reed-Foster, a Chicago actress whose work I realized I’ve seen on the TV show, Chicago Fire. If Nina Simone was perhaps superhuman in some ways and unable to convey the tenderness of humanity in others, “Auntie Sarah” gives the show its human and humane center, moving from fear to anger, from joy to sorrow, filling the theater with her beautiful voice and grounding the stage and the story on it.

The other two actresses in the show, Ariel Richardson and Melanie Brezill, also shine. Ms. Richardson brings us the 1960's modern woman, polished and self-assured, while Brezill (who was a highlight last year on the stage of the Chicago Children’s Theatre) shimmies, struts, and slurs as a more worldly woman, doing so in the performance I saw on a broken stiletto heel! The piano accompaniment and musical direction is provided by Daniel Riley, himself a part of the show for much of the evening.

So, while this play is not a standard jukebox musical about, nor a factual portrait of, one of our most gifted and enigmatic musical geniuses, I think it works because it is neither. Nina Simone couldn’t and cannot be separated from her music or her times or who she was or who people think she is. And, soundtracked by wonderful live performances of many of Ms. Simone’s most powerful songs, Nina Simone: Four Women doesn’t try to do any of those things. It lets Nina’s words and Nina’s music tell a story, even if her own story cannot be told.

Despite being both a writer and a fanboy of books aimed at readers much younger than I’ve been for what seems like millennia, I never got around to Rick Riordan’s Percy Jackson & the Olympians series. Maybe I thought it was a knockoff of the, at the time, immensely popular Harry Potter books. Or maybe I’d had enough of Greek mythology from my own junior high days.

Either way, I came into the Oriental Theatre to see the touring production of The Lightning Thief: The Percy Jackson Musical with no advanced knowledge, no preconceptions, and no great expectations. But then a thunderbolt hit, the show began, and I ended up very pleasantly surprised by the cast of gods, demi-gods, and enthusiastic actors and musicians who took the stage.

As luck would have it, the titular character’s played by Chris McCarrell, a Broadway vet who actually originated this very role Off-Broadway. So from start to finish, the production’s in good hands, as McCarrell is youthful, confident, and has a Hades of a voice. My date for the evening — my six-year-old daughter, only slightly younger than the audience’s average age, I’d wager — whispered to me after one of Percy’s songs, “Daddy, I think I love that boy who’s singing.” Judging by the applause and squeals, much of the crowd agreed with her.

The cast for this show is a small one, with most members playing multiple parts, and playing them well. Jorrel Javier features as both a trusty young sidekick and crotchety old god of the vine who’s traded in drunkenness, debauchery, and drama to be a camp counselor. Kristin Stokes’ voice filled the theater whenever her Annabeth (type-A daughter of Athena) sang. Like Stokes and McCarrell, James Hayden Rodriguez has been part of this show for a long time, and his experience showed as he played both an adolescent counselor and an ancient deity with charisma and charm.

But the two cast members who had me applauding and near squeals were Ryan Knowles and Jalynn Steele. Knowles is first seen as a stuffy, wheelchair-bound teacher of the classics, but quickly proves his verve and versatility, playing a centaur and a beach bum among many others. But his best moment was as a snaky, strutting, devilish diva of yore. Steele then one-ups Knowles’ diva with her own, bringing the house down to an underworld full of shimmy, shake, and some shoutouts to long-dead musical heroes that the audience’s older members recognized.

And that brings me to the thing about The Lightning Thief that stood out the most to me. While there were bits here and there meant to appease the oldsters — pop-culture references, old-school mugging — this production felt young. It could’ve been the thrown-together (I mean that in a good way) but thoughtful set and costumes designed by Lee Savage and Sydney Maresca. Or it could’ve been the clubby lighting by David Lander. All of those things were fresh.

But I think what made The Lightning Thief seem so new and fresh to me is that it is new and fresh. It’s got the feel of the kids these days (again, meant in a good way). It’s not trying to be cool. It just is cool. It’s not trying to shoehorn ancient stuff like gods and monsters into today’s world. It just does so. I found it fun and inspiring and I’ve gotta say, it proved to be the gateway drug that’ll find my daughter and me checking out the book series on which the stage show is based.

The above phrase has become a regular one spoken in my home and in the homes of friends in the village of Skokie, first as an inside joke and now as a communal mantra. A mantra of togetherness. A mantra of character. A mantra of love.

That same mantra kept playing in my mind as the Bartlett Sher-directed touring production of Bock and Harnick’s timeless Fiddler on the Roof created a village on the stage of the Cadillac Palace Theatre. Sure, the sets carried us back to turn of the century Eastern Europe. And sure, those beloved songs and that well-known story transport us to the village of Anatekva. But it’s the people who populate that shtetl — and the talented actors of this production who portray them — that bring the village to life.

From the get-go, the face and voice of the village is Yehezkel Lazarov’s Tevye. An Israeli actor and director, Lazarov brings a similar old-world grit and charm to the character that Topol did in the film version. He’s funny and personable, sure, but also tired and wistful and, perhaps, a bit broken as he lays out his life to his audience and his G-d. My favorite number from Fiddler, and the one I most connect with as a father and as someone in a profession that isn’t as profitable as those held by my peers, is “If I Were a Rich Man,” and Lazarov nails it, hitting the humorous notes and the cantorial ones, as well. But beyond his skill at singing and dancing on a Broadway stage, it’s Lazarov’s ability to flesh out Tevye and bring him to life that did it for me.

Tevye’s daughters, played by Mel Weyn (Tzeitel), Ruthy Froch (Hodel), and Natalie Powers (Chava), are the other standouts. Again, as the father and mother of daughters, my wife and I were all too familiar with the complex mix of side-eye glances, huffiness, and adoration that Tevye’s girls show him. Weyn, Froch, and Powers nail it when it comes to portraying a family. And they nail it, too, musically. Particularly when the trio takes on “Matchmaker, Matchmaker,” their voices blend and their harmonies soar as if they actually are siblings singing together.

The other main roles are adequately filled, as well. Carol Beaugard, as said matchmaker Yente, is a hoot. Maite Uzal effectively plays Tevye’s foil, his acerbic, realistic, and ultimately loving wife, Golde. Jesse Weil, Ryne Nardecchia, and Joshua Logan Alexander all do well as Tevye’s daughters’ suitors.

But it’s the rest of the folks in the cast — the ensemble and the musicians — who really make the village. The bottle dance at the wedding that ends Act I is, for sure, a main highlight. But the village of folks that make up the busyness and beauty behind each of the show’s big numbers is what grabs the eyes and hearts of the audience. Whether it’s the bustling Anatekva of “Tradition,” the drunken Jews and Gentiles who come together if only for a moment in “To Life,” or the specters that haunt “Tevye’s Dream,” the ensemble shines throughout. So, too, does the orchestra, conducted and coordinated by Michael Uselmann and John Mezzio, fill the big shoes that Fiddler’s musical legacy requires. Ionut Cosarca on violin strings us along from the pit, just as and spirited Paul Morland does in his role as the titular Fiddler.

So, to see a new take on a classic this holiday season, and to see a cast of skilled creatives make the village this classic takes, head to the Cadillac Palace Theatre from now until January 6 for Fiddler on the Roof.

I’ve gotta admit — as my six-year-old daughter and I entered the Chicago Children’s Theatre’s main stage and took our seats, one of us wasn’t having any of it. One of us, of course, remembered the enchanting play we’d taken in there earlier this year, and could not stop talking about that production and the hopes that this one would be every bit as enchanting. The other one of us griped to himself that the seats were too low, that rabbits are pests and definitely should not be named (Flopsy, Mopsy, Cottontail, or Peter), and that Sunday mornings should not be spent thinking about such things in the first place. And then a bit of magic happened…

That magic came from the Victorian-attired and jauntily British-accented cast of the theatre’s current production, The Beatrix Potter Holiday Tea Party. Welcoming each of the theatergoers, be they little girls in dresses or grumpy dads in baggy-eyed delirium, Lara Carling and Kay Kron began quite the work of transporting us, which is the goal of all good theater, I suppose. They interacted with people, asking them about animals and school and the like. They smiled. They promised that once the play was over, we’d be able to play with whatever things their play would utilize. And then they took the stage, surrounded by closed trunks and cylinders and boxes and backed by Ray Rehberg and his one-man orchestra of stringed instruments and electronic gadgets. And the play began.

In each of the three stories that Carling, Kron, and Rehberg told us (all three based on beloved tales by Victorian magic-maker, Beatrix Potter), said trunks and boxes and cylinders were opened to reveal characters and settings rendered in the style of those beloved Potter books. Mrs. Tittlemouse. Mr. Jackson, the toad. Squirrel Nutkin. Old Brown, the owl. Mr. McGregor. And that rascally rabbit, Peter. Through the use of hand-cranks and props, sound effects and song, each of these well-known characters came to life and their stories kept us all — old and young alike — entranced until the end.

And in the end, after the children rushed the stage to touch and feel the things they had just seen, we were ushered back into the theater’s lobby for hot cocoa and cookies. And, I’ve gotta admit, we enjoyed those Sunday morning treats, the both of us, with smiles on our faces at the wondrous tales we’d just been told.

The Beatrix Potter Holiday Tea Party is being performed at Chicago Children’s Theatre through December 30th. For more show information visit www.chicagochildrenstheatre.org.