Some stories refuse to fade with time, and Brokeback Mountain is one of them. What began as a modest short story by Annie Proulx in The New Yorker in 1997 grew into an award-winning literary work, an acclaimed film, and now a deeply moving stage adaptation by Ashley Robinson at Chicago Shakespeare Theater. Under the assured direction of Jonathan Butterell, this production achieves something rare: it honors the source material while creating an emotionally overwhelming theatrical experience that stands on its own merits.

Proulx's story unfolds in 1963, in a world where homophobia was not merely accepted but embedded within the culture. In rural America, far removed from urban centers and decades before meaningful LGBTQ+ rights protections, Ennis Del Mar and Jack Twist find themselves trapped between the lives they are expected to live and the love they cannot deny. Although the story concludes in 1983, its themes remain startlingly relevant. The prejudice that shaped their lives has not disappeared; it has simply changed forms.

Butterell's direction is masterful. He understands that the power of Brokeback Mountain lies not in grand declarations but in silences, glances, and opportunities missed. Every scene is infused with aching restraint, allowing the audience to feel the enormous weight of what remains unspoken. The result is a production that slowly tightens its grip on the audience.

Harrison Ball delivers a remarkable performance as Ennis Del Mar, capturing the character's stoicism, fear, and buried longing with heartbreaking precision. Opposite him, Jack Cameron Kay gives Jack Twist an irresistible warmth and optimism, making his refusal to surrender to a life of secrecy all the more poignant. Together, the two actors create a chemistry so natural and compelling that the audience becomes deeply invested in every stolen moment they share.

The supporting cast is equally extraordinary. Cordelia Dewdney's Alma Del Mar is nothing short of revelatory. Dewdney charts Alma's transformation from a hopeful young wife into a woman forced to confront painful truths with astonishing emotional depth. Her performance is so finely calibrated, so emotionally authentic, that it feels destined for award recognition. Every look, every hesitation, every moment of heartbreak lands with devastating force. It is one of the finest performances currently on a Chicago stage.

Thomas Cox and Kat Eggleston excel in multiple roles, helping populate the world around Ennis and Jack with richly drawn characters. Eggleston's work as the Balladeer provides a haunting thread that runs through the production, giving voice to emotions the characters themselves cannot express.

Tom Pye's scenic and costume design is stunning in its simplicity. With minimal elements, he evokes the sweeping grandeur of Wyoming's mountains and the claustrophobic domestic spaces that confine the characters for much of their lives. The contrast is striking. On Brokeback Mountain, Ennis and Jack briefly experience freedom. Everywhere else, they are hemmed in by expectations, obligations, and fear. Sammi Grant's dialect coaching enriches the production, lending authenticity to the Wyoming accents and further immersing the audience in the world of the play.

What makes this production particularly resonant is its willingness to confront the societal forces that shaped Ennis and Jack's tragedy. The play never becomes didactic, yet it clearly illustrates how homophobia was reinforced by cultural institutions, including religious traditions and biblical interpretations that were frequently used to condemn same-sex relationships and enforce rigid definitions of masculinity. Whether through family expectations, community pressure, or appeals to religious authority, the message was clear: people like Ennis and Jack were expected to deny who they were. The production allows audiences to witness the devastating human cost of those beliefs without reducing its characters to symbols or political arguments.

Although Brokeback Mountain is not a musical, musical elements are woven seamlessly into the storytelling, becoming an emotional landscape of their own. Rather than interrupting the narrative, the ballads deepen it, expressing feelings that the characters are unable to articulate. Combined with the breathtaking visual and emotional scope of the production, the music helps transform the story into something more.

What is most impressive is how contemporary the play feels. Nearly forty years after the events depicted, Brokeback Mountain remains a cautionary tale about the consequences of intolerance and the lives damaged when love is forced into secrecy. Yet it is also a story of resilience, desire, and the human need for connection.

Chicago Shakespeare Theater has delivered one of the most powerful productions of the season. Under Jonathan Butterell's direction, every artistic element works in harmony to create an evening of theater that is both intimate and epic. It would not be surprising to see this production enjoy a future life beyond Chicago. The quality of the staging, the strength of the performances, and the universal appeal of the material suggest a production that could fare exceptionally well in New York and beyond.

Brokeback Mountain is theater at its finest—beautifully acted, exquisitely directed, emotionally devastating, and utterly unforgettable. It is not merely a revival of a story; it is a production that reminds us why stories like this continue to matter. And in Jonathan Butterell's hands, it soars.

Highly Recommended

Running Time: 90 minutes

When: Through June 28

Where: Chicago Shakespeare Theater 800 East Grand Avenue in Chicago

Tickets: $65 - $125

Box Office: 312-595-5600

Info: www.chicagoshakes.com

This review is proudly shared with our friends at www.TheatreInChicago.com. 

Definition Theatre's Amplify New Play Program exists to elevate emerging voices, and Netta Walker's keerah certainly arrives with ambition. Loosely inspired by the mythological lovers Orpheus and Eurydice, the play explores race, identity, love, and memory through the relationship between Ciara and Cormac. While the production benefits from strong performances and excellent design work, the script ultimately struggles to transform its compelling ideas into equally compelling drama.

The cast features Netta Walker as Ciara, Cat Christmas as Lucy, Beck Nolan as Cormac, and Jacob Coggeshall as Finn. Under the direction of McKenzie Chinn, the actors work tirelessly to bring depth and authenticity to the material. Walker and Nolan, in particular, share a natural chemistry that anchors the evening. Their relationship serves as a constant reminder of the play's potential. Even when the script falters, both actors remain committed to finding emotional truth in their characters.

The first act unfolds as something of a meandering exploration of youthful angst and attraction. While it establishes the emotional stakes, it often feels unfocused. The second act finds greater urgency but also becomes increasingly forced, pushing emotional revelations rather than allowing them to emerge organically. Although Walker draws inspiration from the story of Orpheus and Eurydice, these characters never achieve the mythic resonance suggested by that source material. In fact, despite the strong acting, Ciara and Cormac never fully emerge as people who exist beyond the play's thematic framework.

The central relationship also bears the weight of a nearly two-hour running time. Scene after scene dissects emotional wounds without revealing enough new dimensions to sustain the audience's investment. The result is a play that feels longer than it is, with the stakes remaining surprisingly low considering the intensity with which they are discussed.

More problematic is the play's handling of race and identity. At one point Cormac declares, "I'm not white, I'm Irish," a statement that hints at a potentially fascinating conversation about ethnicity and cultural identity. Unfortunately, the play never meaningfully explores the implications of that claim. Even more troubling is a scene in which Ciara opens a bottle of Hennessy and mutters a racial slur. Rather than illuminating character or advancing the narrative, the moment feels gratuitous and awkwardly inserted for shock value.

Fortunately, the production's design elements are consistently strong. Scenic Designer Isa Noe creates realistic environments that are immediately recognizable and lived-in. The restaurant where the women work, the city streets, and the bedroom scenes all feel authentic. Garrett Bell's lighting design beautifully supports the shifting moods of the play, while Costume Designer Janelle Smith outfits the characters in clothing that feels both realistic and specific. Sound Designer Aaron Harris Woodstein further enriches the atmosphere.

One leaves keerah admiring the effort more than the result. Definition Theatre has repeatedly demonstrated its ability to produce work of the highest caliber, and its commitment to developing new plays remains invaluable. While keerah contains moments of promise and is bolstered by a talented cast and creative team, it remains a work still searching for the emotional and thematic clarity that would allow its ideas to truly resonate.

Somewhat Recommended

When: Through June 28

Where: Definition Theatre @1160 E. 55^th Street Chicago

Running Time 2 hours with a 15-minute intermission

Tickets: Start at $25

312-469-0390

https://www.definitiontheatre.org/shows/keerah

This review is proudly shared with our friends at www.TheatreInChicago.com. 

Some theatrical experiences ask you to sit back and watch. "The Last Word" invites you to pull up a chair, have a cocktail, and tumble headfirst into a delightfully strange fever dream about life, death, friendship, and a very famous green liqueur.

Its title refers both to a classic cocktail and to the screenplay at the center of the evening, and the two become intertwined in ways that are clever, surprising, and ultimately moving. The story revolves around Chartreuse, the legendary French liqueur whose closely guarded recipe is known by only two monks at any given time. When Mike discovers one of those monks dying in the woods and is entrusted with the only known copy of the recipe, he faces an impossible choice: return it to the monastery or risk everything to preserve it himself.

Presented as a live screenplay reading, "The Last Word" (at the iO Theater on Kingsbury) cleverly blurs the line between stage play and film script. Plays are meant to be heard; screenplays are meant to be seen. It takes a special kind of theatrical imagination to make a screenplay reading compelling. Fortunately, this production understands that challenge and embraces it. Through lighting effects, sound design, music, and a constant sense of playful invention, the audience is encouraged to visualize the movie unfolding in their minds.

The evening begins with audience members seated around a long table draped in green, scripts spread out before them, and a bottle of Chartreuse placed prominently center stage like a sacred relic. As the cast settles in and begins reading, we gradually discover who these characters are and the wild journey ahead.

A great deal of credit belongs to host and narrator Declan Grogan, who guides the audience through the evening with infectious enthusiasm. Between the screenplay's four acts, Grogan pauses the action to introduce a specially crafted cocktail inspired by that portion of the story.

The first act is paired with a Chartreuse Swizzle, a bright tropical concoction made with gin, that eases the audience into the tale. The second act features a Green drink made with homemade herbal clove liqueur whose complexity mirrors the increasingly mysterious turns of the plot. A Bijou, rich and blood red, accompanies the third act as the story deepens and the stakes become more profound. Finally, the evening concludes with the iconic Last Word, the cocktail that inspired both the title and much of the play's thematic spirit. Grogan's descriptions are delivered with such enthusiasm and detail that even audience members unfamiliar with mixology may find themselves suddenly fascinated by botanical spirits, obscure liqueurs, and the mystical allure of Chartreuse itself.

The cast—James Cullinane, Rachel Thomas, Declan Grogan, Claire Glennon, Spencer Gallagher, Colleen Grogan, and Liam Mahon—fully commits to the material's offbeat humor and emotional sincerity. What initially appears to be an eccentric comedy gradually reveals deeper themes about mortality, legacy, and the connections we leave behind.

One of the evening's most unusual choices involves video montages featuring the loved ones of cast members speaking about their affection and appreciation for the cast member. At first, the device feels unexpected, even a little puzzling. Yet by the final scene, its purpose becomes crystal clear. The production's emotional threads suddenly converge, and what seemed odd earlier becomes genuinely beautiful.

In the end, "The Last Word" asks a deceptively simple question: We will all have a last word. What will yours be? The answer arrives not through grand speeches but through shared experiences, laughter, friendship, and perhaps a perfectly balanced cocktail. This is an inventive, heartfelt, and thoroughly unique theatrical experience that l have to experience again.

Highly Recommended
When: The Last Friday of the month - June 26, July 31, August 28
Where: iO Theater, 1501 N. Kingsbury St. Chicago
Tickets: $50 general admission (Drink Package)
$20 general admission designated driver
Info: https://www.thelastwordshow.com/

This review is proudly shared with our friends at www.TheatreInChicago.com. 

The Goodman Theatre’s Covenant announces York Walker as a playwright ascending rapidly into the highest tier of American theater. This is not simply an impressive new work; it is the kind of play that reminds audiences why live theater remains uniquely capable of unsettling the spirit. Walker has written something rare: a Southern Gothic thriller steeped equally in folklore, faith, desire, and dread. Under the extraordinary direction of Malkia Stampley - arguably some of the finest work of her already remarkable career - the production unfolds with hypnotic control and devastating emotional precision.

Set in 1936 Georgia, Covenant begins with Ruthie’s haunting declaration: “Everybody got a secret.” That line becomes the pulse beneath the entire production. Secrets saturate every corner of Walker’s world. Desire hides beneath scripture. Fear hides beneath righteousness. Love hides beneath suspicion. And every revelation threatens to crack the play wide open.

Walker’s writing is lyrical without becoming self-conscious, poetic without sacrificing danger. His dialogue moves like music - earthy, funny, intimate, and increasingly ominous. The play’s supernatural undertones never overpower its humanity. Instead, Walker roots every eerie moment in emotional truth. The result is a suspenseful theatrical experience that genuinely keeps the audience on edge. Spooky, suspenseful plays this good are rare. Even rarer are ones disciplined enough not to betray themselves too early. The less one knows going in, the better. This production rewards surrender.

Stampley directs with astonishing confidence. She understands that terror often lives in silence, stillness, and suggestion. The production breathes with tension. Every pause feels loaded. Every gesture seems to carry spiritual consequence. The prayer sequences become almost ritualistic choreography, while scenes of intimacy hum with equal parts longing and danger. Stampley masterfully balances the play’s realism and its creeping nightmare logic without allowing either to overpower the other.

The production’s technical elements are equally exceptional. Set designer Ryan Emens creates a sparse wooden structure dominated by a cross front and center, a deceptively simple design that transforms effortlessly, with the addition of a few pieces of furniture, into both a humble church and a family home. Costume designer Evelyn M. Danner has clearly done her homework; the costumes feel authentically rooted in the period without ever appearing overly theatrical. The lighting design by Gina Patterson becomes an entirely new character in the production. Patterson’s work shapes mood and terror with remarkable precision, particularly during a stunning sequence involving thunder, lightning, and pouring rain that sends a chill through the audience. Complementing it beautifully is Dee Etti-Williams’ sound design, which works in haunting tandem with the lighting to create an atmosphere of gathering doom.

Ashli René Funches in Covenant at Goodman Theatre. Photo by Hugo Hentoff.

The all-Chicago cast is exceptional from top to bottom.

Debo Balogun delivers magnetic work as Johnny “Honeycomb” James, a wandering blues musician whose charm conceals depths the audience is never fully certain it understands. Balogun’s performance is seductive, wounded, and quietly terrifying all at once. He understands the danger of charisma.

As Ruthie, Ashli Renè Funches gives the production its emotional anchor. Her narration draws us into the story with heartbreaking vulnerability, and her slow awakening to the darkness surrounding her becomes deeply affecting.

Jaeda Lavonne is luminous as Avery, a young woman desperate to escape the suffocating boundaries of her world. Lavonne beautifully captures Avery’s hunger for freedom while allowing fear and spiritual confusion to shadow every choice she makes.

As Violet, Felicia Oduh brings sharp intelligence, humor, and emotional volatility to the stage. Violet often functions as the play’s skeptic and truth-teller, and Oduh gives her a raw immediacy that keeps the character from becoming merely symbolic.

Then there is Anji White as Mama. White disappears entirely into the role. Her performance is extraordinary in its complexity - unyielding, terrifying, wounded, and deeply tragic. Mama could easily become a caricature of religious severity, but White reveals the grief and horror buried underneath her righteousness. Her monologues land like thunderclaps.

What makes Covenant especially impressive is how fully it trusts the audience. Walker refuses easy answers. The play constantly asks whether evil is supernatural, inherited, psychological, or self-created. Is the devil real in this world? Or do people simply need something external to blame for the violence they carry inside themselves? The play never simplifies those questions.

And then comes the ending.

Do not spoil it for yourself. Do not let anyone spoil it for you. The audience will not see it coming.

Covenant is beautifully written, beautifully acted, and beautifully told. It lingers long after the lights go down, like a whispered warning you cannot quite forget.

HIGHLY RECOMMENDED

When: Through May 31 *Now extended though June 7th

Where: Goodman Theatre, 170 N. Dearborn St.

Runtime: 140 minutes (no intermission)

Tickets: $24-$44

Info: www.goodmantheatre.org

Box Office: 312-443-3800

This review is proudly shared with our friends at www.TheatreInChicago.com. 

At first glance, the performance space for Architecture of Memory feels less like a theater and more like a living museum of human experience. Before a single performer moves, the audience is invited into an art installation featuring the work of three artists whose visions quietly prepare us for the emotional terrain ahead: multidisciplinary artist Hart Ginsburg of Digital Tapestries; Candance Casey, whose photography examines abandoned urban ruins and the possibility of rebirth within decay; and director and creator Ellyzabeth Adler, who transforms discarded letters, notes, and forgotten objects into vessels of memory and meaning.

Scattered throughout the space are boxes labeled “generational trauma,” “pain,” “hurt,” “reflection”, “rebirth” and other life experiences. The symbolism is immediate but never heavy-handed. These fragments of emotional inheritance become the foundation for Chicago Danztheatre Ensemble’s Architecture of Memory, a deeply personal yet profoundly universal meditation on how memory shapes identity, relationships, and healing.

Divided into nine interconnected chapters - Intersecting Voices, Petals, Directions, Cliffside Postcards, Pathways, Carry Forward, Carry Back, Enough, The Red String That Has No End, and Beginning Again—the production unfolds like a stream of consciousness. Rather than relying on traditional narrative structure, the work moves through movement, visual imagery, soundscapes, and emotional association. Remarkably, the transitions between sections feel fluid and organic, as though each chapter emerges naturally from the emotional residue of the one before it.

Founded in 2001, Chicago Danztheatre Ensemble has built its reputation on socially conscious, politically engaged performance work rooted in community activism and social justice. Architecture of Memory represents something of a departure. While the production still carries the company’s trademark emotional honesty and collaborative spirit, it turns inward rather than outward. This is not overtly political theater. Instead, it is reflective, intimate, and autobiographical in feeling. Yet its themes - loss, memory, connection, generational wounds, and renewal - resonate broadly.

The ensemble performers - Nik Graves, Maya Paletta, Austin Rambo, collaborator Anthony Taylor, and Virginia Vanlieshout - bring extraordinary vulnerability and physical precision to the piece. Because the production relies less on dialogue and more on movement, gesture, and emotional presence, the performers must communicate interior states through embodiment alone. Each artist contributes distinct emotional textures to the work, whether conveying longing, grief, tenderness, or release. Together, they function less as individual characters and more as collective carriers of memory itself, moving through Adler’s fragmented emotional landscape with remarkable cohesion and sincerity.

The production’s visual language is especially striking. Props are used extensively and intentionally throughout. Door frames become portals between emotional states and remembered spaces. Mannequins suggest the ghosts of former selves or absent loved ones. Clothing carries traces of identity and history. Nothing onstage feels accidental. Every object appears charged with emotional residue, as though memory itself has physical weight.

Hart Ginsburg’s multimedia projections add another evocative layer, creating dreamlike environments that blur the boundaries between physical and emotional landscapes. The integration of movement and projection often produces images of startling beauty.

Most impressive, however, is the emotional sincerity at the heart of the work. Architecture of Memory is not interested in tidy conclusions. Instead, it acknowledges the messiness of grief, the persistence of memory, and the complicated process of carrying pain while still choosing renewal. The result is a production that feels cathartic and quietly healing.

By the final chapter, Beginning Again, the audience is left not with answers but with a sense of release. Architecture of Memory reminds us that memory can imprison us, but it can also connect us, sustain us, and ultimately help us begin anew.

As Chicago Danztheatre Ensemble celebrates its 25th anniversary season, Architecture of Memory feels like both a reflection on the company’s artistic journey and a reminder of its continued evolution. And while I am not at liberty to discuss a project slated for next season, audiences would be wise to keep a close eye on Chicago Danztheatre Ensemble. If this production is any indication, the company is entering an exciting new creative chapter.

Highly Recommended

When: May 3 to 18 Friday/Saturday @8pm

Where: The Auditorium at Ebenezer Lutheran Church

               1650 W. Foster Avenue

Running time: 80 minutes with a 10 minute  intermission

Tickets: $10 - $25

www.danztheatre.org

safronia at Lyric Opera of Chicago emerges as a deeply personal story of the Great Migration - one that resists grandiosity in favor of something more intimate, more lived-in, and ultimately more affecting. Drawn from the family history of Chicago’s inaugural Poet Laureate avery r. young, the work feels less like a conventional opera and more like an embodied poem, carried on breath, rhythm, and memory.

Young himself, as Fiery Baar Booker, gives a performance that is searing. There is fire in his portrayal - a man negotiating identity, displacement, and legacy. Opposite him, Maiesha McQueen’s Magnolia is the emotional anchor of the piece. Her performance radiates warmth and steadiness, embodying the sustaining force of family amid upheaval. She nurtures without sentimentality, giving Magnolia strength.

Lorenzo Rush Jr. brings a charismatic edge to King Willie Tate, a figure caught between aspiration and instability. His chemistry with Meaghan McNeal’s safronia is particularly compelling. McNeal delivers a spiritual performance - her safronia is less a single character than a vessel of generational memory, carrying the emotional weight of those who moved, hoped, and endured.

The company of safronia. Photo by Kyle Flubacher.

The looming presence of white power is sharply rendered through Zachary James as Cholly and Jeff Parker as Bossman. Their performances are unsettling not because they are exaggerated, but because they are so matter-of-fact. The banality of their authority underscores the systemic nature of the oppression the Booker family faces.

The ensemble - Bailey Haynes Champion, Sydney Charles, Miciah Lathan, Eric Andrew Lewis, Renelle Nicole, Jessica Brooke Seals, Maxel McLoud Schingen, and Kendal Marie Wilson - serves as a living chorus, shifting seamlessly between roles while maintaining a unified emotional pulse. They embody community, memory, and migration itself.

Musically, Paul Byssainthe Jr.’s conducting and orchestration weave together spirituals, blues, and textures into a soundscape that feels both rooted and expansive. Under Timothy Douglas’s direction, the production is carefully shaped, allowing stillness and movement to coexist in a way that honors the story’s emotional depth.

Yet for all its power, safronia at the Lyric Opera feels like a work yearning for closer quarters. Its most resonant moments are the quietest ones - the glances, the silences, the shared breath between performers and audience. It is fitting, then, that the production will be remounted at Court Theatre in May 2027. In that more intimate space, safronia may fully realize its potential, allowing audiences not just to witness the story, but to feel it - deeply, personally, and without distance.

This review is proudly shared with our friends at www.TheatreInChicago.com. 

Steppenwolf Theatre Company’s, Windfall arrives with all the promise its pedigree suggests. Written by Academy Award–winning ensemble member Tarell Alvin McCraney and directed by Awoye Timpo, the production aspires to be a pulsing, lyrical meditation on grief, justice, and the uneasy intersection of activism and capitalism. What unfolds instead is a work rich in intention but frustratingly elusive in execution.

The play centers on a protest encampment that erupts into violence, culminating in the shooting of Eli, a member of Never Wrestle Justice - a group of activists unafraid to raise their voices. In the aftermath, Marcus (Glenn Davis), who has transitioned, lingers alongside his aging adoptive father, Mr. Mano (Michael Potts). Mano is left reeling, unable to fully accept the reported death of his child, Eli (Esco Jouléy). It’s a potent premise: a father who refuses to confirm his child’s death, a government eager to offer a financial settlement, and a moral dilemma that questions whether survival can - or should - be measured in dollars. Tarell Alvin McCraney frames the story as a “chosen family” drama, but the emotional foundation never fully coheres.

Marcus urges Mano to identify Eli’s body and accept the settlement, arguing that “blood money is still money.” Yet Mano resists, clinging to the unbearable ambiguity of loss. The arrival of various state representatives - played with dynamic range by Alana Arenas as First Lady, Miss Second, and The Last One - pushes the narrative into increasingly surreal territory. These figures, along with Jon Michael Hill and Namir Smallwood in multiple roles, embody a bureaucratic machine that is at once apologetic, predatory, and opaque.

There are flashes of McCraney’s signature lyricism, particularly in the spectral appearances of Eli. Whether ghost, memory, or manifestation of guilt, Eli’s presence should anchor the play’s emotional core. Instead, it muddies the stakes. When Eli ultimately reappears - alive, defiant, and ready to fight - the revelation feels less like a cathartic turn and more like a narrative sleight of hand that the play hasn’t earned.

This points to the central issue: the characters are too thinly drawn to sustain the weight of the play’s ideas. We see Mano’s grief, Marcus’s urgency to settle, and Eli’s activism, but we rarely feel them. The stakes, which should be life-altering, register as curiously low. Even the moral dilemma - to take the money or resist the system - never fully ignites because the emotional investment isn’t there.

Timpo’s direction leans into the play’s abstraction, emphasizing its communal and ritualistic elements. At times, this works; the staging has a fluidity that suggests a world where reality and memory bleed into one another. But the lack of clarity ultimately undermines the experience. Confusion becomes less a deliberate aesthetic choice and more a barrier to engagement.

There is also the question of place. Though the play is set in Chicago, it rarely feels rooted there. References to Rainbow Beach or Pequod’s Pizza read as surface-level markers rather than lived-in details. For a story so deeply tied to protest, policing, and community, the absence of a tangible sense of Chicago is a missed opportunity.

Still, the performances strive to elevate the material. Arenas is the undeniable standout, bringing vitality and nuance to each of her roles. Whenever she takes the stage, the play briefly finds its pulse. Potts lends dignity to Mano, though the script gives him limited room to build a fully realized arc.

McCraney has proven himself to be a playwright of profound depth and clarity. Windfall gestures toward that brilliance but never quite achieves it. It is a communal experience, yes - but one that leaves you searching for emotional and narrative footing long after the final moment fades.

Somewhat Recommended

When:   Through May 31

Where:  Steppenwolf Theatre, 1650 N. Halsted

Tickets: $20 - $148.50

Box Office: 312-335-1650

www.steppenwolf.org

This review is proudly shared with our friends at www.TheatreInChicago.com. 

Shakespeare’s comedies share a familiar architecture: mistaken identity, disguises, intersecting plotlines, a generous helping of prose, and language that delights in wordplay and double entendre. They are also, crucially, driven by sharp, intelligent women who often see more clearly than the men around them. With that foundation in mind, Chicago Shakespeare Theater’s production of The Merry Wives of Windsor leans confidently into these conventions - and then accelerates them - resulting in a delightfully mischievous evening.

Directed with precision and pace by Phillip Breen, the production wastes no time settling in. It moves briskly, almost breathlessly at times. Breen understands that comedy, especially Shakespearean comedy, thrives on rhythm. Doors must slam at just the right moment, disguises must be revealed a beat too late, and jokes must land before the audience has time to anticipate them. Here, the timing is razor-sharp, aided immeasurably by a cast of 22 actors who navigate the text with clarity and ease.

Max Jones’ set design cleverly situates Windsor in a contemporary world of affluence and quiet excess. This is a town where privilege is not just visible - it is assumed. Children attend private school, men play rugby, and women occupy a social sphere of lunches and shopping that doubles as a kind of informal power network. The Garter Inn, rendered as a dimly lit bar with a billiards table anchoring the space, becomes a playground for Falstaff’s schemes. In contrast, Dr. Caius’ sterile office reception area offers a clinical absurdity, while the Ford household gleams with white carpeting, glass, and sweeping staircases - its opulence undercut by the chaos unfolding within. A particularly fluid set change transforms the space with near-magic, reinforcing the play’s obsession with illusion and transformation. The final forest scene, textured with dirt mounds and trees, grounds the production just enough before it tips fully into theatrical fantasy.

What emerges most clearly in this production is the idea that Windsor is a world turned slightly askew. No one is quite what they claim to be. The knight, Sir John Falstaff, is anything but noble - he is vain, opportunistic, and gloriously ridiculous. The doctor, Caius, is less healer than hot-headed rival, perpetually threatening violence. The clergyman’s thick accent renders him a subject of humor rather than authority. Even the Justice of the Peace seems more eager for confrontation than civility. It is a community in which status is worn like a costume—and just as easily discarded.

Photo by Kyle Flubacker.

At the center of it all are the “merry wives,” who prove themselves to be the most grounded and perceptive figures on stage. Ora Jones’ Mistress Page and Issy Van Randwyck’s Mistress Ford  anchor the production with wit and composure. They are never merely reactive; they orchestrate the action, turning Falstaff’s attempted manipulation into a series of escalating humiliations. Their intelligence drives the comedy, ensuring that the laughter always has a point of view.

The supporting cast is equally strong. Chike Johnson’s Master Page exudes an easy confidence, while Timothy Edward Kane’s Master Ford leans fully into the character’s jealousy, finding both humor and unease in his suspicion. Nate Burger’s Dr. Caius is a comic standout, his bluster and indignation landing with delightful force. Nancy Voigts brings a bustling energy to Mistress Quickly, threading together the play’s many schemes, while Paul Oakley Stovall’s Justice Shallow captures the absurdity of self-importance.

And then there is Jason Simon’s Falstaff - a performance that embraces the character’s excess without apology. Legend has it that Queen Elizabeth I so adored Falstaff that she demanded to see him in love. Here, however, Falstaff is in love with nothing so much as himself. Simon leans into that vanity, crafting a figure who is both despicable and irresistibly watchable. His repeated downfalls never diminish him; instead, they reveal the elasticity of his ego.

Ultimately, this production succeeds because it trusts the mechanics of Shakespearean comedy while fully committing to its world. Disguises are embraced, identities are blurred, and language sparkles with innuendo. Yet beneath the laughter lies a sharper observation: that power, status, and even identity itself are often performances. In Windsor, everyone is playing a role - some just play it better than others.

Highly Recommended

When:   Through May 3

Where:  Chicago Shakespeare Theater 800 East Grand Avenue in Chicago

Tickets:  $60 - $120

Box Office: 312-595-5600

Info: www.chicagoshakes.com

This review is proudly shared with our friends at www.TheatreInChicago.com. 

As I entered the black box studio at Chicago Shakespeare Theater, I’ll admit - I wasn’t in the best frame of mind. Before leaving home, I’d watched the news: the endless cycle of violence, bombings, and that tired “us versus them” narrative that seems to define our moment. My spirit felt worn down. On top of that, I had spent the day finishing a review from earlier in the week, so I arrived more drained than inspired. Theatre, on this night, felt like an obligation.

Then Mrs. Krishnan’s Party happened - and everything shifted.

Instead of the usual routine of being guided to my seat by The Saints, I was greeted at the door by James (Justin Rogers), dressed in an outfit that immediately caught my attention. He asked my name. We talked. It wasn’t forced or performative - it was genuinely human. By the time he led me to my seat, the invisible barrier between audience and performer had already begun to dissolve. He introduced me to the people around me: to my left, a well-traveled gentleman from Ohio by way of India; to my right, a mother and daughter who helped identify James’s attire as a South Indian costume, rich with cultural specificity. Already, I wasn’t just watching a show - I was part of a group.

That’s when I realized we were not simply audience members, but guests of James, who was hosting a surprise party for his landlady. The occasion is Onam - a vibrant harvest celebration rooted in the southern Indian state of Kerala. What unfolds is not just theatre, but an act of radical hospitality. Music pulses. Conversations bloom. Strangers become co-conspirators in joy. This show is more than immersive - it is enveloping, dissolving the line between performer and audience until you’re no longer watching a story, you’re living inside it.

This approach is the hallmark of Indian Ink Theatre Company, the New Zealand-based ensemble behind the production. Founded by Justin Lewis and Jacob Rajan in the late 1990s, the company has earned an international reputation for creating intimate, actor-driven works that blend South Asian storytelling traditions with contemporary theatre. Their work explores identity, migration, and cultural hybridity through a deeply human - and often humorous - lens. More than anything, they prioritize connection: their productions don’t just tell stories; they build shared experiences.

And that’s what undid me.

Photo courtesy of Indian Ink Theatre Company.

When Mrs. Krishnan (Kalyani Nagarajan) finally arrives, she is startled to find the back of her small shop filled with strangers. There’s hesitation - this wasn’t her plan - and beneath it, something heavier lingers. As the evening unfolds, we begin to feel the weight she carries: the loss of her husband, the quiet ache of a son - an architect - now gone. These moments settle into the space with a tender gravity, reminding us that her warmth is hard-earned.

And yet, just as the story begins to lean into that sorrow, the play grabs and lifts us again. Laughter breaks through, balloons appear. Music returns. The room brightens. What begins as disruption transforms into delight as she embraces the gathering and, in a gesture both intimate and communal, decides to cook daal for all of us. In that moment, grief and joy exist side by side—each making space for the other.

Somewhere between the laughter, the dancing, and the smell of daal, the heaviness I carried into the theatre dissolved. Not in a naïve or escapist way, but in a way that felt necessary. Soundly directed by Justin Lewis, the show doesn’t ignore the fractured world outside; it quietly insists on another possibility within it: community, warmth, shared humanity.

By the end of the evening, I realized I hadn’t just watched a play - I had been in community with people different than me, yet deeply the same. In a time when division dominates the headlines, Mrs. Krishnan’s Party offers something deceptively simple and profoundly radical: a room full of strangers choosing, for a moment, to be together.

And that, right now, feels like everything.

Recommended

When: Through May 3rd
Where: Chicago Shakespeare Theatre 800 East Grand Avenue in Chicago.
Tickets: $74 - $90

Box Office: 312.595.5600
Info:  www.chicagoshakespeare.com

This review is proudly shared with our friends at www.TheatreInChicago.com.