Displaying items by tag: Victory Gardens Theatre

Lauren Yee’s Cambodian Rock Band begins and ends with music, not what Americans think of when they think of Cambodia, as the glib narrator points out, shifting from slides of musicians whose songs are nearly lost to history to more familiar images of the genocide that resulted in their loss. Yee’s play, now in its Chicago premier at Victory Gardens, is a celebration of the lives that were lost under the brutal Khmer Rouge regime, first to violence (nearly two million people were killed within four years), then to guilt, time and a desire to forget. Underscored and interspersed by classic Khmer pop songs, 60’s and 70’s Cambodian surfer punk, and original songs by Dengue Fever that pay tribute to their Cambodian roots, Cambodian Rock Band is about a band, a genocide and a Cambodian father and his American daughter trying to connect. There is a lot going on, not all of it works, and it can get messy at times, but ultimately, Cambodian Rock Band is a fast-paced, entertaining, timely and moving call to art and action with a rocking score.

Welcome to Cambodia! It’s 1974 and Cambodian band Cyclos is rocking out. Until they are ushered off the stage by an as-yet unnamed emcee who segues from the Cambodian musical scene into the atrocities that most Americans think of when we think of Cambodia in the 1970’s. Enter Chum, who settled in America in in the late 1970’s and who is back in Phnom Penh to pay a surprise visit to his 26-year-old daughter, Neary, who is helping prepare the case against a Khmer Rouge war criminal, Comrade Duch, the warden of the S21, a notorious prison that only seven inmates survived. Chum not only seems unimpressed by his daughter’s efforts (she could have gone to Cornell Law School), but also questions their exigency. In fact, Chum seems more taken aback by his daughter’s pursuit of the case than by the fact that her towel-clad boyfriend appears in the hotel room that she calls home (though the fact that his heritage is Thai is problematic). Chum, with his embarrassing dad jokes and inadvertent double-entendres tries to steer Neary to enjoying the pleasures of Phnom Penh, its fish spa and karaoke. Neary is focused on the upcoming press conference about the case against Duch. As Neary plumbs the depths of the case, searching out survivors of S21, Duch introduces himself, and Neary slowly gets to know her father and his past. 

Marti Lyons has assembled a hard-rocking ensemble, which handles both the classic pop and surfer punk with assurance. She smoothly directs the transitions between times and places, utilizing a spare set comprised of neon, road cases, a few wheeled set pieces and a few pieces of furniture by Yu Shibagaki, visually reinforcing both the ephemerality of the 1970’s music scene and the glowing modern city that arose from the remains of the Khmer Rouge reign. Lighting designer Keith Parham and sound designer Mikhail Fiksel deftly shift the scene between the bootleg recording session, cramped hotel room, upscale hotel lounge, and claustrophobic prison cell. Izumi Inaba offers period-perfect costumes for the band and the Khmer Rouge guards, crushed velvet for our emcee and conservative suits for the employees of the Center for Transitional Justice. Times and places fade into each other, both the physical space and the musical and aural landscape, as it becomes clear that the present is inextricably bound to the past. Lyons directs with an unsentimental, clear-eyed view, not editorializing, throwing into relief the overwhelming, heart-wrenching choices faced by the characters.

The cast is uniformly excellent, delivering both moving, grounded performances and propulsive music. Leading the ensemble is Greg Watanabe as Chum, in a time-traveling portrayal that shows him going from eager, embarrassing and judgmental dad to the youthful version of character, whose coming of age was interrupted by the Khmer Rouge, and finally the father who is forced to reconcile the two. Watanabe brings the right mix of energy, humor and gravitas to the role. The catalyst for the story is Neary, whose fight for justice in Cambodia also serves to teach her about her heritage, played with humor and exasperation by Aja Wiltshire, who also plays the lead singer of Cyclos, Sothea, with brash vibrance. As her co-worker and fellow-Westerner, Ted, Matthew C. Lee provides charm and clueless bonhomie. However, it is as the self-confident, preening lead guitarist Leng, whose survival instincts lead him into the darkness of the new regime, that Lee delivers a note-perfect portrait of hopeful youth. Peter Sipla and Eileen Doan round out the band, as drummer Rom and keyboardist Pou—both are remarkable musicians and actors who capture the different responses to the encroaching threat of the Khmer Rouge, as well as filling other roles in the narrative. As the Comrade Duch, Rammel Chan is disconcertingly ingratiating, deploying brassy, reptilian charm alternating with quiet reflection that calls into question what we know we should feel. Yee’s play requires whiplash-inducing tonal shifts, and the cast navigates the transitions between past and present effectively, bringing to life the people and music of Cambodia, and effectively showing what was lost with each well-documented death in the genocide.

Cambodian Rock Band is an occasionally uneasy hybrid between rock concert, sit-com and documentary record of the Cambodian genocide under Pol Pot, but somehow the format ends up being the right mix. Though laced with humor, maybe because it is laced with humor, the play is a vivid tribute to the art and individuals who were lost in the years when the Khmer Rouge were in power. The music by band Dengue Fever revives the sounds of Cambodia in the 1970’s—both the traditional pop songs and the more Western rock sounds, that nevertheless were delivered with a Khmer accent. In telling one story and offering a glimpse into the atrocities committed by one man, Lauren Yee powerfully reminds us that those rows of black and white photos and the piles of skulls that are often Americans’ first impressions of Cambodia are just the end of many lives and stories. The energetic, talented cast unsentimentally and unsparingly bring to life the rock band of the title. An entertaining tribute to human resilience, it also does not shrink from showing the choices that allow evil to flourish. 

Cambodian Rock Band runs through May 5 at Victory Gardens Theatre, 2433 N. Lincoln Avenue. Performances are Tuesday – Friday at 7:30 pm, Saturday at 3 pm and 7:30 pm, and Sunday at 3 pm. Tickets are $32-$65. For tickets and information, visit www.victorygardens.org, or call or email the Victory Gardens Box Office at 773-871-3000 or This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it..

Set in Chicago’s mythical 51st Ward, Rightlynd is an absolute lark – but with serious underpinnings. It’s a cautionary rendition of that age-old political maxim: power corrupts.

Rightlynd also doubles as a romantic comedy with a healthy dose of musical (ala Hamilton). Set in Chicago’s mythical 51st Ward, a section of the city whose governing alderman has been reelected for years on autopilot, quietly collecting his paycheck and not making waves.

The Rightlynd area has drifted into that political vacuum where city services are scarce, the L stops were closed, and businesses struggle. While the incumbent alderman appears to be asleep at the wheel, in reality he is negotiating to surrender Rightlynd to a developer group ) that wants to make it the “next neighborhood,” represented by Applewood (Jerome Beck in a breakthrough performance – he is great). That’s a familiar story to Chicagoans who are watching high-profile developments – The 78, Lincoln Yards, and the Presidential Library – part of the continuum of projects over the decades.

Regardless of the merits of these current initiatives, community activists will often be found to characterize such efforts as draining potential investment resources away from improvements for more needy areas – the Chicago’s numerous Rightlynd neighborhoods that never get a dime.

By taking an entertaining approach, playwright Ike Holter has figured out how to tell this story without being ponderous. Instead Rightlynd the play is sprightly and effervescent.

The plot follows the political awakening of Nina (Monica Orozco is a powerhouse, perfectly cast!) who begins with a modest effort to slow cars at an intersection on her street. Acting as our Everyman, we watch her journey from this simple zoning request, to passing petitions to get herself on the ballot and then elected as Alderman.

Nina finds running for office is different than running the office, and we watch as she gradually makes concessions to the reality of the streets – including negotiating with gangs and with developers. The election stopped Applewood from its development plans, for a time, but they come back and win influence over the office. "All be need is an open hand and a turned eye," Applewood says. 

Along the way, Nina meets up with a down-on-his-luck ex-con Pac, and the two go from politics to love item. Pac even refused a bus ticket when he was released from jail, preferring to stay in his old neighborhood, Rightlynd. Eddie Martinez plays Pac with sensitivity and panache, and the Martinez-Orozco pairing forms a delightful dynamic duo to energize and add dimension to the show – though at times this subplot threatens to overwhelm the main storyline.

The delightful supporting cast includes Sasha Smith as a Gal Friday for the alderman; Robert Cornelius as Robinson, who operates a garage (where Pac works); and LaKecia Harris as Amena, who lives on the streets.

Along with Anish Jethmalani as Benny, these cast members double in the roles of Denizen – forming the crowds, voters, and other singing and dancing performers that act as the Chorus – both in terms of Greek dramatic traditions, and as a singing-dancing chorus line. A shout-out to Cornelius for his wonderful baritone and to Sasha Smith, whose beautiful energy could easily power a stage all by herself.

Rightlynd is highly recommended. It runs through December 23 at the Victory Gardens Theater at the Biograph.

Lettie, by Boo Killebrew and directed by Chay Yew, is a very finely crafted work, an artfully produced show with sensitive performances that gradually unveil the complicated personalities on stage.

When we meet Lettie, she is in the visitors lounge area of a halfway house somewhere in Chicago, transitioning from her time in prison, working her way through a training program as a welder.

A visitor, Carla, arrives with shopping bags filled with gifts. Lettie seems perturbed by Carla’s gifts, and quickly lets her  know that no visitors can go beyond this area. We're not quite sure who anyone is just yet, and Lettie adds to the mystery with the line, "I would really like to see them." Who, we don't know. Carla seems clueless about Lettie, and as the scene ends our sympathies lean toward her. 

We see Lettie next in the welding shop, studying the technical manual and meeting Minny (5 Stars for Charin Alvarez!), a working welder in the shop where Lettie is training. Minny is funny, life affirming, outgoing, offering friendly advice, and dispensing wisdom, advising Lettie at one point, "There is no moving forward,there is only moving around."

Lettie reacts ungraciously to Minny's friendly overtures, and we see now see her in a different light: mean spirited, inordinately angry. 

Next time Carla returns to visit, we learn she is Lettie’s older sister. That she and her husband Frank (Ryan Kitley turns in a solid performance) have fostered Lettie’s children – Layla (Krystal Ortiz is completely convincing as the ingenue) and River (Matt Farabee) during her years in jail. And we learn that Lettie wants them back. She wants her family together, and our sympathies shift again.

Caroline Neff shows again in the role Lettie that she is quickly becoming one of Chicago's finest actresses. She really carries it off. Kirsten Fitzgerald as Carla is wonderful, bringing the same energy and excellence she showed as the mayor in The Traitor at A Red Orchid Theatre. 

The Virginia Toulmin Foundation helped fund the development of the script, and the Edgerton Foundation contributed to more rehearsal development. So we have a very refined show. 

For all the excellence in writing and acting, the playwright chose to focus on the family drama, rather than the workplace – where women struggle to make it in the trade careers. It might be even more interesting to look at the drama inherent in women as a frequently unwelcome intruder in those male-dominated precincts.

With Lettie, we risk characterizing an apprenticeship in the trades as a dangerous (Lettie sustains burns) job meant for rehabilitating felons. As presented in Lettie, welding sounds like a dead end, and that doesn't ring true in Chicago, though it may seem so to writers. Welders' median income is more than $57,000, and they are in great demand everywhere.

That said, it is a very well wrought play. As Lettie progresses through layers of revelation, and as scenes unfold, our insights into the characters' back stories tug our sympathies to and fro. We learn that Frank and Carla are running a deeply Christian household, and the children are expected to obey, and are pressured not to dream too much, and aim for practical lives. While it sounds oppressive, Killebrew deftly demonstrates the upside of a solid structure for the kids: emotional security.

We see that River and Layla are disaffected teens, curious but suspicious of their mother Lettie, and still reliant and attached to their foster parents. We discover Frank has lost his job and is struggling with the obsolescence many middle-aged white male managers have experienced.

And we learn more of the trials that Lettie has lived through, sexual abuse and adolescent pregnancy. In other words, there was suffering enough to go around for all. Our hearts are drawn to compassion for each of the players on this stage - and that is quite an accomplishment. 

Lettie challenges the status quo with her demands for her children’s return, but in the long run she does not have what it takes to create a home for them, or even herself.

The spare sets (Andrew Boyce in scenic design) help keep the focus on the dialog, and the projections of imagery on a backstage brick wall are very nicely done. 

Lettie runs through May 6 at Chicago's Victory Gardens Theatre in the Biograph. 

It was a third-grade history lesson on civil rights and Rosa Parks that spawned Brian Quijada’s one man show, “Where Did We Sit on the Bus?” Blacks were in the back, whites up front. What about Mexican-Americans like him?

“You weren’t around,” his teacher answered.  With that hook Quijada draws us in to his compelling personal story – largely based on his performing skills and big personality.

I harbor some diffidence about one-man shows, which can easily veer into narcissism. Quijada’s provocative title piqued my interest, and a mix-up in schedules had me with a couple hours open just as the lights came up for the matinee.

Apparently, others are on to what a great performer Quijada is: the theater was full for this return engagement of a show he wrote, choreographed, and for which he masters loops and overdubs into a nice accompaniment, built around his creditable singing and some well-chosen chords on his electric ukulele. It’s part of the Up Close and Personal series at www.Victorygardens.org

This story of a 28-year-old Chicagoland native, now making his way onto stages around the country, and into New York theater scene, has a lot of charm. After about 20 minutes it is clear Quijada is a natural born performer, and he has built an enticing showcase of his performance capabilities – almost like a general audition that shows his dancing and singing skills, as he recounts his resume on the stage starting from grammar school, through turns at everything from Shakespeare to Broadway musicals.    

But Quijada’s story takes a more serious turn as he recounts the discrimination he encountered. And when we reach the part about his marriage to a German woman from Europe, and their prospect of having children, he understands he must bring answers to his future offspring.

That rapidly becomes a compelling tale of self-discovery, punctuated with hip hop and dance numbers that are as entertaining as the stories he recounts. The longest journey is through his father’s rejection of his theatrical career. He wanted to see him take up a safer, more practical trade to earn a living.

Quijada maintains his focus as he also defines himself in the world – still trying to answer that third-grade puzzle. His parents don’t have a story in the national narrative – no Mayflower, no slave ships, no Ellis Island. They weren’t there. They had to sneak in, unseen – a lightning rod now but written several years before the current tempest about immigration.  

Quijada brings a tale of magical realism to his family history, and this one-man show rises to general significance for all of us, culminating in his journey to New York, where Quijada provides us a powerful insight on seeing the State of Liberty, sharing those famous words of the poem:

Give me your tired, your poor, 
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, 
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore. 
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me.

This extra two lines we hear less often. They made all the differences that afternoon. And like everyone around me I laughed, I cried, and I rose to applaud.  Don’t miss this Teatro Vista production at the Victory Gardens Theatre through June  4.  Really recommended.

The lights come up as a dark-haired young, Latino - bloodied, bruised, battered -  launches  into an adrenaline-fueled monolog.  

Facing the audience, Abe (Gabe Ruiz) is talking a mile a minute to an unseen clerk in the wee hours at a convenience store. From the torrent we piece together clues - Abe has survived a harrowing event. 

From this opening, playwright Ike Holter toggles the audience between puzzlement and certainty as The Wolf at the End of the Block tells its story in increments. This high-energy thriller gradually unfolds details that at each bend make us re-examine what we thought we knew. 

Though serious and even tense, The Wolf is never dreary - the pace and light-hearted delivery, the playful banter of the characters, keep it from veering into a diatribe. These are people who manage to extract the joy and happiness when and where they find it, while  they can.  

The next morning we find Abe awaited by sister Miranda (Ayssette Muñóz) and boss Nunley (Bear Bellinger) at the restaurant where he works, since Abe did not come home last night. He arrives - more lucid but still in shock - and reveals he was attacked in a police bar in an anti-Hispanic hate crime. Ethnic slurs were hurled, fists flew.   

Holter takes us deeper: Miranda, a citizen journalist,  feeds this crime lead to Frida, renowned TV newscaster. After vetting Abe's recount, Frida decides she will run with the story. Sandra Marquez  delivers Frida as a savvy yet jaded reporter  - talking in a clip that seems to be ripped right out of The Front Page. The story passes muster as one that will work on TV. 

We follow as Holter digs even further:  the sister Miranda determines Abe has held back something from Frida - he was drinking more than he said and may have instigated the fight. Frida doesn't care; she will use the part of the story that works for the viewers. 

At another point, Nunley, Abe's African-American boss, reveals he has a tape of Abe that may show him stealing - we are never quite sure. We are with Nunley when he enounters the cop James (James Farrugio is perfectly sinister) who may have beaten Abe, and we share Nunley's fear and intimidation.  

Against the current  turbulent political landscape, the play also examines the role of facts in media, and how motive can affect which truth is revealed, or suppressed. 

Having its world premiere, Teatro Vista's The Wolf at the End of the Block is engrossing, well acted and well produced - and is readily recommended. Holter is considered an up and coming writer - at moments he shows a structure and even lyricism along with pragmatic realism. This is the kind of theater we want to see more of.  It runs through March 5 at the Victory Gardens Theatre.  

As Chekov supposedly once said, if you bring a gun out in act one, it better go off by act three. Raul Castillo’s new play for Teatro Vista, ‘Between You, Me and the Lampshade’ goes for a metaphoric interpretation of the old rule.

The play starts off with a rush of adrenaline as a mysteriously battered young woman (Aysette Munoz) breaks into the trailer home of Jesse (Sandra Marquez). Jesse stands armed with a rifle, and from there a riveting dialog about race, immigration and love unfolds over 90 minutes.

Castillo’s play is largely plot-driven in an old school kinda way, but he raises it from the pot-boiler genre with the poetic yearnings of a Mexican couple stuck between two countries and on the run from border patrol. Castillo also goes on to comment on the inter-minority caste system. Jesse though Latina, denies her home intruder from calling her senorita or speaking Spanish. She even goes on to use racial slurs. The characters’ use of the vernacular and a plethora of double-negatives subtly provide a very realistic atmosphere of life in southern Texas.

The play isn’t without its lightness. A touching scene between Jesse’s teenage son Woody (Tommy Rivera-Vega) and his gamer, cyber pal K-Ten (Bryce Gangel) hits on issues of loneliness and the feeling of being misunderstood even in a place where everyone speaks the same language. When the cyber pal actually shows up in real life, a romantic current emerges.

The cast works well together under the direction of Ricardo Gutierrez. Bryce Gangel’s self-involved and blissfully unaware character brings with her most of the show’s comedy.  Sandra Marquez is very sure of herself in the role of a flailing mother and reluctant aid, with authentic reactions that are at times abrasive, which is to say very human. Ayssette Munoz as a woman on the run makes careful choices, without veering into melodrama. While this is not yet a perfect play, Raul Castillo’s undoubtedly a talented playwright with the foundation of a provocative play that calls for immigration reform. 

Through May 10^th - Teatro Vista at Victory Gardens Theatre. 2433 N Lincoln Ave. 773-871-3000

Lauren Yee's new play at Victory Gardens Theatre is a refreshing addition to the modern canon of American playwriting, in the ilk of Sarah Ruhl and Noah Haidle. 'Samsara' was developed by Victory Garden's annual Ignition festival, a contest seeking minority voices.

Yee takes a meta-theatrical look at the world of surrogacy in turns of comedy and disturbing practicalities. The style in which this story is told is its most unique quality. With the prevalence of MFA playwriting programs, more often we're seeing stories being told in non-traditional formats. Sometimes that includes talking fetuses and our inner monologues manifesting themselves in character. Is this the future of theatre? If so, how exciting.

In 'Samsara' couple Craig and Katie (played by Joe Dempsey and Lori Myers) are desperate to fix the rut in their life with a baby, only they can't have one themselves and can't afford the myriad of domestic options. Instead they outsource to India, as so many corporations are want to do these days. Katie's fear of travel prevents her from going to India so she sends her bumbling husband while she stays home and has an affair with her fantasy man who happens to be a construct of her imagination. The factory surrogate, Suraiya (Ayra Daire) also seems to be in a bit of a rut, hoping to use her baby-money for medical school. She begins a relationship with her unborn fetus whom she affectionately refers to as Shithead. With all the unspent energy of an annoying toddler, Behzad Dabu as the fetus, gives the show's most lively performance.

On the whole, the plot and thematic events of the show are not unchartered territory but it's the way Miss Yee tells her tale that makes this an unforgettable experience. She has a special talent for incorporating the everyday with the fantastic, illuminating the deepest doubts and regrets of our minds in a way that's uplifting and topical. Perhaps Yee's interpretation of samsara is that everything happens for a reason in this cycle of life. 

Samsara at Victory Gardens Theatre. 2433 N Lincoln Ave. 773-549-5788. Through March 8th. 

*Photo by Michael Courier