Diss and Makeup: Legendary Ladies Help Make 'War Paint' More Than a Cosmetic Success -- Chicago Theater Review

Theater Review

War Paint
a world premiere musical
Goodman Theatre, Chicago
Thru August 21
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Of the myriad Tony Award winners and other musical theater luminaries I've seen over the years--Bernadette Peters, Sutton Foster, Idina Menzel, Kristen Chenoweth, Kelli O'Hara, Joel Grey, Chita Rivera, Audra MacDonald, Brian Stokes Mitchell, Laura Benanti, Jane Krakowski, Joanna Gleason, Bebe Neuwirth, Harvey Fierstein, Mandy Patinkin, Michael Cerveris, Alan Cumming, George Hearn, Michael Crawford, Nathan Lane, etc., etc., etc.--I don't think there are any I hold in higher regard than Patti LuPone.

Hence, I feel quite fortunate to have seen her onstage 10 previous times, though only once in a full-scale production—as opposed to a concert or concert staging of a musical—which was in Gypsy on Broadway.

And I was thrilled when I learned that Chicago’s Goodman Theater, to which I have been a subscriber for most of this century—and where, it’s worth noting, I have seen Nathan Lane, Diane Lane, Brian Dennehy, Jeff Daniels, Victoria Clark, Jefferson Mays and other pretty esteemed names—would host the pre-Broadway world premiere musical, War Paint, starring LuPone and another two-time Tony winner, Christine Ebersole (who I had seen in Grey Gardens on Broadway).

Based on a dual biography of the same name by Lindy Woodhead, as well as a documentary called The Powder & the Glory, the musical War Paint focuses on the rivalry between cosmetics magnates Helena Rubenstein (played by LuPone) and Elizabeth Arden (Ebersole), who became two of the world's richest women by running the now disappeared or diminished empires that bore their names.

The creative team behind the 2006 musical Grey Gardens reconvened for War Paint, with Doug Wright penning the show's book, music by Scott Frankel, lyrics by Michael Korie and Michael Greif serving as the director, as he notably also did for the original production of Rent.

Based on seeing War Paint without any familiarity with the songs--given that it's a world premiere--nor much pre-existing awareness or even interest in Rubenstein, Arden or the world of women's beauty products, I can't say I yet perceive it as a truly great musical.

Or one that will, with a bit of touch-up, ever become one (even with a pretty solid foundation). 

While the narrative moved along quite deftly under the masterful Greif--whose Next to Normal was also brilliant--I wasn't entirely riveted by the stories of the two empresses, their companies and their right-hand men who switch sides throughout. (As the only two primary performers besides LuPone and Ebersole, John Dossett and Douglas Sills are terrific as Tommy Lewis and Harry Fleming, respectively.)

And while Frankel & Korie have crafted several fine songs to further the narrative--as they did with not only Grey Gardens but a musicalized version of Far From Heaven that I really liked in a local production earlier this year--in keeping with my feelings about those shows I imagine I'll be hard-pressed to long recall many of the tunes from War Paint. Writing this just two nights after seeing the show, the title song and Arden/Ebersole's "Pink" are the only songs I can specifically name without looking at the Playbill (although I noted several others as standing out in the moment).

So in assessing the material itself, it's possible that a decade or two along the theatrical life-cycle, when War Paint is presented with spartan sets in park district environs with community theater performers--not that I don't have great regard for them--the show might reveal itself as not all that superlative.

But not only are the professionalism and skill that went into this production abundantly evident--including notably from set designer David Korins--getting to see Patti LuPone and Christine Ebersole sing and act makes War Paint something beautiful to behold.

LuPone has one of the greatest voices I've ever heard, which she delectably demonstrates on songs like "Back on Top," "Now You Know" "Forever Beautiful" and several duets with Ebersole and/or others: "A Woman's Face," "Hope in a Jar," "My American Moment," "If I'd Been a Man," "Face to Face," "War Paint," "Beauty in the World."

It certainly makes sense that LuPone dons a European accent, as Helena Rubenstein--who I had never heard of and whose namesake company is now part of L'Oréal with seemingly little brand presence domestically if at all--was born in Poland.

To artfully maintain the accent even when singing is impressive on LuPone's part, and helps maintain the dichotomy between the scientific Rubenstein and the more overtly image-creating, Ontario-born Arden, but I can't deny that it made some of the dialogue and lyrics difficult to catch and/or digest.

If seems part of the point of the portrayals of the business-women and even their brands to show that Elizabeth Arden--who Ebersole personifies with delightful sass and who at one point in time pretty much defined the color pink--is more outwardly endearing, but even with great regard for dramatic authenticity and the eminence of immigrants, I might suggest softening Rubenstein's accent, particularly in song, to let LuPone's brilliant vocal instrument majestically envelop the audience more naturally.

Winnetka native Ebersole, who is also a masterful singer, shines individually--and a bit more warmly--on songs such as "Better Yourself" and especially, "Pink," while "Behind the Red Door" is a swell group number.

At the Goodman, War Paint clearly provides an attractive look at great women, meaning LuPone & Ebersole and Rubenstein & Arden.

Even without knowing much of the biographical backstory or the once dominant brands--only the continued existence of Elizabeth Arden Red Door salons has slightly powdered my consciousness--the arc of Rubenstein and Arden's rise, bitter rivalry, personal triumphs/struggles, regulatory challenges, stubborn missteps and eventual declines doesn't offer a tremendous amount of surprise. (The inclusion of Charles Revson, founder of Revlon, provides a nifty business school parable, and Erik Liberman is fun in the role.)

But whether the creation of Doug Wright, writers of earlier material or the show subjects themselves, both LuPone and Ebersole are armed with plenty of sharp dialogue--I believe "There are no ugly women, only lazy ones" was a famed tenet of Rubenstein--along with enjoyable songs amid a musical whose fluid pacing is more demonstrable than most.

It's hard to imagine many who could care less about makeup than I do, but Patti LuPone and Christine Ebersole could probably sing the ingredient list from a package of nail polish--I once had to proofread such--and merit a standing ovation.

And War Paint is considerably more alluring than that.

Until Hamilton rolls into town, this is probably the musical theater event of the year in Chicago, and though tickets are scarce and pricey--being a subscriber once again proved quite fortuitous--the run has been extended deep into August, so perhaps seats will become easier to score.

I don't imagine those well-versed in the genre will dub War Paint the best musical they've ever seen, but save perhaps for Broadway, this is presumably the best you'll ever see it.

And not just one but two of the best leading ladies the idiom has ever produced makes it a joy to witness face-to-face, even at first blush.

Goodman Production of 'The Little Foxes' Provides a Solid, If Not Especially Sly, Introduction to a Classic -- Chicago Theater Review

Theater Review

The Little Foxes
a play by Lillian Hellman
directed by Henry Wishcamper
Goodman Theatre, Chicago
Thru June 7
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Except for one lower-level Introduction to Theater college course nearly 30 years ago, I've never had any formal education to accompany, abet or amplify my theatergoing experience.

Thus in becoming something of an aficionado over the past 15 years, in addition to attending numerous musicals and contemporary plays, I've made some attempt to indoctrinate myself to many classic works and writers.

This has included seeing multiple plays each by Shakespeare, Oscar Wilde, Arthur Miller, Tennessee Williams, Eugene O'Neill, Edward Albee, Neil Simon, Harold Pinter, David Mamet, August Wilson, Lanford Wilson and other playwriting legends, as well as Raisin in the Sun by Lorraine Hansberry, Awake and Sing by Clifford Odets and Our Town by Thornton Wilder, among other canonical works. 

Although Lillian Hellman is seemingly of a stature to fit among those storied names, I've only now seen two of her plays, with the first--which was her first, 1934's The Children's Hour--coming just last year, after never having noted earlier opportunities.

Photo credit on all: Liz Lauren

I greatly enjoyed that play, in part because of a terrific performance by a friend and others in the cast of a rather intimate production, but also because in revolving around two schoolteachers who are accused of lesbianism by a malicious student, it felt quite topical, even contemporary, 80 years after it was written.

I had similar hopes for The Little Foxes, seemingly Hellman's quintessential work, which is now being staged at Chicago's Goodman Theatre under the direction of Henry Wishcamper.

As part of my subscription series, the play--written in 1939, set in 1900--was worth my time, even in clocking in at a hefty 2:45 including 2 intermissions.

Particularly after having seen The Children's Hour, I was glad to expand my familiarity with Hellman. And as enacted by a fine cast within an exquisite set design by Todd Rosenthal encompassing the interior of a Southern mansion, the writer's tale of greed, heartlessness, manipulation, contrivance, malevolence, misogyny and worse--within the confines of a single family--certainly didn't feel entirely unfamiliar in 2015.

Shannon Cochran stars as Regina Giddens and seems to well-handle a role embodied by such luminaries as Talullah Bankhead (who originated it on Broadway), Bette Davis (who starred in the 1941 movie), Anne Bancroft, Elizabeth Taylor and Stockard Channing.

Regina is the wife of the infirm but genteel Horace Giddens (John Judd), mother of Alexandra (Rae Gray) and sister of her neighboring brothers Ben and Oscar Hubbard (Larry Yando, Steve Pickering, both terrific), the latter married to Birdie (Mary Beth Fisher), with Leo (Dan Waller) being their son.

The Hubbard siblings, including Regina, are essentially a trio of rich assholes, who act atrociously to all around them--including each other--as they scheme to get richer through a lucrative business deal for which they need Horace's participation. Such hasn't been forthcoming, in part because Horace has been hospitalized at Johns Hopkins for months due to a grave heart condition, but he's eventually cajoled to return home.

On both a macro and micro level, the dexterity of Hellman's writing is apparent, with her scorn for avarice consistent with the leftist political leanings for which she would become well-known.

Yet while I applaud the underlying themes of The Little Foxes--whose title comes from a line in the Bible; see Wikipedia for details--and found the acting at Goodman to be typically first-rate, I appreciated the play mostly on an academic awareness level and would recommend it primarily to those seeking likewise, rather than truly riveting 21st century entertainment superior to myriad other local options.

For all of the drama's fine points, it essentially takes the better part of three hours to convey the notion that treating others like crap--from one's kin onward--is not only deplorable but ultimately non-fulfilling. 

And while it's a pleasure to watch Cochran, Pickering and especially Yando enact Hellman's script in costumes and accents of yore, their characters are so despicable--openly racist, classist, wife-beating and rather close to murderous, in addition to being just cold, greedy bastards--that watching a dated play revolve around them just isn't all that acutely enjoyable.

It seems silly to assail Hellman's legendary scenario--as The Little Foxes stands as one of America's greatest melodramas and morality plays, according to the Tribune's Chris Jones--but assuming the playwright meant for the characters of Horace, Alexandra, Birdie and servants Addie and Cal to counterbalance the vileness of Regina, Ben, Oscar and the wormy Leo, the former aren't given quite enough heft or stage time to make the polemic on good and evil feel properly weighted.

And the ending--which I won't reveal--isn't weighty enough in light of the considerable wait for it to arrive.

While Wishcamper's choice to bookend each scene with blasts of melodramatic classical music--such as in Golden Age B-movies--adds a bit of whimsy to the rather frosty proceedings, I predominantly found the obtuse strings to be excessively campy and unnecessary, even off-putting.

All told, I'm glad to have seen The Little Foxes and would be happy to discuss it with those who undoubtedly have derived much more from the hallowed piece.

But on a first viewing, I can't say I perceive it on par with Death of a Salesman, All My Sons, The Glass Menagerie, A Streetcar Named Desire, A Long Day's Journey into Night or other staples of the theatrical universe, with all of those just cited also centered around imperfect familial interactions.

And among my still-sparse familiarity with Lillian Hellman, I continue to prefer my previous foray into her first play, The Children's Hour, a good deal more than my introduction to this, her most famous one.

Despite Sparkling Critical Acclaim, Goodman's 'Smokefall' Fails to Light My Fire -- Chicago Theater Review

Theater Review

Smokefall
a recent play by Noah Haidle
Goodman Theatre, Chicago
Thru October 26

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The theater critic I most read and respect--the Chicago Tribune's Chris Jones--absolutely loves Smokefall, a drama by Noah Haidle that he called the "best new play in Chicago" in 2013 and now likes even better as the work has been re-staged by the Goodman in their larger Albert Theatre.

Jones gave the current production of Smokefall 4 stars (out of 4) and the Sun-Times' Hedy Weiss also raved about the play that she Highly Recommended.

Especially given my regard for the Goodman Theatre, I feel it only fair to begin my review by sharing that much more knowledgeable and esteemed critics enjoyed Smokefall far more than I did.

For in telling you that the piece largely left me cold and uncaring--despite the wondrous 90-year-old Mike Nussbaum being entirely wondrous, a good amount of silly humor and points to Haidle for originality--it's entirely possible that I just missed the brilliance, beauty and profundity.

Not that I couldn't sense that there was some of each there.

Photo credit on all: Liz Lauren

In crafting a strangely-structured parable about a Grand Rapids, MI family across multiple generations, Haidle--along with Goodman director Anne Kauffman--incorporates such novel aspects as a narrator who recites footnotes onstage, a mute girl who eats Earth and drinks paint, a pair of in utero twins who engage in slapstick dialogue and sing Sondheim, and over 150 years worth of characters named John, principally embodied by Nussbaum.

Yet in spite of the inventiveness, or perhaps, given the weirdness, because of it, Smokefall--which I entered excited to see and remained attentive to throughout--never sufficiently engaged me in its characters, storytelling or significance.

I don't think that I'm giving much away to suggest that it's a story about life, love, perseverance and continuity, none of which are trifling matters.

Clearly they resonated with Jones, Weiss and enough audiences in the Goodman's Owen Theatre for the work to be uniquely re-presented at the top of the flagship subscription series in the Albert.

But for a show so supposedly fantastic, it was notable that while the Sunday night crowd bestowed appreciative applause, not a single audience member I saw rose to give it a standing ovation.

Perhaps also reflecting a dichotomy between critical acclaim and audience reaction, on the TimeOut Chicago website, the current production of Smokefall is given 5 stars by critic Kris Vire, but the User Ratings reflect just 3 stars.

Through conversation with friends and relatives who have also seen the play, and in hearing comments of audience members after the performance, I further sense a more muted or mixed response seemingly more akin to mine.

Which isn't to dissuade the curious from seeing for themselves, nor to disavow those who were enraptured. 

Any chance to witness Mike Nussman act upon a local stage is, in itself, entirely worthwhile, while all the actors do a fine job enacting this strange play. I found Katherine Keberlein particularly engaging in the role of Violet.

And I have no reason not to hope that if you do check Smokefall out before it closes 3 weeks hence, you'll absolutely love it--like many clearly have.

But suffice it to say, rightly or wrongly, I didn't.

With Many Charms, 'The White Snake' Enchants but Doesn't Quite Entrance -- Chicago Theater Review

Theater Review

The White Snake
written and directed by Mary Zimmerman
Goodman Theatre, Chicago
Thru June 8
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I admired most everything about The White Snake, which Mary Zimmerman wrote based on a classic Chinese fable and directs at the Goodman Theatre.

And for the most part, I enjoyed it.

But I can't say I completely loved it.

The staging and scenery by Zimmerman and her longtime set designer Daniel Ostling is highly imaginative.

The costuming by Mara Blumenfeld is resplendent.

The Asian tonality of the play itself, and the accompanying live music, is appreciably different than most dramatic works I see.

The story line and themes--revolving around a White Snake who transforms into a woman (Amy Kim Waschke), her friend the Green Snake who likewise humanizes (Tanya Thai McBride), a man named Xu Xian (Jon Norman Schneider) who the white snake comes to love and wants to stay with, and a Buddhist priest Fa Hai (Matt DeCaro) who insists the relationship is unnatural and forbidden--have much current resonance, yet an appealing agelessness.

And the acting, especially by the four main cast members cited above, is uniformly excellent.

Yet while I appreciate Zimmerman's wondrous artistry and aesthetic, I can't say The White Snake consistently engaged me over its 100 minutes.

And though I genuinely appreciate the Goodman Theatre introducing me to different theatrical forms during any subscription season, I can't say I liked this unique piece more than Rebecca Gilman's first-rate drama, Luna Gale, earlier this season, or as much as The Jungle Book musical Zimmerman helmed at Goodman last season.

I certainly expect, and respect, that others will like The White Snake a good bit more than me. The novelty and beauty of the work, and all involved, is impressive and my @@@1/2 reflects a night of theater I liked considerably more than I didn't.

But other than Mary Zimmerman devotees--and through her 20-year association with Goodman I expect she's developed many--and those distinctly interested in theater that ventures beyond the traditional, I don't know that I would highly recommend The White Snake.

For while it tells a nice tale in a rather atypical, non-Western way--though I noted how the romantic storyline is thematically similar to that of the classic musical Brigadoon, next up at Goodman--at the end of the day, The White Snake just didn't have all that much bite.

Oh-ee-Oh-ee-Oh: 'The Jungle Book' Musical Offers a Lot to Love -- Chicago Theater Review

Theater Review

The Jungle Book

a world premiere musical based on

the Disney animated film and the
stories by Rudyard Kipling

Directed by Mary Zimmerman

Goodman Theatre, Chicago

Thru August 11
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Although its source material is pretty famous, I went into the new Jungle Book musical without having read Rudyard Kipling's stories or seen the 1967 Disney film adaptation. 

If there was music I was supposed to be familiar with--beyond the "The Bare Necessities"--I wasn't. 

While I respect director Mary Zimmerman's high regard in theatrical circles, and enjoyed her Metamorphoses, I didn't much care for her take on the musical Candide at the Goodman. 

And the review from the local critic I most read, the Tribune's Chris Jones, was rather lukewarm, with a 2-1/2 star rating out of 4. 

Nonetheless, I found The Jungle Book to be a joy to watch--thanks in large part to a luscious set designed by Daniel Ostling--and, a few quibbles aside, rather terrific throughout. 

Centering around a boy named Mowgli (Akash Chopra), who is raised in the jungle by animals--embodied as anthromorphic beings--this Jungle Book isn't structured as a traditional Broadway musical, and while there is wonderful costuming by Mara Blumenfeld, it isn't quite as exquisite as The Lion King onstage. 

But while I felt there were a few spots where songs were needed but not delivered--most here came from
the Disney movie score by Richard & Robert Sherman--as opposed to what I gathered from Jones' review, there are several high-powered musical numbers given lavish productions by Zimmerman and choreographer Christopher Gattelli.

For whatever reason, there is no songlist in the program, so I can't provide many titles, but along with a fun take on "The Bare Necessities," led by Baloo the bear (Kevin Carolan), highlights included "Colonel Hathi's March," sung by an imaginatively-personified elephant herd, and first act closer "I Wanna Be Like You," delivered by King Louie (Andre De Shields) and his gang of monkeys.

With the latter two composed by the Sherman brothers, who wrote Mary Poppins and other Disney faves--"The Bare Necessities," also from the film, is by Terry Gilkyson, an American folk singer--the songs that are presented are melodically strong even on a first listen. In other words, this isn't just a visual feast, but a satisfying musical for the most part, even if (especially in the first act) a couple newly written songs could be beneficial for the musical pacing, including perhaps one along the lines of "We Are All Worth Remembering" sung by one of the elephants.

10-year-old Akash Chopra as Mowgli is rather impressive in being onstage for nearly the entire show, but understandably doesn't have the dramatic range to impart any overt sense of personal growth from beginning to end. So the idea of Mowgli's jungle adventure being a metaphorical rite of passage is somewhat softly conveyed. (I have to assume bringing in an older Mowgli later in the show was considered and dismissed, but it would seem to have some merit.)

But in terms of what's wrong with this world premiere production, that's about it: a couple more songs could help, a terrific kid actor isn't quite Brando and the show isn't as good as The Lion King or some other legendary musicals.

Yet Zimmerman--who also penned the musical's book--and her collaborators (including musical director Doug Peck), have created a lavish new work that should do well when it presumably moves to Broadway.

Perhaps it's better in its overall theatricality than as a crackerjack musical that will sustain itself beyond the outstanding original production values contributed to by a collaboration with Disney, but all 120 minutes I saw at the Goodman kept me engaged, with Ostling's buoyant floral backdrop and vibrant flooring worth the price of admission in itself (at least at subscriber rates).

And along with the East Indian flavoring of musical score and a good deal of the show's gestalt, the performances are tremendously pleasing.

Particularly firs-rate are Carolan (as Baloo), De Shields (both King Louie and Akela), Larry Yando (Shere Khan, the tiger who has his fangs set on Mowgli) and Usman Ally, who like he was recently in Oklahoma at the Lyric Opera, is wonderful here as Bagheera, a panther who serves as Mowgli's primary protector.

Most in the audience on Sunday night--including many children--seemed to greatly enjoy The Jungle Book, even if it's a bit different from the Goodman's normal fare. Midway through, I was gauging it at @@@@ (out of 5), but by the end, the ebullient show convinced me that another 1/2@ was in order.

Tickets seem to be selling well, with sparse selection on a few dates I just checked. So not only may it be hard to get a ticket, it can be rather expensive (a single prime ticket to some performances costs nearly as much as my 5-show Sunday night subscription). But there looks to be decent availability in August, and if you are willing to wait until the day of show, available seats can be had for half price or less through Goodman's discount offers.

No matter what age you are, if you love musical theater, I suggest you try to get to this. It's a pretty impressive show to be bowing in Chicago, which seems to quite justly be bestowing a warm Welcome to The Jungle Book.

--
Given my title of this post, I felt compelled to look up this song; pretty good version from just a month ago. 

Does Anyone Here Remember Vera Stark? Play's Focus on Black & White Hollywood Feels a Bit Gray -- Chicago Theater Review

Theater Review

By The Way, Meet Vera Stark
by Lynn Nottage
Directed by Chuck Smith
Goodman Theatre, Chicago
Thru June 2
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By the way, the recent play titled By The Way, Meet Vera Stark, has several admirable qualities.

It is inventively written by Pulitzer Prize winning playwright Lynn Nottage. It is thematically substantive, about how African-American actors and actresses have largely been marginalized in Hollywood. Despite a poignant topic, it is often quite humorous. And while the first act of the 2-1/2 hour play is better than the second, Vera Stark--the play, and the fictional actress personified at the Goodman by the beautiful Tamberla Perry--is never less than watchable.

But while there is plenty that is good about it, somehow the sum of its parts never reaches the level of greatness.

Though there is savvy writing throughout, I can't say I ever found Meet Vera Stark all that pointed, informative or engrossing.

With the play set in Hollywood over three time periods, Act I takes place in 1933. Gloria Mitchell, played by Kara Zediker, is a vacuous starlet--"America's little sweetheart"--and Vera Stark is her maid.

As the play opens, Vera is helping Gloria memorize lines for an audition for a historical epic called The Belle of New Orleans. It is instantly clear that Vera is just as talented and appealing as Gloria, if not more so, but as the play develops--including interactions with the movie director and studio head--it becomes clear that even if Vera can be "discovered," she will be relegated to playing a slave and (in the future) other subordinate roles designated to keep African-American actors on the periphery.

But while it entertains, raises some contemplative issues and features good performances throughout--from Perry, Zediker, TaRon Patton as Vera's roommate Lottie, Chiké Johnson as her paramour Leroy, Patrick Clear as the studio chief, Ron Rains as the director and Amelia Workman as a friend of Vera and Lottie--the first act feels like a preface. We are led to the point where Vera should get her shot in the movies, but not past it.

Which makes Act II feel like a post-script.

It opens with a rather long movie clip showing Gloria and Vera essentially reprising their real-life roles on screen in The Belle of New Orleans.

I was somewhat surprised with where Nottage and director Chuck Smith take the second act, which features characters in 1993 referencing events in 1973, from which Vera harkens back to 1933 and the years since.

So I won't reveal much about the formatting of Act II, but while rather inventive in itself, with funny flashbacks to '70s fashion, TV, rock stardom and more, it felt a good bit lesser than Act I and didn't add to my tempered enjoyment of By the Way, Meet Vera Stark.

It's clear that there is something important in the gist of what Nottage is trying to say through the character of Vera Stark, but while the play has enough moments to be worthwhile at a subscriber or discount price (HotTix, Goodman box office), the sum of its parts just doesn't feel that legendary.

Nottage has put together a website supporting Vera's backstory at meetverastark.com. It's a nice complement to the play, and can open one's eyes to the central themes even without getting to the Goodman.

Family, Politics Intersect Grippingly in 'Other Desert Cities' -- Chicago Theater Review

Theater Review

Other Desert Cities
a play by Jon Robin Baitz
directed by Henry Wishcamper
Goodman Theatre, Chicago
Thru February 17
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What makes for a great, or at least thoroughly satisfying, play?

Over just the past 2 months, I have seen eight non-musical stage works that I awarded at least @@@@. One featured magnificent horse puppetry (War Horse); another was a series of mythological vignettes enacted in and around a swimming pool (Metamorphoses); the one I saw last Thursday—The Whipping Man—had a tremendously original premise about a Jewish Confederate soldier and his family’s newly freed slaves reconnecting at the end of the Civil War.

Compared to these, and others such as The School of Lies, a modern re-writing of Moliere’s The Misanthrope, and The Motherf**cker with the Hat, a profane drug-fueled look at love, loyalty and friendship, Other Desert Cities might seem to have a much more routine storyline and structure.

It is essentially a “family drama”—in the vein of August: Osage County, A Long Day’s Journey into Night and many less heralded works—complete with affluent Conservative parents, more Liberal, less successful children, issues of depression and substance abuse and a decades old family tragedy haunting the entire proceedings.

I wouldn’t blame you—or myself, upon entering—for having a sense of “been there, seen that.”

But in being demonstrably well-written and wonderfully-acted throughout, truly riveting toward the end and with plenty of beyond-face-value context and allegory to take home, Other Desert Cities wound up being even more fulfilling than any of the highly inventive works I’ve seen of late.

This isn’t all that shocking in noting that Jon Robin Baitz’ play, which ran on Broadway (closing just last June), was nominated for a Tony and was a Pulitzer Prize finalist. But it does go to show that great artistic merit can come just as much—or more so—from the execution, rather than simply the concept.

With clear echoes of the Reagans—who are cited in the play as close family friends—Lyman and Polly Wyeth are stalwart Republicans spending their twilight years in Palm Springs. Played by veteran TV/film character actor Chelcie Ross (he played Conrad Hilton on Mad Men), Lyman is a former movie star turned politician, ambassador and GOP chairman. But while his politics are strongly to the right—at least as Republicanism was characterized before being co-opted by more extreme factions—Ross, and Baitz’ script, imbue him with a convincing amount of humanity and paternal empathy.

And as Polly, a Nancy Reagan doppelganger, Deanna Dunagan—who won a Tony and other awards for August: Osage County—shows she has not only cornered the market on embodying headstrong and abrasive matriarchs, but that she very well be the best actress I’ve ever seen on stage. Her nickname—à la a Chris Berman highlight-package narration on ESPN—should be Deanna “Amazing Work” Dunagan.

Polly is a former screenwriter who had once worked and bitterly feuded with her sister, Silda (Linda Kimbrough), now a reluctantly recovering alcoholic who lives at the Wyeth’s luxurious home (whose set design reminded me of David Hockney paintings, like this one).

The main crux of the Other Desert Cities patiently develops across the first act, as with Brooke Wyeth (Tracy Michelle Arnold) visiting her folks from Long Island on Christmas Eve, we are introduced to her recent struggles, including psychiatric hospitalization and having been unable to produce a follow-up to her first novel. Though there is much back and forth between Brooke and Polly from the get-go, there is also considerable humor, much of it supplied by Brooke’s brother Trip (John Hoogenakker), who makes his living as a reality TV producer.

I won’t go much deeper into the plot outline, other than to share that it primarily centers around Brooke announcing that she has completed writing a memoir about her family, in which she holds her parents accountable for the suicide of her beloved older brother. This, understandably, sets her folks afire.

What makes the play so good is that while some audience members—myself included—might be politically predisposed to side with the liberal Brooke in what becomes a vociferous debate, Baitz’ script doesn’t settle for knee jerk partisanship. Yes, Polly—and to a lesser extent, Lyman—is harsh, often detestably so, but more through actions (including having tended to Brooke through her troubles) than words, their parental love seeps to the surface.

And while as somewhat of a writer, I can empathize with what it means for the long-stagnated Brooke to have written a lengthy tome about an obviously deep-seated subject, the propriety of publishing a devastating rebuke of parents with whom she has maintained a nourishing relationship (at least in certain regards) isn’t so cut and dry.

Which Trip repeatedly seemed to espouse just moments after a potential retort to or question for Brooke came to my mind. Often in seeing plays, I have found my wonderments posed only in post-show discussions, so I was particularly impressed when my line of reasoning was consistently verbalized onstage.

Based solely on Act I, I may have given Other Desert Cities @@@@; excellent but not quite approaching phenomenal. But while I may be a sucker for acute intensity, I had to add points for an edge-of-my-seat denouement.

As I mentioned above, many recent plays have left me rather enriched, at times even dazzled. But to a much more overt extent, this one ended by engendering a staggering-off-the-roller-coaster “Wow!”

Clearly, I suggest you make your way to Other Desert Cities before it closes on February 17.

--
A note on affordable theatergoing:

In the month of January, I attended three plays at three of Chicagoland’s most venerable professional theaters: The Motherf**cker with the Hat at Steppenwolf, The Whipping Man at Northlight and Other Desert Cities at Goodman. I felt the local renditions were every bit as good as I’d hope to see in New York, where all three plays ran within the last 2 years. I got to see great actors, including a Tony winner and performers with extensive IMDB credits.

My total outlay for the three shows—including ticketing fees and even parking costs, as I didn’t incur any—was $66.

Whether you opt to become a subscriber—Goodman’s Sunday night series is a phenomenal bargain, as is my Broadway in Chicago balcony club plan—or have the pliability to take advantage of discount ticket offerings without much lead time—Goodman, Steppenwolf and Northlight all offer same-day ticket promotions, some for as low as $20/each, and often provide tickets to discount sellers HotTix and Goldstar—you can see a lot of amazing theater for a lot less than you might think.

Luminous Diane Lane Elevates 'Sweet Bird of Youth' in Fine-Feathered Fashion -- Chicago Theater Review

Theater Review

Sweet Bird of Youth
a play by Tennessee Williams
directed by David Cromer
Goodman Theatre, Chicago
Thru October 28
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Though this is far fainter praise than Sweet Bird of Youth deserves, if nothing else it is eons more enjoyable than the last Tennessee Williams play I saw at the Goodman Theatre. Whereas Camino Real, just three mainstage productions ago, was an abstract—and completely incomprehensible—mess that nearly caused me to cancel my subscription, Sweet Bird of Youth not only helped to prompt my renewal, but proved to be redeemingly entertaining if itself imperfect.

I had initially seen Sweet Bird in a critically-acclaimed production at Chicago’s Artistic Home theater a couple years ago. Then too, I thought the play was worthwhile, but a solid notch below Williams’ holy trinity of The Glass Menagerie, A Streetcar Named Desire and Cat on a Hot Tin Roof (though at the time I hadn’t yet seen the latter).

Ostensibly, the play is about a wanton gigolo pushing 30 named Chance Wayne who returns to his Gulf Coastal hometown in hopes of reclaiming the glories of his youth—both figurative, in terms of being the town’s hottest young stud and aspiring actor, and more literally concerning an ex-girlfriend named Heavenly.

Chance’s ticket to ride—again both literally and figuratively—back into St. Cloud is a no longer quite so glamorous movie star named Alexandra Del Lago, who has dubbed herself the Princess Kosmonopolis.

As reflected by the show’s ticket design, printed before the Goodman’s casting was announced, Chance is rather clearly the play’s central character, with his ever-loosening grip on a meaningful existence being what I see as the drama’s essence.

Without any disrespect to the fine Artistic Home production, there I felt the interaction between Chance and Princess—including almost exclusively in an hourlong first act (of 3)—wasn’t all that compelling and would’ve preferred more direct confrontation between Chance, Heavenly and her controlling, belligerent father, Tom “Boss” Finley, a powerful local politician.

But then the Goodman and noted director David Cromer cast Diane Lane, a real-life glamorous movie star who at 47 is a few years beyond above-the-title leading roles, and the dynamic changed. And not just in the design of the promotional materials (see the program cover above).

Quite frankly, while Broadway and TV veteran Finn Wittrock is quite good as Chance and spends much time displaying his impressive physique, the still luminous Lane is the primary reason one should seek a ticket to Goodman’s production.

At least through binoculars from the balcony, the actress long-acclaimed as one of Hollywood’s most beautiful looked quite lovely, even with Princess Kosmonopolis intended to appear rather addled and past her prime. But far from being merely eye-pleasing, Lane—and it’s been a pretty good year for that marquee surname at Goodman—demonstrated that she’s also a terrific stage actress.

Though the story is still primarily Chance’s, the paramount performance is Lane’s—not just due to her fame coming in, though the real-life parallels are hard to ignore and add gravitas—and served to better justify why Williams devotes so much time to the let’s-use-each-other relationship between Chance and the Princess.

While the play, and performances, sufficiently entertain throughout, Act I—comprised almost solely of Chance and the Princess in a hotel room—feels a bit long and talky. For both dramatic and pragmatic reasons, it seemingly might have made more sense to weave the 20-minute Act II into Act I with a split stage approach.

As it stands—and as explained in Chris Jones’ Tribune review; I can’t claim to have noticed—Cromer supposedly redistributed a chunk of Williams’ second act into Act III here. With my Swiss cheese memory not enabling me to specifically recall how this was handled at Artistic Home, I can't intelligently comment on how this choice altered the play's arc, but having two 15-minute intermissions sandwich a 20-minute second act seemed somewhat silly.

The last act is the most dramatically rich and strongly embellishes the themes and storylines of Chance’s desperation and self-denial, and that for better or worse, Alexandra del Lago is at heart an actress, reconfiguring the Princess' vulnerabilities and viciousness  around the vacillation of her cues.

Originally done on Broadway in 1959 starring Paul Newman and Geraldine Page—who reprised their roles in the 1962 movie—Sweet Bird of Youth is frequently referenced as a play about fading beauty. This isn't inaccurate, but hand-in-anguished-hand, the show is just as much a meditation on fleeting purpose.

Though far from his worst play—and if Camino Real wasn’t it, I don’t want to see it—I still don’t feel Sweet Bird of Youth approaches Tennessee Williams’ very best. And while the multiple stage sets are all quite impressive, if David Cromer put a substantive personal stamp on this production, I’m not astute enough to have appreciated it.

But abetted by strong performances throughout, including by Wittrock in the true leading role, Diane Lane’s star turn—in both her fictional portrayal and an impressively authentic performance—is what truly makes this Sweet Bird soar.

Hat's Entertainment: Buoyant Musical Numbers Help 'Crowns' Brim With Joyful 'Hattitude' -- Chicago Theater Review

Theater Review

Crowns
a musical with story written
and directed by Regina Taylor
Goodman Theatre, Chicago
Thru August 12
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Theoretically, I could easily regard Crowns--a gospel-infused musical based around southern African-American women who take pride in the elegant hats they wear to church on Sunday--as simply a show for which I am not the target audience.

But that's silly.

Although it's certainly legitimate for artistic creations to hew more closely to the inherent tastes and interests of people of a certain gender, age, race, ethnicity, religion, etc., etc., a truly enjoyable show--especially if included in a subscription series--should be just that: enjoyable regardless of who's watching it.

And when the stellar cast sang and, more occasionally, danced, I found Crowns to be terrifically enjoyable. Perhaps all the more so because it was different than what I might naturally opt to attend.

Given the standing ovation the show earned on Sunday night at the Goodman, from a crowd slightly more diverse than normal but not nearly as racially mixed as one might hope, it seems I wasn't the only one who enjoyed the relative uniqueness of Crowns (despite the current run being a slightly revised reprise of a 2004 Goodman production).

While the strong musical numbers and terrific costuming--including much magnificent millinery work--served to make Crowns sufficiently engaging and at times sensational over its 100 or so minutes, it was considerably less enjoyable for me when the singing and dancing stopped.

Written and directed by the talented Regina Taylor, who was inspired by a photographic book of the same name, Crowns struggles to make its contemporary narrative as compelling as the musical numbers that introduce and reflect the show's resplendent "hat queens."

Taylor builds her story--supposedly a bit more pronounced than in earlier versions of Crowns, though I can't cite specifics--around a street tough young woman named Yolanda (played by Marketta P. Wilder, in green at right) from Chicago's Englewood neighborhood. As the show opens, Yolanda's brother has been slain, and after rapping about her pain and her proud ties to her home turf, she moves to South Carolina to live with her Grandma, Mother Show (played by the great Chicago actress/singer Felicia Fields).

Along with other women in the community, including one played E. Faye Butler--another dynamic performer I've often enjoyed on local stages--Mother Shaw introduces Yolanda to the soulful life lessons that can accompany the selection, and showcasing, of a lady's luxuriant headwear.

But while Yolanda's tale and evolution would seem to have much gravitas, the narrative feels like simply an excuse to transition from one song to another, whether solo spotlights and ensemble pieces.

Wilder does a nice job embodying Yolanda's transformation, but the dramatic arc is not the reason to see this show. As the character of Velma (warmly played by Jasondra Johnson, below) conveys, it's all about the 'hattitude.'

As well as, of course, the songs--largely traditional and gospel numbers from various composers & lyricists, performed with accompaniment from a 7-piece band--which are plentiful enough for Crowns to be firmly categorized as a musical.

And while it won't rank among the very best musicals I've ever seen, it was certainly a satisfying way to top off a stellar Goodman season (with the exception of the awful Camino Real, but Red, Race and The Iceman Cometh were all excellent or even better).

I won't quite call Crowns a must-see, but especially if you can avail yourself of one of the Goodman's generous discount programs (or HotTix), you'll be hard-pressed not to find find the performances delightful.

Certainly, if I had one, I'd end this review by doffing my hat.

Goeth to Seeith 'The Iceman Cometh' -- If You Caneth -- but Taketh a Nap Beforeth

Theater Review

The Iceman Cometh
a play by Eugene O'Neill
directed by Robert Falls
Goodman Theatre, Chicago
Thru June 17
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With seats scarce and pricey throughout its extension until June 17, The Iceman Cometh seems to be the hottest ticket the Goodman Theatre has had in many a season.

It deserves to be. Qualitatively and quantitatively.

Iceman is a classic play by one of America's most legendary playwrights, and it is rarely staged. In Chicago, it is being directed by the Goodman's superstar Artistic Director, Robert Falls, and features a stellar cast of 18, including two of the finest theater actors ever, Nathan Lane and Brian Dennehy.

The set design by Kevin Depinet--inspired by a design by John Conklin for a Goodman production Falls did with Dennehy in 1990--is quite impressive, as are the 1912 period costumes by Merrily Murray-Walsh.

And including four acts and three intermissions, the play runs nearly 5 hours.

So if you can snag a ticket for any price you can afford, do so. You'll get your money's worth. Perhaps even more than you need.

I certainly feel fortunate that my Sunday night subscription ticket for $20 was nearly $100 less than most of the few remaining tickets are going for through GoodmanTheatre.org (the Goodman offers some nice discount programs, but there's probably slim pickings for this show; shame the four seats next to me were empty last night).

While my previous exposure to Eugene O'Neill--Long Day's Journey Into Night, Hughie, Desire Under the Elms, The Hairy Ape; all at the Goodman, most Falls/Dennehy collaborations--ranks him behind Arthur Miller and Tennessee Williams in the way I regard "America's greatest playwrights," I do appreciate his stature and was very much looking forward to The Iceman Cometh.

But until I read a plot synopsis on Wikipedia the other day, I really had no knowledge what the play was about, nor even that the title really is a suggestive double entendre about the guy who home delivers ice (and has relations with one's wife). All I knew was that as Max Bialystock in The Producers--my favorite musical in which he delivered one of the best performances of any sort that I've ever seen--Lane uttered the title as a punchline: "Just make it out to cash!" "It's a funny sort of name for a play, Cash...." "Yeah, so is The Iceman Cometh!"

What I now can tell you, without wanting to give much away in case you are able to get a ticket to see it here or elsewhere, is that The Iceman Cometh, written in 1939, takes place in the bar room of a Greenwich Village rooming house in 1912. Along with the proprietor, two bartenders and three prostitutes, nine down-on-their-luck drunks hang out hypothesizing about a return to their past glories while awaiting a periodic visit from 'Hickey,' a life-of-the-party (at least previously) salesman, played here by Lane.

Dennehy is typically great as Larry Slade, a former anarchist, and is matched by the excellent young Chicago actor, Patrick Andrews, who I've previously seen be terrific in Cabaret, American Buffalo and Red. All the performers are first-rate and it was fun to see local stalwarts like John Reeger, James Harms and Steppenwolf's luminous Kate Arrington do such fine work here. Noted Shakespearean Stephen Ouimette is also superb as Harry Hope.

But the true star, in all regards, is Nathan Lane. Though more renowned for musicals and/or comedies, he demonstrates in a challenging dramatic role that--at least IMHO--there is no better stage actor working today. Dennehy, Andrews and O'Neill's gift for dialogue allowed the Laneless bulk of an 80-minute first act to flow effectively, but the show lit up--literally and figurative--when Hickey arrived in the form of Lane. And while I can imagine other gifted actors, including Dennehy in 1990, playing the role, I can't perceive liking anyone else as much.

With no disrespect meant to O'Neill, Falls or any of the other cast members, The Iceman Cometh was considerably less riveting when Lane wasn't on stage.

And without wanting to sound like the clueless emperor in Amadeus telling Mozart to take out some notes-- "which ones do you have in mind?"-- the only criticism I have of an otherwise outstanding evening of enriching entertainment is just how long it was.

Having napped beforehand, I stayed awake throughout and there are no parts I can judiciously cite as unnecessary. But should any play really have you sitting in your seat longer than a transcontinental flight?

It was excellent, but I can't deny that it was arduous as well. So even if you can find a ticket, keep the duration in mind before planning to attend on a work night.

While I followed the story pretty well, and think I might get the general gist of what O'Neill was trying to say and explore, I don't know that I completely grasped the motivations of Hickey nor perhaps some of the play's gestalt.

Also, for any O'Neillites who know this play well: Wikipedia and IBDB list a character named Pat McGloin, a former police lieutenant, who is seemingly omitted from this production. If you know why Falls might have made this choice or what it may have affected, please comment.

Noting the difficulty of finding a ticket to The Iceman Cometh at this point, it might be moot for me to offer a recommendation unless he stayeth just a little bit longer. But even without a frame of reference, I envision this is as good a production of this play one could hope to see. Unless Lane has other commitments, the Goodman staging can conceivably transfer to Broadway, where he--and perhaps Dennehy and Falls as well--should win yet another Tony.

So even if you have to go through StubHub to see a play that's longer than some mini-series, you may nonetheless--especially without necessitating a New York flight or hotel--find this Iceman too stone cold good to misseth.

Gnashville, Tennessee: Williams' 'Camino Real' a Surreal Grind -- Theater Review

Theater Review

Camino Real
a play by Tennessee Williams
New version by Calixto Bieito and Marc Rosich
Goodman Theatre, Chicago
Thru April 8
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I tried.

I really tried to prepare myself to appreciate the Goodman Theatre's staging of Tennessee Williams' 1953 play, Camino Real, which its own Playbill describes as "a fiendishly difficult piece."

I read much of the Goodman's typically stellar supporting material--about the play, Williams' motivations in giving audiences "my own sense of something wild and unrestricted like water in the mountains, or clouds changing shape in a gale," and about Artistic Director Robert Falls' reasoning in bringing Calixto Bieito (a "bad boy of Europe") to Chicago to direct this rarely produced piece.

I read press previews and reviews, including a rather positive one by the Chicago Tribune's Chris Jones, which the paper somewhat strangely billboarded on the front page by saying "3-1/2 stars for 'Camino Real,' but some audience members are leaving early." [Note: The Tribune rating scale is out of 4]

I tried to tell myself that stories of patrons exiting mid-show and very poor word-of-mouth, including an aunt's recommendation to waste the ticket and not bother going, could perhaps be chalked up to their missing something that I might enjoy.

I attended an informative pre-show discussion at the Goodman conducted by the show's casting director, Adam Belcuore, and asked his advice for best approaching a challenging piece of theater perhaps further jigsawed by a daring director. I appreciated Adam's advice to not worry if things seemed strange and obtuse at the beginning; just to go with the flow and let the weirdness wash over me.

I also liked the suggestion that coming after the successes of The Glass Menagerie and A Streetcar Named Desire, Williams was eager to try something different, and perhaps was inspired by other non-linear artistic trends of the early 1950s--bebop, Beat poetry, abstract expressionism, surrealism, etc.

I tried to remind myself how much I've liked not only the two aforementioned masterpieces by Tennessee Williams, but also Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, Sweet Bird of Youth and Night of the Iguana.

As I checked the Playbill and noticed a few familiar names--Matt DeCaro, Barbara Robertson, David Darlow--I tried to settle into my seat and focus on enjoying a unique work by a great writer interpreted by an inventive director and starring first-rate actors.

I tried.

And I failed.

I failed to see almost any artistic merits in a 110-minute haphazard "dream play" that felt more like a nightmare.

If I tried to convey what Camino Real is about, I would fail. I have absolutely no idea what was going on on-stage, nor what I was supposed to derive from it. I know there was an ex-boxer named Kilroy, a guy named Gutman (after the Sidney Greenstreet character in The Maltese Falcon, but I had read about this), and history-derived characters such as Lord Byron, Casanova, Don Quixote and Esmerelda.

All I can really say, and I apologize for being so non-specific, was that I didn't like anything about it. I believe this is the lowest rating I've ever given any performance, and if I didn't feel somewhat obliged to stick it out before sharing my opinion, I would have joined the other 18 people that left the balcony early last night (I counted, and am sure that if there had been an intermission many more would have ducked out, including quite possibly me).

Funny thing is, from reading about the play and the Catalonian Bieito in pieces by Robert Falls and the Tribune's Chris Jones, the implication was that some patrons may be offended, disturbed and/or disgusted by the happenings on-stage.

I'm not offended by much of an artistic nature, and unfortunately wasn't here. Offended, disturbed and disgusted would have been an improvement. Instead I was just confused, bewildered and bored.

I'm always willing to consider the possibility that I missed something, or failed to try hard enough, but if the metaphorical Emperor really was wearing clothes in this case, it clearly wasn't apparent through my binoculars from the ever-emptying balcony.

Perhaps what I needed to try, in order to derive any enjoyment from Camino Real, was taking acid. Or at least Ambien.

(The audience politely applauded at the play's end and it's possible some of the remaining patrons may have liked it, but all I heard were negative comments. Especially after two excellent, crowd-pleasing plays--Red and Race--as part of my subscription series, I won't revile Falls for scheduling something a bit daring (even if I am considering not re-upping next season). But in nearly 10 seasons as a subscriber, this is the first Williams play Goodman has served up. Would it have been so hard to slate a stellar rendition of Streetcar instead? Though I am glad to see they will be doing Sweet Bird of Youth, directed by David Cromer, in the fall.)

Mamet Molds a Vivid Discourse In Black and White -- Theater Review: 'Race' at Goodman Theatre

Theater Review

Race
a play by David Mamet
Goodman Theatre, Chicago
Thru February 19
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Based on his best work--plays Glengarry Glen Ross, American Buffalo, Speed The Plow, Oleanna; movies House of Games, Spanish Prisoner, Heist, The Verdict, Wag the Dog--I consider David Mamet not only high among my favorite playwrights and an inspired movie director and screenwriter, but one of the most important creative provocateurs of the past 50 years.

Offering biting social and interpersonal insight with a mastery of language all his own, Mamet's work has been both brilliantly commentative and highly transformative. I often cite him in the same vein as The Clash, Martin Scorsese, Richard Pryor and Norman Lear as one of the (now exceedingly) rare artists who combined cultural unrest and creative brilliance to simultaneously reflect their times and reinvigorate--or even reinvent--an art form.

There is too little of that angst-inspired ingenuity arising now, or at least invading the zeitgeist.

And sadly, it appeared that Mamet may have lost his mojo awhile back. Recent plays like Romance and November were disappointing at best and his 2008 martial arts movie, Redbelt, didn't measure up to prior directorial efforts. In 2011, he also released a book documenting his conversion from a "brain-dead liberal" to a "newly-minted conservative."

I respect his right to identify with any ideology he likes, but have missed the emblematic observations of American Buffalo, the razor sharp invective of Glengarry Glen Ross, the thought-provoking dichotomies set up in Speed The Plow and Oleanna and the con man "sting" of House of Games and Spanish Prisoner.

Fortunately, though his 2009 play, Race--now in a regional production at Chicago's Goodman Theatre--isn't quite on par with his very best work, it offers enough intelligence and insight to remind why Mamet is such a gifted and important writer.

Here he sets up a scenario where a wealthy, married white man named Charles (played by Patrick Clear) has been accused of raping a significantly younger black woman. (It's unclear if he has already been arrested and is out on bail, but Mamet seemingly takes a few dramatic liberties.) His alleged victim is not a character in the 95-minute (including intermission) 2-act play, which takes place entirely within the law office of Jack Lawson (Marc Grapey), who is white, and Henry Brown (Geoffrey Owens), who, like their newest associate, Susan, (Tamberla Perry) is an African American.

Photo Credit: Charles Osgood

While asking Charles about the allegations against him, the law partners learn that he has already left counsel of another defense lawyer. Dubious due to the racial connotations they openly discuss, the firm nonetheless winds up becoming his attorneys of record due to certain actions I won't reveal here. But the charged discussions between Jack, Henry and Susan are what largely drive the drama, far more than the question of Charles' guilt.

As with Oleanna, which concerns a college professor and a female student who alleges he raped her, in Race Mamet deftly creates a multiangular discourse certain to prompt post-show debate and disagreement among audience members.

Although pointed questions are raised through dialogue that is intriguing and occasionally humorous and/or profane--as per Mamet's trademark--and the acting under Chuck Smith's direction is stellar throughout, in sum Race just feels more like an excellent (@@@@) play, rather than a truly phenomenal (@@@@@) one. As artful as his setup is, it seems that Mamet unnecessarily tips his hand toward and against a couple of characters; ironically, the resonance could have been even sharper if things were left with a bit more ambiguous.

Also, though questions of race and our relationship to it will always be topical, the ones Mamet raises here don't seem all that novel (if you ever have a chance, see Thomas Gibbons' Permanent Collection). So while tickling our own degree of discomfort on the matter, any newly profound societal statement Race is trying to make was lost on me.

Still, even if Mamet isn't revolutionizing our world the way he once did--if you think that's an overstatement, consider the language used onstage and in film before & after he came to prominence in the mid-'70s--it was certainly quite welcome to see a new work of his be even this good. Unless it grows on me in subsequent explorations, Race may not stand, like it's author, as an all-time great, but--at the very least as a night of enjoyable entertainment--it is a winner.