Sell Your Soul: 'Human Resource(s)' Offers Sharp Satire, but Isn't a "Personnel" Masterpiece -- Chicago Theater Review

Theater Review

Human Resource(s)

a world premiere play by Sara Means

directed by Jen Sloan

Theatre Evolve

at The EDGE Off-Broadway, Chicago

Thru July 6

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The tyrannical boss, the overworked assistant, the neglected newbie, the misogynistic bro and the unseen "suits" with unfair expectations.

All factor into the satire of Human Resource(s)--a world premiere one-act play by Sara Means--along with sexual harassment, gender inequality, after work alcoholism and caffeine addiction.

Under the direction of Jen Sloan, an enthusiastic young cast sells it well, with the visceral intensity adding power to Means' at times quite pointed script. 

I remain delighted for the invitation to Theatre Evolve, an Edgewater troupe with which I was unfamiliar, and nothing I saw would dissuade me from checking out what they do down the road.

And for a reasonable price, Human Resource(s) can be well-worth 90 minutes of your attention. If nothing else, it will be hard to look away.

But I'm afraid this performance review won't be entirely positive, devoid of many checkmarks for "Exceeds Expectations."

Other than providing an ugly glimpse into a sales office with some unlikable people, who become more so when pushed to the brink of ultra competitiveness, the play doesn't really offer anything all that new or novel, and not just because it put Glengarry Glen Ross in my head from the word go.

Per the title, I was expecting more of an exploration of HR personnel, or the Human Resources function within a company, which can often be maligned. (I haven't always been a fan.)

But other than a gag that has the unseen HR Dept. giving new employee, Dylan (Jonathan Allsop), a foot-high stack of paperwork, this isn't the focus of Human Resource(s).

Instead, we get sales reps Matt (Trevor Strahan) and Sally (Jackie Seijo) treating the new guy badly, and the supervising sales manager, Trudy, being embodied by Andrea Uppling as a quintessential bitch. (To her credit, Uppling does a swell job of being detestable.)

Another sales manager, Laura (Anna Rachel Troy), is unseen-but-heard and is about as loathsome as Trudy.

Lest it seem that the play only portrays working women in a terrible light, Strahan's Matt--again with credit due to the actor's characterization--is a cocksure ass.

And the highest-ranking executive referenced is a man who creates a cockamamie sales contest, with the winner to get a promotion and the loser to be fired.

With or without such overt parameters, I'm sure such competitions truly exist--with Glengarry's Shelley Levene a clear fictional point of reference--but given what unfolds, all three sales reps in Human Resource(s) would seem to make themselves indispensable to the company's bottom line.

Certainly, the banality is part of Means' point, but depending on each viewer's own experiences, the maniacal extremes to which Dylan, Matt and Sally--as well as a martyr of an assistant named Alice (Shanna Sweeney)--are pushed by the contest, their bosses and gallons of high-octane coffee will either feel gruesomely over-the-top or grimly reminiscent...with the hyperbole mocking reality by a mere matter degrees.

In many ways, I liked the intensity onstage, because it makes Human Resource(s)--being presented in the nice, new EDGE Off Broadway--eminently watchable.

And there is something at the root of what the play is theoretically aiming to convey, as it seems most people in America hate their jobs and/or bosses--often in conjunction.

But once the work's underlying point seems to be established--that employees, some nice, some not so much, can be made to suffer by tyrannical superiors and unfair demands--the only evolving depth seems to be in physical ferocity elevating the satire.

Keeping in mind this is a world premiere, I give the actors, director, writer and crew considerable props for their efforts.

But in terms of offering thematic heft and fresh insights, Human Resource(s) still could use a good bit of work.

Early Blues Infusion: Writers Theatre Strikes Chord With August Wilson's 'Ma Rainey's Black Bottom' -- Chicago Theater Review

Theater Review

Ma Rainey's Black Bottom
by August Wilson
directed by Ron OJ Parson
Writers Theatre, Glencoe, IL
Thru March 17
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At this point, I've seen several of August Wilson's 10 plays chronicling the African-American experience across the decades of the 20th century.

But when I first saw Ma Rainey's Black Bottom, Wilson's 1920s installment--written before he planned on doing a series of 10--I didn't really want to.

I certainly don't mean to imply that anyone forced, cajoled or convinced me in a way I regret.

It's just that on a trip to New York in March 2003, I had a desire--and even tickets--to see the hot new musicals at the time: Thoroughly Modern Millie and Urinetown.

But there happened to be a musicians' strike that shuttered every Broadway musical, including those two.

So at the TKTS booth in Times Square, I got myself tickets to see a revival of Ma Rainey's Black Bottom--it had originally opened on Broadway in 1984--starring Whoopi Goldberg and Charles S. Dutton.

Photo credit on all: Michael Brosilow

It also featured Carl Gordon, who I recalled playing Dutton's dad on the sitcom Roc, and Anthony Mackie, who's become something of a film & TV star.

As Ma Rainey was a singer known as the "Mother of the Blues," Ma Rainey's Black Bottom features a good bit of music played live onstage--which was permissible during the strike--but it isn't officially a musical.

So though it wasn't my first choice in March 2003 on Broadway, I was happy to see it--and I enjoyed it.

I can't say that I remember it thoroughly, so was glad to see it show up on the schedule at Writers Theatre in Glencoe, where I saw it Wednesday night.

And again enjoyed it, about on par with the rating I entered in my "Shows Seen Database" back in 2003.

At Writers, the always superb Felicia P. Fields makes for a fine, feisty and well-sung Ma Rainey, whose recording session establishes  the play's setting, context and structure.

As the show opens, the studio owner, Mr. Sturdyvant (Thomas J. Cox)--who also seems to serve as the record company profiting from Ma's success--is waiting for her to arrive.

Getting there first are Ma's manager, Irvin (Peter Moore, who I've seen in several shows at Steep Theatre, where he serves as Artistic Director), and then the members of her band.

Playing their instruments onstage, these included pianist Toledo (David Alan Anderson), bassist Slow Drag (A.C. Smith), trombonist Cutler (Alfred H. Wilson) and trumpeter Levee (Kelvin Roston, Jr.).

Levee is a bit younger than the others, and a good bit more wanting to rock the boat, musically and otherwise.

As played by the excellent Roston, he becomes the focal point of the play, even more than Ma, one of whose songs is "Ma Rainey's Black Bottom."

Ultimately, the play is rather charged, riveting and about much more than a pioneering blues woman.

The dichotomy between the men largely willing to respect authority--black or white--and Levee, who can be seen as ambitious, antagonistic, insubordinate and rightfully progressive all at the same time, is striking and rather allegorical.

And the character of Ma, who must battle the white power-brokers--even as she has the upper hand--but also demands strict obedience from her band members, adds to the power of Ma Rainey's Black Bottom and what one might take from it.

But as a night's entertainment, I found it too slow in reaching its boiling point, with almost the entire first act devoted to bantering among the band members (who often throw the n-word at each other, in a way that adds insight to the times).

Wilson was too gifted a writer for the rehearsal room repartee and ribaldry not to have considerable charm and even depth, but Act I was more fair than fantastic.

Act II is far better, dramatically, musically--as we get some full-fledged performances--and meaningfully.

So in full, I can recommend Ma Rainey's Black Bottom and--with Cutler's sing-song count-in to each song take stoking acute recollections--fondly appreciate the memories it stirred from my past.

It's a fine history lesson about a musical pioneer--"the blues gets me out of bed in the morning," she states at one point, imparting that art is life and not mere past-time--but ultimately concerning more widespread matters, with Roston's performance particularly powerful.

Strong Acting Can't Keep Numerous Threads of 'The Night Season' FromHanging Loose -- Chicago Theater Review

Theater Review

The Night Season
by Rebecca Lenkiewicz
directed by Elly Green
Strawdog Theatre Company
at The Factory Theatre, Chicago
Thru June 24
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Perhaps I have seen too many Martin McDonagh plays featuring quaint Irish settings, thick brogues, quirky characters, quarreling families and a healthy dose of profanity that I couldn't help but anticipate Rebecca Lenkiewicz's The Night Season--featuring all of the above--similarly erupting into bloody mayhem.

Lenkiewicz--who co-wrote the movie Ida, a masterpiece of contemplative serenity and my favorite film of this decade--obviously can't be held accountable for opting not to turn her 2004 drama into an over-the-top black comedy.

For assuredly, there are many great Irish plays that don't wind up with body parts strewn around the stage.

And gushing like geysers. (Such as in McDonagh's The Lieutenant of Inishmore.)

But while The Night Season's script--aided by fine acting in this Strawdog Theatre Co. production under the direction of Elly Green--is strong enough to keep me reasonably intrigued across a 90-minute first act in which numerous narrative threads are introduced, the nearly-as-long second act never congeals cohesively enough.

Nor provides McDonaghesque histrionics, which, candidly, would have been welcome.

Centered around three unmarried sisters--Rose (Micaela Petro), Judith (Justine C. Turner) and Maud (Stella Martin)--who live in Sligo with their father Patrick (Jamie Vann) and his mother-in-law Lily (Janice O'Neill), The Night Season's driving force is the arrival in town of a (mostly unseen) film crew shooting a movie about legendary Irish poet W.B. Yeats.

I do not know enough about Yeats or his work to appreciate corresponding themes that may have run through the play. There are some poetic verses openly quoted, but if any of these provide reason or rationale for the show's title, or anything else, I'm admittedly clueless.

John (John Henry Roberts), a film actor of seemingly some renown, stays in the family's guest cottage, has sex with one of the sisters and dances sweetly with the somewhat demenia-beset Lily.

Amid much drinking and the steady playing of old phonograph records, we also meet Gary (Michael Reyes), a local ex-boyfriend of Judith, while another sister's good-fer-nothin' beau is frequently referenced but not seen.

Also commonly spoken of is Esther, the girls' mother, Patrick's ex-wife and Lily's daughter. Slowly piecing several Act I mentions together, it seems she divorced Patrick years back--before the youngest sister, Maud, really go to know her--now lives in London and is longingly spoken of as though she were dead and not just a phone call, email or hourlong flight away.

Petro, Turner and Martin well-play the sisters, with convincing Irish brogues, and dialogue about their love lives, missing mother and visiting movie star--who himself is just days removed from a family crisis--offering much for the audience to digest and potentially identify with. (The rest of cast is also strong, most particularly O'Neill as Lily.)

But while The Night Season ostensibly involves several themes familiar to many a fine drama, I found that there were too many threads, with most never leading anywhere all that enticing.

I also didn't see any reason for this play--or most for that matter--to be as long as it is, especially as I would have been content with three separate ending points before the actual one.

Not that nearly 3 hours of earnest, even if not superlative, theater isn't a worthwhile investment of my time, but I typically find relative brevity to be dramatically beneficial.

With seven on-stage characters, all given considerable depth--I didn't broach on nearly all of the narrative strains--writer Lenkiewicz, director Green and all the actors do a estimable job letting us get to know the members of this particular Irish family and their Yeats-playing new pal.

But I think it would've behooved The Night Season if some of the storylines were winnowed out, with the focus on certain characters and their everyday crises allowed little more than a smattering.

If not--in going all Inishmore--a splattering.

"Just a Cast Away, an Island Lost at Sea...": Even with Police References Merely in My Head, Stewart Copeland's 'Invention of Morel' Opera Proves Quite Arresting -- Chicago Opera Review

Theater / Opera Review

The Invention of Morel
a world premiere opera
Music by Stewart Copeland
Libretto by Stewart Copeland & Jonathan Moore
Directed by Jonathan Moore
Chicago Opera Theater
at the Studebaker Theater, Chicago
February 18, 24, 26 (run ended)
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A few years ago, I wrote a thesis-like (though not nearly that long) blog post about what I dubbed "Associative Learning," and its seeming erosion.

In it, I theorized about how, when I had to do school reports back in the early 1980s, the acts of riding my bike through town to the public library, stopping for lunch and at the local record store, meandering through two floors of the library to the encyclopedia shelves and perusing World Book and Encyclopedia Britannica well beyond the subject at hand, undoubtedly introduced me to things in ways that much more targeted & precise internet-based research may not as readily prompt kids today to broaden their horizons.

Though I don't have kids of my own and haven't been able to regularly monitor the accuracy of my hypothesis, I still believe it to have validity.

Yet, rather than thinking myself an internet or technology Luddite, I realize the infinite possibilities the web has to empower flights of curiosity.

The trick is finding the impetus for inspiration.

Which brings me to a review of a world premiere opera called The Invention of Morel, whose brief Chicago run ended with the performance I saw. As a work co-commissioned by Chicago Opera Theater and Long Beach Opera, it will supposedly be staged in Long Beach, California next March.

So although I thought the opera in was largely terrific, this review won't provide much acute benefit to anyone. I don't even see specific dates announced for the Long Beach Opera, so it's not like you can even plan a Spring 2018 California trek just yet.

Hence, while I will give a rundown of the opera as best I can, and why I enjoyed it, I think the associative learning backstory is also worth sharing.

For decades, but again somewhat acutely over the past few weeks, I have been fascinated by old movie theaters, with the extant ones around Chicagoland largely now serving as performing arts venues.

Some internet exploring, on the excellent Cinema Treasures website and elsewhere--including the hypnotic Historic Aerials site--brought me to this article about grand renovations to the Studebaker Theater in the Fine Arts Building.

I was familiar with the Fine Arts Building, at 410 S. Michigan in Chicago, having had cinemas showing art-house movies during my lifetime, but not for years.

So it was fascinating to learn of resurrection of the Studebaker Theater--the building itself was built to sell & service Studebaker carriages in the late 19th century--and it was only through the theater's website that I came across The Invention of Morel.

My initial interest was in finding anything on the Studebaker's event calendar that might give me
reason to visit the theater, but learning about the opera itself was intriguing.

As I've written too many times to reiterate in depth here, I appreciate opera to the point of having formerly been a Lyric Opera of Chicago subscriber, and still try to get to 1-3 operas per year, but don't emotionally ingest the art form enough to call myself an opera buff.

Thus, a brand new, 90-minute opera, sung in English and written by Stewart Copeland of The Police--a defunct rock band I really like--seemed especially appealing.

I almost bought a ticket right then and there, about 3 weeks ago, but thought that I should see if A) ticket discounts would be offered on HotTix, Goldstar or TodayTix; B) the first performance got a good review; and C) the winter weather in Chicago wouldn't be too challenging.

There were no discounts offered for the first performance on February 18, but through Goldstar the Feb. 24 & 26 shows were nicely priced. And even after the Chicago Tribune's esteemed classical music critic John von Rhein gave The Invention of Morel 4 stars (out of 4), I was able to snag a nice balcony seat for just $29 + fees.

Though not quite the 65 degree weather last week saw in Chicago--followed three days later by 20 degree weather--Sunday was fairly mild.

I got downtown in time to enjoy a nice waffle at BeeZzee Fresh Food on Wabash and make my way to the Fine Arts Building, still plenty early.

With permission, I took an elevator to the top floor and walked down the entire beautiful building; so lovely--and unseen by me previously--that I'll dedicate an upcoming blog post simply to photos of it. True to the name, tenants include violin makers, various studios, a sheet music seller and bookstore, etc. This in itself would have made for a worthy excursion. 

Then at 2pm, I attended a pre-opera talk by Chicago Opera Theater artistic director--and the opera's conductor--Andreas Mitisek, along with the co-librettist and director Jonathan Moore, who has an impressive list of credits, mostly in his native England. (If Stewart Copeland was on hand, I was never aware.)

This was quite insightful and--along with von Rhein's review and other background info--really helped prepare me for what I was about to see.

Previously unbeknownst to me, The Invention of Morel, written by Argentinean Adolfo Bioy Casares in 1940, remains one of the most famed and beloved novels in Latin America.

It, and therefore the opera, concerns itself with a fugitive arriving on a seemingly deserted island, only to discover a number of well-heeled tourists already there and acting rather mysteriously.

One of these is a beautiful woman named Faustine--yes, like Faust, though not overtly devilish--with whom the fugitive becomes smitten, even more so as she resists his advances. (Author Bioy Casares based Faustine on American silent film star Louise Brooks, with whom he was smitten from afar.)

You should read the book if you wish to know all of what unfolds, but per the title, an inventor named Morel is central, with a rather beguiling device that the fugitive ultimately discovers.

As Moore helpfully explained beforehand, he and Copeland decided to deviate from the book slightly by adding a Narrator (Lee Gregory), who largely sings the narrative as a recollection of events, while the Fugitive (Andrew Wilkowske) observes what happens as he encounters it. Both characters represent the same person and shadow each other throughout.

The singing is in operatic voices, which while artistically remarkable--and top tier here as far as I could tell--still didn't allow the whole thing to connect with me like great musical theater does.

And despite the rather brief running time, I can deny there were some points where my attention--and eyelids--began to flutter.

But the propulsive, rhythm heavy score by Copeland--long one of my favorite drummers--became truly exciting and scintillating, especially toward the end.

I had learned that this was the fifth opera Copeland has written, and following his success with the Police--who initially broke up in 1986 before a 2007-08 reunion tour--he has written numerous film scores.

So I certainly wasn't expecting to hear Police songs or familiar refrains, nor was this--unlike Sting's recent The Last Ship musical--meant to be an autobiographical affair. (Moore explained that Copeland's daughter had recommended The Invention of Morel adaptation.)

But due to associative strains merely within my own brain, given the fugitive's arrival on a supposedly deserted island--which one can see enacted in an Invention of Morel virtual reality app created in conjunction with the opera--I couldn't help but conjure up Police gems like "Message in a Bottle" and "So Lonely."

And as the fugitive watches and pursues the beautiful Faustine (Valerie Vinzant, clearly lovely even from the Studebaker balcony sans forgotten binoculars), my mind went to "Every Breath You Take" and "De Do Do Do, De Da Da Da."

Perhaps I haven't done the best job of detailing why, but I really enjoyed The Invention of Morel at face value.

And with Mitisek and Moore holding a post-show Q&A--that still let me get home in plenty of time for the Oscars--I liked the entire experience, and everything associated with it, even more.

Short But Not So Slight, 'Mary-Kate Olsen Is In Love' Should Bring a Youth-Full House to The Comrades -- Chicago Theater Review

Theater Review

Mary-Kate Olsen Is In Love
a recent play by Mallery Avidon
directed by Derek Bertelsen
The Comrades at
Apollo Studio Theatre
Thru March 29
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If 10 people individually asked me "Where should I eat?" or even "Should I go to (so & so) restaurant?" my answer would undoubtedly not be the same to all of them.

Through a combination of observation and inquiry, I would try to gain an understanding of the age, appetite, food preferences & aversions, price level comfortability, companions, occasion (casual meal, date night, business dinner, etc.), point of origin, means of transportation, other factors and proclivities, etc., of each person asking, and then aim to gear my recommendation appropriately.

But when I review, and rate, a work of theater--and provide ostensible recommendations to anyone who may land on this blog to see what I saith--it's pretty much one-size-fits-all.

Photo credit on all: Cody Jolly

Especially as I don't consider myself a theater expert with the training to truly judge technical merit, but merely an avid fan and patron who likes to share my opinions, my reviews are just a candid though unavoidably self-centered appraisal based on the level of my own particular enjoyment and/or enrichment.

As portrayed by my @@@1/2 (out of 5) rating at top, which rewards the impressive delivery of the material a bit more than it does the play itself, I enjoyed Mary-Kate Olsen Is In Love, but only moderately.

Yet while I wouldn't insist that this is a work my mom, aunt or others of an older demographic must rush out to see--not that it wouldn't offer them some merits--I can readily imagine that, especially for just $10-$15 per ticket (and even less if discounted on HotTix), plenty of younger, perhaps newbie, theatergoers could really enjoy this show while gaining appreciation for the joys of live theater.

As the Apollo Studio Theater is in the DePaul University neighborhood, and an easy "L" ride from Loyola, Northwestern, Roosevelt, Columbia College, etc., students may do particularly well to patronize this cheeky, but never cheap, ode to celebrity culture (with depth beyond it).

Admittedly, I wouldn't have been enticed by the title of Mallery Avidon's comedy that had an Off-Off Broadway run starting in late 2013, as there are few celebs I could care about less than the Olsen sisters (Ashley is a character within, along with her twin Mary-Kate).

But I was happy to be invited by the show's director Derek Bertelsen, who has helmed several shows I've greatly liked in recent years--including The Children's Hour, Wit and The Lieutenant of Inishmore--and is the founding Artistic Director of The Comrades, a new troupe making their debut with Mary-Kate Olsen Is In Love.

And it's to the credit of everyone involved, including Bertelsen, playwright Avidon and a fine young cast, that MKOIIL was considerably better, and more substantive, than I may have perceived going in. Though rather brief at only an hour, it definitely didn't waste my time, and offered some interesting dialogue and observations.

The conceit and narrative are somewhat surrealistic--something I appreciate far more on canvas than on-stage--but though I was often puzzled by play's blurry lines between fantasy and reality, including from scene to scene, it was pleasant to watch throughout.

Carolyn Sinon finds a nice tonality in playing Grace, a young, well-employed, ostensibly rather fortunate New Yorker who is bogged down emotionally by her unemployed, unmotivated husband Tyler (David Coupe), who is entirely consumed by playing Call of Duty (a war-enacting video game), eating pizza and smoking pot.

In some hazy dreamlike way--at least initially--Grace is visited by the Olsen sisters, with Mary-Kate (Angela Horn) being empathetic, even affectionate, and Ashley (Cydney Moody) delightfully acerbic.

There is also a GI Joe-ish soldier (Mike Newquist) who serves as a commanding voice inside/outside Tyler's head, and four cheerleader-clad "Amazing Girls" (Laura Jewell, Jenna Liddle, Naomi Lindh and Taylor Wisham), who appear to voice both poignant sentiments about young womanhood and such presumably satirical pearls like "It's more important to be hot than smart."

The crux of the play seems to address the angst and anxiety Grace faces in her increasingly tiresome marriage and a life she fears will become tedious.

"I have to be busy, or at least have kids," she posits at one point.

So though Mary-Kate Olsen Is In Love does tap into its title character--and her sister--in ways relating to their childhood stardom, rich rarefied existence and own surmised longings, if this play was called Charlotte Brontë Is In Love and looped in Emily to appeal to a more overtly literate crowd, the gist of the human emotions and situations surveyed onstage likely wouldn't be all that different.

I had the chance to speak with Bertelsen briefly before the play started, and he shared that while he loves the classics of the theatrical canon, not only does he see something smart beneath the surface of this young-skewing title and concept, he wanted to kick off his theater company with something fun and easily-digestible to new--in multiple contexts--audiences.

Probably due to the whims of theater space available and affordable to an upstart company, Mary-Kate Olsen Is In Love plays somewhat atypically only on Sunday, Monday and Tuesday nights.

I can't say it changed my life, but neither did it detract from it, and even if I found some of the play's messaging muddled, I genuinely enjoyed this production enough to merit attendance.

Particularly, perhaps, if you are a woman under 30 or anyone who wholly embraces youthful and/or celeb culture and sensibilities, you well may even more so.

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See The-Comrades.com for more information.

Despite Strong Performances and Quality Score, Difficult Light/Dark Balance Makes 'Heathers' Musical Hard to Embrace -- Chicago Theater Review

Theater Review

Heathers: The Musical
Kokandy Productions
at Theater Wit
Thru April 24, 2016
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It's likely that I arrived at Theater Wit for Heathers: The Musical with far less affinity for its source movie than many other patrons.

I have no particular disdain for the 1989 film, often referenced as a cult classic, but saw it once long ago and haven't given it much thought since.

Although I wouldn't have been able to recall many plot points prior to seeing them enacted onstage, I recognize that the black comedy has had a certain caché for the way it satirized high school subdivisions with a darkness far beyond the teenage challenges, popularity pecking order and insecurities depicted in John Hughes films.

With its titular clique of mean girls, Heathers has lent its name to the lexicon, denoting haughty and abrasive young women--or those simply perceived as such--who are paradoxically among the most popular and despised kids in high school.

Without meaning to give away specifics about the movie or the musical, Heathers wound up taking its depiction of high school hell to deadly extremes.

I can't recall my reaction to the film's body count, but at the time I saw it only the "I Don't Like Mondays" San Diego schoolyard killings years before could have possibly come to mind.

Sadly, we live in a different world now, and while it doesn't mean satire, dark comedy or even macabre fun is off limits as entertainment, fictional high school murders and massacres bring far graver connotations and recollections.

Certainly, those who initially developed Heathers into a musical--the music, lyrics and book are credited to Laurence O'Keefe and Kevin Murphy, while Andy Fickman originally directed it Off-Broadway in 2014--must have recognized the current landscape, and in the mock high school newspaper that cleverly serves as the program for Kokandy Productions' Chicago Premiere at Theater Wit, director James Beaudry writes eloquently about the delicate balance demanded in getting the tone right, today.

My admiration for the attempt is estimable, and there are many terrific aspects to this rendition of Heathers as a musical.

As Veronica Sawyer--a pretty but uncertain girl who joins the "Heathers," played by Winona Ryder in the movie--Courtney Mack is wonderful, both quite engagingly likable and well-sung.

Clad in primary colors, Jacquelyne Jones, Haley Jane Schafer and Rochelle Therrien do a good job in embodying the generally loathsome Heathers--surnamed Chandler, Duke and McNamara.

Chris Ballou well-handles the black trenchcoated Christian Slater role as J.D., Veronica's bad boy love interest, and among a high-spirited cast of 20, Teressa LaGamba makes for an empathetic Martha, Veronica's overweight and outcast best friend.

As I was hoping based on O'Keefe's previous scores for the Legally Blonde and Bat Boy musicals--both of which I very much like--there are several fine songs, including the opening "Beautiful," "Candy Store," "Dead Girl Walking," "Seventeen," "Shine a Light" and "My Kindergarten Boyfriend."

In this high school musical, a couple numbers are too sophomoric, a song called "My Dead Gay Son" works musically but still made me cringe, and sonic references to Queen's "We Will Rock You," Peter Gabriel's "Big Time" and Carl Douglas' "Kung Fu Fighting" felt more derivative than simply sly homages.

But with the songs largely being upbeat, with a fair amount of ebullience mixed with insight and even poignancy, the dark turn the storyline takes--in essentially following the movie, per Wikipedia and reviews of past productions--forces a balance I found discomfiting.

I realize that the musical's creators likely needed to stay true to the movie's narrative, and I don't think I'm so squeamish as to dismiss macabre subject matter as automatically out-of-bounds.

My fondness for Ride the Cyclone last year at Chicago Shakespeare Theater suggests that I'm capable of being entirely charmed by young-skewing musicals with a unsettling share of teenage morbidity.

And while I can't say I found Heathers to be as enjoyable as I wanted, I believe director Beaudry, choreographer Sawyer Smith, music director Kory Danielson and the fine cast led by Mack and Ballou have done everything in their power to leverage the script and songs as best they could.

My critique is about my overall experience in viewing Heathers onstage, but there is little I can fault about this particular production.

As a musical, and maybe even more so within this staging, Heathers has a lot going for it--including a fantastic slow-motion fight scene, fine singing throughout, a rocking score and more--and it's quite possible teens, twenty-somethings and those a bit older who have long-favored the film will find much to like.

I did, but ultimately had a hard time tapping my toes amid tales of teens being murdered, as off-putting as the victims might have been.

And while every musical need not be a toe-tapping good time to be terrific, the calibration between light and dark in Heathers onstage just felt like too much of a misfit.

This Much is True: Dear John Hughes is Good, Fun...For What It Is -- Chicago Theater Review

Theater Review

Dear John Hughes
Broadway Playhouse, Chicago
Run Ended
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To say that the John Hughes movies of the 1980s hit close to home for me is more accurate geographically than emotionally or artistically.

Sixteen Candles, The Breakfast Club, Pretty in Pink, Weird Science, Some Kind of Wonderful, Ferris Bueller's Day Off, Uncle Buck, Home Alone and other films written and/or directed by Hughes--who moved to Northbrook in his early teens and attended Glenbrook North High School--were filmed within 20 minutes of my home in Skokie...or at least based nearby (as in the case of Pretty in Pink, which was filmed in L.A.).

I don't recall knowing all this at the time, but the house that served as the family home in Sixteen Candles is in Evanston, about 3 minutes from where I grew up, some interior scenes were filmed at Niles North High School while I was a student there and much else of that movie was filmed at Niles East, another, but by-then-closed Skokie high school. 

Despite this, I only saw a few of the aforementioned films upon their release, and none any more than a few times each--at most--in the years since. And even with a rather vast DVD collection, I own none of these movies. (The only John Hughes movie I do own is Career Opportunities, decidedly more because Jennifer Connelly starred in it than because he wrote it.)

This said, I have no aversion to Hughes' teen comedies and appreciate their--and his--place in movie history ...and the '80s zeitgeist. 

So with the added specter of Evan Rachel Wood being added to the cast--replacing Rumer Willis--for Week 2 of For The Record: Dear John Hughes' run at the Broadway Playhouse, my friend Paolo and I decided to check out the show despite it not being part of our Broadway in Chicago subscription series. (The show has now left town.)

I understood going in that Dear John Hughes is not a book musical with a narrative thread throughout, but rather a collection of songs that featured prominently in Hughes' films, accompanied in many cases by iconic movie dialogue being acted out onstage.

Though never designed to delight me as much as a first-rate original musical likely would, given the recent proliferation of disappointing stage musicals based on popular movies and/or featuring famous songs with flimsy books, I applaud Dear John Hughes for being a straightforward, well-done, crowd-pleasing affair--especially to the far more avid Hughes acolytes--rather than some misguided attempt in the vein of First Wives Club, Ghost, American Idiot or We Will Rock You.  

I thought the production values and singing--including by Wood--were first rate, and while not grand theater, it doesn't aim to be. In fact, in Los Angeles Dear John Hughes (and similar For the Record nostalgic songfests highlighting a famed director for whom music is integral: Martin Scorsese, Baz Luhrmann, Quentin Tarantino) is performed in a West Hollywood bar, with actors intermingling with patrons.

However, given how the show includes bits of dialogue, acted out largely (though a tad loosely) in costume and character, and features five thematic "chapters"--The Princess & The Athlete, A Criminal & A Basket Case, The Geek, Prom, Detention--Dear John Hughes also isn't simply analogous to a tribute concert or musical revue.

Whatever the hybrid, the show makes for a fun evening of entertainment--particularly to those of us who remember the 80s even if not all the movies--that hints at the possibility of becoming something much more artistically holistic and substantive.

Per the first three chapters I just mentioned, and the last one, DJH uses The Breakfast Club characters and scenario as its thematic core, but--especially to those of us fuzzy on the film details--illustrates how the three Molly Ringwald movies (Sixteen Candles, Pretty in Pink, Breakfast Club) and Some Kind of Wonderful revolve around many of the same tropes.

Popularity, geekiness, wealth or lack thereof, misfits, outcasts, friendships, crushes, romances, hurt feelings, insecurities, self-esteem issues, bullying, personal style, etc., don't really need a defined point of reference to resonate, and I liked how Olivia Harris embodied The Princess (a.k.a. Ringwald) scenes, even if at the end I asked Paolo if "Andie and Blane" were in Sixteen Candles or Pretty in Pink.

He replied the former, but was quickly corrected by a better-versed fan nearby. (For the record, I had recently watched The Breakfast Club upon the 30th anniversary of its Feb. 1985 release, and since seeing Dear John Hughes last Thursday have viewed Sixteen Candles, Pretty in Pink and Some Kind of Wonderful. I'm also pretty familiar with Ferris Bueller, and to a lesser degree, Weird Science, the two other films that factor into the show.)

The crowd seemed to have fun--we were allowed to take photos and encouraged to shout out our favorite movie lines; I thought the cast also should've insisted we stand and dance at certain parts--and as the Chicago run is over, my quibbles are largely moot.

But why let that stop me?

Guessing that some song selections and omissions had as much to do with rights clearances as anything else, some still seemed a bit odd--even more so now that I've watched the films--such as David Bowie's "Changes" and "Young Americans." (The latter is heard in Sixteen Candles, but not in a high-profile manner; I don't know where "Changes" was used by Hughes.)

I certainly wouldn't have minded if the show honored Hughes by reaching beyond the six key teen angst films for say, Tone Loc's Wild Thing, used wonderfully in Uncle Buck (also partially shot in Skokie).

And while Wood was delightful--fitting into the ensemble cast without any Hollywood star aura--it seemed like she was channeling Mary Stuart Masterson in Some Kind of Wonderful much more so than Ally Sheedy's Breakfast Club "Basket Case," as whom she is technically cast.

This last note is especially a trifle, as everyone rotated through various roles, but it gets at why I think Dear John Hughes--with some shrewd writing--could be turned into something considerably better than what it is.

I was reminded of Snapshots, a show that pays tribute to Broadway composer Stephen Schwartz (Wicked, Pippen, Godspell) by using existing songs from his catalog to tell a new story, making for something more artistically rewarding than most typical revues. (Across the Universe, a Julie Taylor film that weaves Beatles songs into a story and, coincidentally, also stars Evan Rachel Wood, likewise sprang to mind.)

Given the similarity between characters and situations in various Hughes films, it's not inconceivable skilled creatives could weave the songs, and even the iconic scenes, into a cohesive new--yet still joyfully nostalgic--stage-based narrative. (It's possible Hughes' estate would have to grant different permissions for something like this; Paolo and I are both surprised The Breakfast Club has yet to be turned into a Broadway musical and would be happy to produce one.)

Still, for whatever it isn't, I'm glad I saw Dear John Hughes for what it is.

The entire cast was excellent,
including not only Wood, Harris, Payson Lewis, Michael Thomas Grant and James Byous as the five Breakfast Clubbers plus characters such as Ferris, Cameron, Watts, Duckie and the Weird Science guys, but also a pair of host-duty singers, Chicago natives Patrick Mulvey and Jackie Seiden.

Mulvey did a nifty job addressing the crowd and personifying authority figures such as Mr. Vernon from The Breakfast Club and the Principal from Ferris Bueller, while Seiden sang terrifically and made for a sexy ersatz Kelly LeBrock (Weird Science) among other characterizations.

Many of the songs those with even minor Hughes devotion might assume to be included, were. And while I can be a stickler when it comes to cover versions, "Pretty in Pink" (The Psychedelic Furs), "True" (Spandau Ballet), "Twist and Shout" (The Beatles), "If You Were Here" (The Thompson Twins) and "If You Leave" (OMD) were all given rather satisfying renditions within a 25+ deep songlist.

Simple Minds' "Don't You (Forget About Me)" from The Breakfast Club was played, rousingly, both at the beginning and end. While the song will likely continue to have more staying power for me than this 2-hour melange of movies, music and theater, Dear John Hughes is a nice love letter to the late filmmaker who helped define not only the 80s, but the high school experience in a far more universal and eternal manner.

While I can't describe For the Record: Dear John Hughes as being "Like, totally awesome"--a somewhat askew 80s' reference--I also can't knock it as being less than true to its intent. Or to the late music-punctuating pop-film auteur to whom it pays reverent homage.

Strong Performances, Spry Songs Power Not-Quite-Legendary Portrait of 'Clemente' -- Chicago Theater Review

Theater Review

Clemente: The Legend of 21
written & directed by Luis Caballero
with music by Harold Gutierrez

presented by Night Blue Performing Arts Company
at Stage 773, Chicago
Thru September 14
@@@

A few weeks ago--on August 18 to be exact--I noticed on Wikipedia that it would have been the 80th birthday of the late, great Roberto Clemente.

Although I was too young to ever see the legendary Pittsburgh Pirates rightfielder play, I asked on Facebook if any others had, and was pleased to note a couple nice remembrances.

For like Hank Aaron, Willie Mays, Mickey Mantle, Sandy Koufax, Frank Robinson, Ernie Banks and others, Clemente was one of those hallowed names whose careers preceded my baseball fandom, but whose brilliance continued to engender reverence throughout my youth--and ever since.

But Roberto Clemente was particularly venerated, given the tragic plane crash that took his life on the last day of 1972, while on a humanitarian mission to Nicaragua. His heroic exploits, off-the-field and on--known to me largely through Cubs rain-delay highlights of the 1971 World Series, in which Clemente batted .414 to lead the Pirates to the title--were divinely punctuated for the history books by his career having ended with exactly 3,000 hits.

In having noted his birthday and watching some clips on YouTube, I reflected that it would probably be valuable to watch a documentary of Clemente--though I don't know of a particular one--or even to delve into the David Maraniss biography of him that has long collected dust on my bookshelf.

Though not usurping the benefit of the above, just a few days later I heard--via my baseball-loving friend Dave--of the Chicago premiere of Clemente: The Legend of 21, a stage work recommended by Sun-Times theater critic Hedy Weiss.

All the more intrigued in learning that Clemente is a musical--or, whatever the delineation, a play with music, as the singing is live but not always narrative and the music is pre-recorded--I got a discounted ticket via HotTix and attended on Sunday afternoon.

I was impressed by the size of the cast and my inference that some in it likely traveled from Clemente's homeland of Puerto Rico just for this production, which is being presented by the Night Blue Performing Arts Company at the Stage 773 theater complex on Belmont, just west of Racine.

Under the direction of author Luis Caballero, the staging employs good use of video to accompany Clemente's biography--though not enough baseball footage, IMO--and the good handful of songs by Harold Gutierrez are largely enjoyable, the best part of the show.

But there aren't enough songs to drive the story, only accompany it, and though I had no problem with the choice of the tunes being sung in Clemente's native Spanish--with English supertitles, also used for a great deal of Spanish dialogue--my lack of fluency didn't aid my ability to follow the script, which seemed somewhat cursory and disjointed.

As the adult Clemente, Modesto Lacén is really good, as is Jonathan Amaro Ramos as teenage Roberto, and Lorraine Velez is quite pleasing and well-sung as the slugger's wife Vera.

Clemente: The Legend of 21 is a work I wanted to like a lot more than I did, and even with its flaws should be worthwhile, valuable and appealing for many, so I don't wish to harp on its shortcomings.

But I was rather confused by a seemingly central character named Ramiro Martinez, who with a huge mustache and quasi-buffoonish persona reminded me all-too-much of Andy Kaufman's Tony Clifton alter ego. Not only was I unsure of his connection to Clemente, but tt was also hard at times just to understand what he was saying; I wished for supertitles even though he was speaking in English.

In itself, this wasn't a debilitating detraction, and nothing about Clemente is unwatchably bad, just not theatrically superlative. Though again, in dotting a narrative that stretches too far without delving too deep, and feels like a sequence of episodes rather than cohesively or acutely explanatory, the Latin-infused songs are truly pleasurable.

So even in being happy to consider Clemente for whatever illumination it added to a hero I should know more about, I can't say I learned all that much about the man and even less about the ballplayer.

I don't mean any disrespect to the admirable efforts of the cast, crew and creators, but given the baseball milieu I can't help but recall the exhortations of "Nice cut!" I would hear in Little League when I swung and missed.

Sure, it would have been preferable if I actually hit the ball, but to miss with a fair amount of aplomb, well, I guess it counts for something.

In Embodying Sammy Davis Jr. in New 'Why Not Me?' Sean Blake is Mr. Wonderful -- Chicago Theater Review

Theater Review

Why Not Me? A Sammy Davis Jr. Story
a world premiere play by Tim Rhoze
Fleetwood-Jourdain Theatre
at Noyes Cultural Arts Center, Evanston, IL
Thru August 24
@@@@

I was never really a big fan of Sammy Davis Jr.

That's one of those tricky, oft-misleading phrases that seems to connote dislike or aversion, but I don't recall ever having negative feelings about Sammy, who died in 1990--when he was 64 and I was 21.

I enjoyed his version of "The Candy Man" from the Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory (though he wasn't in it), Billy Crystal's loving parody of him on Saturday Night Live and Davis' renown as part of the epitome-of-cool (to those of a certain age) Rat Pack, along with Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin and others.

Being Jewish myself, I was tickled whenever I learned that the African-American Davis had converted to Judaism. (Though I may have only heard it after his death, I love this story as recapped on Wikipedia: One day on a golf course with Jack Benny, Sammy was asked what his handicap was. "Handicap?" he asked. "Talk about handicap -- I'm a one-eyed Negro Jew.")

So by saying that I was never a big fan, I simply mean that I never saw or had any inclination to see Sammy Davis Jr. perform live (if the possibility ever even existed), nor do I remember expressly tuning into any televised performances, watching his movies, seeking out any recordings or reading much about his life. 

Even since his death.

But even though my knowledge of Sammy Davis Jr. was rather scant, my awareness of him was pretty much constant. 

In a way few performers are today--I can't readily think of many apt comparisons, though the late, great Robin Williams probably qualifies--Sammy Davis Jr. was someone that seemingly everyone at a certain point would have being aware of.

Even in the 1980s, when he was mostly relegated to guest starring roles on TV shows, it's hard to imagine many people in their young teens or any older, in America but also far beyond, being completely oblivious to Sammy. 

But though I've always known of him, I have to admit that beyond the Rat Pack, the Judaism, "The Candy Man" and the fact that he had a glass eye, even until this past weekend I really didn't know very much about him. 

In a way, the new play Why Not Me? A Sammy Davis Jr. Story taught me a good bit more about Davis in three ways. 

Impressively written by Tim Rhoze, artistic director of Evanston's erstwhile Fleetwood-Jourdain Theatre, which is staging the world premiere over three weekends at the Noyes Cultural Arts Center, the show is a one-man biographical overview with a couple songs but not a musical revue. 

Starring Sean Blake, who is truly fantastic in embodying the legendary singer, dancer, actor and bon vivant, Why Not Me? covers Sammy becoming a star performer at a young age--in the Will Mastin Trio, a dance troupe also featuring Sammy Davis Sr. 

Rhoze's script not only frequently cites Sinatra--with Blake as Davis doing a wicked impression--and Dino, but others important to Sammy's career and life: Billie Holiday, Mickey Rooney, Count Basie, Eddie Cantor, May Britt (a Swedish actress he married in 1960) and Kim Novak, who he had a late-1950s romance with that he was bullied--and much worse--out of due to racism and a taboo against miscegenation. 

In one of the play's most surprising moments, Davis tells of an ugly snub by a President one might not suspect. 

Along with recounting other instances of terrible racism, much more upbeat stories of growing stardom and warts-and-all disclosure of the star's multiple addictions, the 100-minute show spends a good period of time conveying the circumstances and aftermath of the 1954 car accident that cost Sammy his left eye. 

It doesn't deeply detail Davis' conversion to Judaism, which happened around the same time, but does a nice job in showcasing his fortitude--and the encouragement of friends--in carrying on his career post-accident. 

For the mere $10 Fleetwood-Jourdain is charging, Why Not Me? A Sammy Davis Story is well-worth your time, if just for Blake's performance, easily one of the best I've seen onstage this year.  

Though I feel @@@@ out of 5 fairly represents my qualitative assessment, given my regard for what Rhoze, Blake and the Fleetwood-Jourdain have concocted for just a 6-show run at bargain prices, you can consider this an emphatic recommendation for anyone with the time to learn about one of the 20th century's most legendary performers. (Shows are at 7:00pm Saturday and 3:00pm Sunday the next two weekends; find tickets through this link.)

Whatever the monologue leaves out--and my being unsure about why the structure is that of Davis having an imagined conversation with another star, and why that particular one--as I referenced a few paragraphs back, the show helped further my knowledge of Sammy Davis Jr. in two ways beyond the staging itself. 

It made me read more about Davis, on Wikipedia and elsewhere, and it prompted me to listen to some of Sammy's music on Spotify and look up videos--as for "The Candy Man"--on YouTube. 

I realize that not everyone will embark on auxilary pre- and post-show explorations and that any work of theater--or cinema, as I felt similar about Get On Up, the new James Brown bio-pic--should stand on its own.

But with so much accompanying material readily available to those who seek it, it is perhaps less incumbent on a biographical work to tell you everything about its subject, rather than to make you want to learn more.  

Thanks to a very well-paced--and clearly deeply-researched--piece by Rhoze, who also directs it, and a remarkable performance by Blake, Why Not Me? does that and more. 

Sammy Davis Jr. clearly deserves a bit more of my regard, and this impressive new stage work deserves yours. 

Impressive Feet? Certainly, but 'Heartbeat of Home' Rarely Quickens My Pulse -- Chicago Theater / Dance Review

Theater / Dance Review

Heartbeat of Home

Oriental Theatre, Chicago
Thru March 16
@@@1/2

With a stage full of incredibly talented and attractive performers, Heartbeat of Home--a new step dancing extravaganza from the producers of Riverdance--was never unpleasant to watch.

The dancers showcased dazzling artistry, athleticism, syncopation and dexterity through a succession of numbers that varied greatly in style and tone.

The onstage band was demonstrably terrific as it rhythmically traveled across Irish, Latin, African and other global musical languages, sometimes within the same song.

An occasional solo vocalist, Lucia Evans, had a lovely voice that richly carried to the last row of the spacious Oriental Theater.

And the nearly full house gave the tireless performers--totaling 40 dancers and musicians--a well-deserved standing ovation on the show's first night of its U.S. tour.

So if you want to know if Heartbeat of Home is good and if I liked it, "Yes" would be my unadorned answer to both.

But if the question is, "Did I love it?" or "Would I want to see it again?" well, "No, not really."

So I would really only recommended it--at least for considerably more than the $10 I paid as a Broadway in Chicago subscriber with cheap seats--to those who love Riverdance.

Given that that show has been seen by untold millions and has raked in untold billions, that's a pretty expansive recommendation.

And as referenced above, the dancers and musicians are remarkably skilled, and--even as viewed through binoculars from the very top of the theater--rather stunning. I specifically cite Ciara Sexton because she is the top-listed and foremost featured dancer, but she is just one of several gorgeous women and men. It's not hard to imagine this cast may be having a whole lot of fun back at the hotel.

Yet while I enjoyed the fusion of steps and sounds of various worldwide origins, and relished seeing several of the dances--particularly the large group numbers with lots of loud tapping--I was more impressed than ever really captivated.

Ciara Sexton

Admittedly, I am less fond of interpretive and non-narrative entertainment--such as Cirque du Soleil--than I am of more traditional musical theater, plays and rock concerts featuring songs I know and love.

Consequently, while I have enjoyed a couple ballets, absolutely loved tap dancer extraordinare Savion Glover again a few weeks ago and did see Riverdance some years back, dance shows are a rather small part of my live entertainment diet.

I haven't often sought them out, nor truly embraced them when I have.

While I am genuinely amazed at what great dancers--or acrobats, STOMPers, etc.--can do, I usually find the first and/or best 10 minutes sufficient, rather than remaining truly engrossed for two hours or more.

In watching Heartbeat of Home, I perceived that were I to see any one or a few of the dancers as street performers, my mind would be blown by just how awesome they are at an art form that really is pretty cool.

But while I don't mean to convey that Heartbeat of Home is simply two hours of the same thing, as some of the more specialized numbers between the mass step dances that open and close the show are rather imaginative and most quite well done--a construction crew "high beam" piece is emphatically both--too few of the roughly 120 minutes had me acutely wowed. And if there was any type of thematic or narrative strain throughout the various dances, it was lost on me.

Without explicitly remembering Riverdance, my understanding is that this new show is akin, albeit with
greater global flavoring enhancing the Irish step dancing conceit of the original blockbuster.

And, according to the show's producer Moya Doherty in this Tribune piece by Chris Jones, the dancers' skill level has advanced considerably since the rise of Riverdance.

John McColgan, who worked on that show with Doherty, conceived and directs this one; he also introduced it in person on Tuesday night. Brian Byrne is the composer of all original music, Joseph O'Connor the lyricist on the vocal pieces and David Bolger the choreographer. I'll also note percussionist, Steve Holloway, who has considerable front-and-center stage time playing a hand-held drum.

If Heartbeat of Home sounds like something you would like, I have no reason to suggest that you wouldn't. The warm standing ovation certain bespeaks that most in attendance seemed to love it. (Discount tickets seem to be available on both HotTix and Goldstar.)

And while this line is always somewhat blurred, my @@@1/2 (out of 5) rating is likely less representative of the quality of the production than simply my own enjoyment of it.

I'm glad I saw it, and am always happen to expand my cultural horizons, but can I conceive paying over $50 to ever see this show again?

Perhaps, but certainly not in a heartbeat.

--

Below is a short Heartbeat of Home promotional video from Broadway in Chicago. A longer one can be found here.