Displaying items by tag: City Lit Theater

August Wilson stipulated only Black directors should direct his plays. It stemmed from his deep commitment to authentic representation and cultural integrity. He argued Black directors could interpret and present certain themes with the depth, empathy, and insight needed to convey them most authentically. Wilson believed the lived experiences, cultural nuances, and historical context present in his plays could best be brought to life, understood and respected by Black directors who shared a similar cultural heritage. In essence, he expected people who directed his plays to love the characters they were directing as much as he loved writing about them.

Well Mr. Wilson, All skin folk ain’t kin folk.

Seven Guitars is a play starting at the end and going back in time. It follows a group of friends coping with the untimely death of blues musician Floyd Barton while wrestling with the limits and dreams imposed on Black lives in 1940s America. The ensemble cast is central to the show’s success, with each character embodying layers of longing, loyalty, and love that add depth to Wilson’s poetic language.

In this production, however, some casting choices felt mismatched with the characters’ intended ages, energies, and complexities. Certain portrayals lacked the weight and authenticity needed to embody the nuanced lives that Wilson’s script demands. The performances are inconsistent—some actors appear lost in their roles, while others deliver exaggerated, almost cartoonish portrayals. (looking at you, Louise)

City Lit Theatre’s production of Seven Guitars lacks the intensity and passion that August Wilson’s powerful exploration of life, death, and legacy deserves. Director Manny Buckley’s approach feels disengaged from the depth of Wilson’s themes, as though he hasn’t fully connected with the material. While Wilson’s script is rich in emotion, humor, and cultural resonance, this staging fails to convey its urgency.

Buckley’s pacing choices drain the tension from key scenes, glossing over the simmering conflicts and moments of introspection that make Seven Guitars so compelling. Wilson’s language has a rhythm and weight that demands careful attention to pauses, silences, and crescendos, yet here, the emotional beats feel rushed or muted, leaving pivotal moments flat. Some scenes even verge on the absurd—such as when Buckley directs Hedley to violently cough over chicken he plans to sell to mourners in the Hill District, seemingly for laughs. This choice feels not only out of place but shockingly inappropriate.

Amid the muddled direction, Jordan Gleaves, fresh from a stirring performance in Remy Bumppo’s Blues for an Alabama Sky, and Maureen Azzun, who shone in Lifeline’s Native Son, brought life and electricity to the stage. Their powerful performances cut through the otherwise lackluster production, offering moments of raw emotion and intensity that felt like glimpses of what Seven Guitars could have been in more capable hands.

The set was a highlight, beautifully capturing the close-knit, intimate feel that brings Wilson’s work to life. Its small-scale design made the Hill District feel raw and authentic, pulling the audience right into the characters’ world, where every word and glance felt personal. While the production itself fell short, the set worked hard to bring out the emotional intensity that Seven Guitars deserves.

In the end, this production misses the mark, offering a rendition that feels more like a going-through-the-motions approach rather than a tribute to one of America’s greatest playwrights. Seven Guitars deserves to be a gut-wrenching, heart-stirring experience—yet at City Lit, it struggles to rise beyond a mere recital of lines, falling short of Wilson’s powerful exploration of the human spirit.

Well Mr. Wilson, All skin folk ain’t kin folk.

SOMEWHAT RECOMMENDED

When: Through Dec. 1

Where: City Lit Theater 1020 W. Bryn Mawr Avenue Chicago

Tickets: $12 - $35

www.citylit.org

I arrived at City Lit Theater’s MURDER IN THE CATHEDRAL expecting a heavy, serious, doubtless thought-provoking but rather intimidating major work of literature. By the end of the performance, I wanted to rush out, buy the book and read it immediately. Any production that accomplishes this in three hours must be called a success!

At its most basic level T.S. Eliot’s play is a meditation on Christian martyrdom in a time of great political stress. The quotation from Alexai Navalny, “I’m on the very blackest part of the blacklist,” on the program’s front-page links this theme directly to the times we live in today.  The script was almost entirely in verse (how else would the Nobel Prize-winning poet write a play?) and at many points the extended alliteration and vivacious rhyme remind one of “Skimbleshanks, the Railway Cat,” or “Macavity’s a Mystery Cat, he’s called the Hidden Paw,” and the other wonderful TS Eliot poems that gave us the lyrics to Cats.  

Production operated from many levels. Patti Roeder designed costumes ranging from modern business suits to carefully constructed evocations of medieval garb. The various social classes and estates were delineated, with the Chorus [Sally Olson, Isabel Schmitz, Katarina Bakas, Kara Chandler] representing the working poor of Canterbury while the rich and politically powerful barons were embodied in the Tempters [Sean Harklerode, Varris Holmes, Robert Howard], who doubled as Knights with Fourth Knight Zach Kunde, who also played Messenger.  The Priests of the Cathedral were played by John Blick, Stephen Fedo, and Joel Thompson. As a whole the entire cast was splendid and Paul Chakrin’s fight choreography gave us a bloodcurdling assassination.

Which brings us to Becket himself, masterfully played by James Sparling and appareled with consummate attention to detail. I have no idea what vestments a Roman Catholic archbishop of the 12th Century wore or how his acolytes invested him. I do know what a present-day Anglo-Catholic priest wears and how she vests herself, and costume director Patti Roeder nailed it precisely.

The stage was in the sanctuary of Edgewater Presbyterian Church, and Director [and outgoing Producer and Artistic Director] Terry McCabe presented the play in the (semi) round. The central aisle leading to the stage area in front of an altar table and pulpit was, of course, singularly appropriate, and Mike McShane’s lighting through the stained glass behind the altar had a great effect.  But the most amazing contribution was that of composer Phillip Seward, who set the verses of the four-member chorus (think Greek chorus, not Chorus Line) to haunting music in his world-premiere score.

 The four singer / actresses articulated Eliot’s lines, now lyrics, with great clarity and their four-part harmony was flawless.  As in a Greek play, these chorus members were not characterized in the script, yet their acting ability, as well as subtle cues from their costumes, allowed me to imagine the sort of women they were “in real life” as they went about their arduous daily rounds in the 12th Century city of Canterbury.

The role of the chorus is to propel the plot, and the music – pianist Jacob Adams punctuated by hammered chimes – intensified that effect.  The first act, while intellectually heavy, sped by, and the composer closed with an allusion to a somber, minor key Advent hymn, “O Come, O Come, Emmanuel” – a falling melody line that carries the lyric, “and ransom captive Israel” – a ransom of martyrs’ blood.  

Dialect coach Carrie Hardin’s work with the cast is clearly evident in the British r-lessness, but for the first minutes I wished she’d paid more attention to de-nasalizing the a’s.  However, I soon stopped noticing this. I was particularly intrigued by the choice to portray Becket’s internal conflict as a dialog alternating his middle-class British accent with a working class, almost Cockney style of speech.  

All the performances were strong, but I was particularly impressed with Sparling somehow managing to make Becket not only compelling but also, for me at least, annoying.  Historically, Becket’s assassination was spurred when King Henry II flew into a temper and shouted, “Will no-one rid me of this meddlesome priest?!”  Four of his loyalists took him literally, traveled to Canterbury and, indeed, murdered Becket there in the Cathedral.  How seriously Henry actually meant the comment is unknowable, but I found myself empathizing with his exasperation. 

This reviewer, as it happens, spent 8th grade in England and this period of English history was on that year’s curriculum.  Knowing a bit about the politics of that time was helpful in my understanding the speeches of the first act.  For anyone lacking a middle school level of familiarity with 12^th Century English history, this Wikipedia article covers what Mr. Dowthwaite told us in class.  

Highly recommended!

Playing through June 16 at City Lit Theater.

All my gratitude to Elizabeth Vann for her invaluable assistance in composing this review.

It’s hard to imagine now, but in 1954, the U.S. Senate began investigating publishers of comic books, tapping psychologists who linked a rise in juvenile delinquency to comics depicting lurid stories and violent criminals. The nation was perhaps primed for the investigation, as the move came during the Senate’s ongoing McCarthy era pogrom against suspected communists during the Red Scare.

“The Innocence of Seduction” recounts this inconceivable (maybe not given book ban efforts today) but true story, and so delightfully and with such panache that you will be completely entertained. WIth a passionate cast of 15 players, and an inventive script by Mark Pracht (who also directs), each scene opens much like a panel in a comic book. This is Pracht’s second work in a projected “Four-Color Trilogy” about the illustrated periodicals and is the opener for City Lit’s forty-third season.

We meet real characters from actual comic book publishers, including Entertainment Comics’ William Gaines (played with gusto by Sean Harklerode), and his counterparts from St. John Publishing (Archer St. John is played by John Blick.)and Quality Comics. Key individuals in the saga are accompanied by their true-life, fleshed out backstories, which in the 1950’s made them vulnerable to compromise by background work done by J. Edgar Hoover’s minions at the FBI. 

Among these are Matt Baker (Brian Bradford), a Black closeted gay artist of romance comics, and Janice Valleau (Megan Clarke), creator of a women detective comics and artist behind the Archie Comics spin-off “Veronica and Betty.”  Representing expert psychologists connecting comics to social ills is Dr. Frederic Wertham, also a real life figure, whose commentary is interjected in vignettes very much like a comic book panel. Played so very well by Frank Nall, Dr. Wertham’s scenes gradually move from restrained scientific commentary to ever more dire rants and ultimately, darkly comic interjections.

Notable in the production are a 1950-styled big-screen for presenting comic images—credit to G. "Max" Maxin IV for Scenic, Lighting and Projection Design. Exceptional work was done by Beth Laske-Miller (Costume Designer), Petter Wahlbäck (Composer and Sound Design), Alison Dornheggen (Violence and Intimacy Design), and Jeff Brain (Props Design).

“The Innocence of Seduction” shows how, as politics entered an arena in which it didn’t belong, the public responded to this newly contrived hot-button issue, with comic book burnings blossoming in towns around the U.S. Playwright Pracht has packed it all in this work, and we meet Senators Robert Henrickson (Paul Chakrin) and Estes Kefauver (Robin Trevino), as well as jurist Charles Murphy (Chuck Munro), who was appointed the first arbiter of what could pass muster under the comic book publishing code.

Comics long bore the mark of that era, a self-policing censorship program evident on the covers of everything from Superman to The Thing through 2011: the Comics Code Authority seal of approval. Today we have abandoned fears of what at the time was deemed a threat to society. The code forbade the use of “horror or terror” in comic titles and banned the depiction of “walking dead, torture, vampires and vampirism, ghouls, cannibalism, and werewolfism.” Now societal backlash is whipped up by politicians over "wokeness, " Black history, and LGBTQ education. 

Pracht shows us that Judge Murphy’s thumbs up or down was at times capricious and idiosyncratic - as formalized censorship always is and must be. The comic-styled program for the show draws a connection to the surge in attempts to banned books, including graphic novels, in schools and libraries today.

While aspects of the various personal human dramas play out in overdrawn melodrama, perhaps this is in keeping with the subject as well. Regardless, this is a highly recommended show, which runs through October 8 at City Lit Theater, 1020 W. Bryn Mawr in Chicago.

Owen Wister’s 1902 novel The Virginian: A Horseman of the Plains has been adapted for the stage at least once (by Wister himself along with a co-adaptor) and has had five screen adaptations, not including the television series based on it. This leads to the question of why it is necessary to adapt this seminal Western novel once again for the stage. According to director Terry McCabe, “The value of any national myth lies in its availability to everyone.” The diverse cast certainly seems to enjoy the opportunity to bring the well-worn trappings of the myth of the American West to life, and, hey, who wouldn’t? Wister’s novel is considered the first to introduce the Wild West to the American mainstream, with its black hat/white hat dichotomy, rough justice and rugged individualism. With prose capturing the unspoiled glory of Wyoming, both the novel and this new adaptation by L.C. Bernadine and Spencer Huffman evoke a time and place that exist only in the imagination, but nevertheless have shaped the “American Character.” Is it valuable to return to those dusty streets? This production does not make that case. Is it fun? Most certainly, especially in this tightly written adaptation, under the inventive direction of McCabe, with a creative and committed cast and design team.

L.C. Bernadine and Spencer Hufffman have done an excellent job of adapting Wister’s 400+-page novel into a stage version that clocks in at just over two hours, including the intermission. The play hews closely to the plot of the original, though the novel’s narrator has been eschewed with his elegiac praise of the Virginian and the Wyoming landscape assigned to other characters. In making the myth available to everyone, the playwrights have also made a few changes; for example, Steve calls The Virginian “Whiskey” instead of “Jeff” (for Jefferson Davis, which would be discordant in this production) to honor his Southern roots. The dialogue, much of it lifted from the novel, is remarkably fresh and entertaining, though the playwrights have used the time constraints and desire to preserve elements of the novel’s descriptive prose as an excuse to give proportionally more stage time to the female characters, which also allows for a more critical gaze at the mythological Western version of masculinity. There are also nods to the economic disparities between owners and employees, and the hardships faced by small-scale ranchers, as well as the nascent Women’s Suffrage Movement. Despite these changes, Bernadine and Huffman’s adaptation is a faithful rendering of the American classic.

Director Terry McCabe has more practice than anyone in dealing with the constraints of the tiny City Lit Theater space, and it shows in his ability to effectively shoehorn a sprawling Western into its confines without sacrificing the sprawl. First and foremost, McCabe embraces the fact that this is a stage adaptation, and his production deploys a wide range of theatrical devices with aplomb. He also embraces the sepia-toned nostalgia for an America that never was. The cowboys look cool in their jeans and gun belts, the ladies elegant in their high-waisted skirts. The costumes by LaVisa Williams perfectly capture this Western fantasy world. Resident set designer Ray Toler has created a set that bends and folds and pops out into various locations, with the Great Plains represented by beautiful rolling fabric drops. Though smoothly executed by the cast, the scene changes are helped along by composer/cellist Kellee Vandervall’s score, which emulates and incorporates American folk music (and Wister’s own compositions). Liz Cooper’s lighting design helps recreate the sundrenched colors of the Plains and focus the action. Steven Widerman of the Puppet Company designed the expressive horses, which are integral to the action.

The large ensemble cast is uniformly strong, smoothly moving from location to location, transforming the set as they go. The well-choreographed scene changes never break the momentum of the performances. Robert Hunter Bry brings a quiet, intelligent charm to the Virginian, convincingly filling the shoes of ranch foreman and architect of change in the West. As his love interest Molly Wood, the schoolmarm from Vermont, Liz Falstreau embodies the well-mannered rebelliousness of her role, and makes a solid case for reexamining the traditions of Western vigilantism. Ben Auxier brings enough dimension to the antagonist role of Trampas to almost garner sympathy—and enough to make some good points about the inequities of the democracy of the Wild West—but fortunately comes up short on this front to create a compelling villain. David Fink’s performance as animal-loving, gullible Shorty is affecting as he maintains his heart through adversity. Aaron Sarka is an affable, winningly impetuous Steve. Varris Holmes is charismatic and grounded as Judge Taylor, while bringing the necessary gravitas to the role. As Mrs. Taylor, Andie Dae brings just a touch of aristocracy to her strong-willed character. Tom Lally is imperious as the cruel ranch owner Balaam. Rounding out the cast of cowpokes are DC Cathro, Tyler DeLoatch, Tony DiPisa, and Huy Nguyen; each creates a distinct character that goes beyond the archetypes they are portraying to breathe life into the sometimes cliched dialogue. Likewise, as Molly’s relatives back home, Hilary Hensler and marssie Mencotti fully realize the characters behind their Vermont attitudes. Adele Watel brings spirit to both her Young Bride and sharp-tongued barmaid Krista. The horses could not horse without horse without the talented puppeteers who animate them: Linsey Falls, Sarah Franzel, Adele Watel and David Wiesenhahn, who allow the animals to not only move but express emotion. The horses are also given life by their “riders,” who each give them a distinct gait. 

The trend in Westerns these days is to go beyond the mythologizing to the harsh brutality that inspired it. This production does the opposite, though it does open the door to a more inclusive portrayal of the myth. The dialogue pays lip service to condemning extra-judicial killing, vendettas settled by showdowns at sundown, and unbridled masculinity, but the adaptation does not veer far enough from its source to make a serious stab at an alternate morality. The Virginian unabashedly celebrates the men who won the West with horses and six-shooters and opened the land to those who would come after with railroads and coal shovels. Terry McCabe’s City Lit Theater production of Owen Wister’s The Virginian: A Horseman of the Plains, as adapted by L.C. Bernadine and Spencer Huffman, is an enjoyable, fast-paced, inoffensive step back into a time that never really was, but that inspired generations, now made available to everyone.

The Virginian: A Horseman of the Plains runs through February 20 at City Lit Theater at 1020 W. Bryn Mawr Avenue, on the second floor of the historic Edgewater Presbyterian Church. Performances take place Fridays and Saturdays at 7:30 and Sundays at 3:00, as well as Mondays February 7 and 14 at 7:30. Tickets are $34, seniors $29, and students and military $12. Information about the run, including COVID policies and transportation, are available at www.citylit.org or by phone at 773-293-3682.

What’s the big deal about Sherlock Holmes? What is it that makes Sir Arthur Conan Doyle work some of the most well-known mysteries of all time? Sherlock Holmes and his adventures were published over a century ago, yet Doyle's writing has continuously surfaced through time on film, television, and theater. Could it be that Sherlock Holmes is simply a magnetic character that draws you in with his attention to detail, bravery, intellect, and supreme confidence? Or is it Doyle’s swift pen and ability to craft a memorable mystery? Terry McCabe’s adaption of The Hound of Baskervilles at City Lit Theater showcases Doyle’s writing at its finest.

Sir James Mortimer requests the service of Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson after his friend Sir Charles Baskerville dies suddenly from a heart attack. The expression on his face was one of horror. He goes to tell the infamous tale of the hound that haunts the men of Baskervilles and reveals that he discovered paw prints near the scene of the crime. Sherlock finds the tale of the hound ridiculous, but the details of the case interest him enough to investigate. Baskerville’s heir, Henry Baskerville, arrives from America to claim his inheritance with an anonymous note warning him to stay away for Baskerville’s Hall. Out of fear for Henry’s life, Holmes task Dr. Watson to accompany Henry and Mortimer to the Baskerville’s Hall, an isolated mansion surrounded by miles of wild moor. There Dr. Watson encounters shady characters, sounds of horror at night, and an escaped prisoner hiding among the moor. Holmes and Watson uncover it all and in the end discover that the truth was more terrifying than what they’d imagined.

James Sparling (Sherlock Holmes) appears on the stage as an almost spitting image of the great detective. He steps on and off the stage and snatches the audience’s attention with his movement and spot-on delivery. Adam Bitterman (Dr. Watson) reprises the role for the third time at City Lit theater. Bitterman’s talent and experience with the character may very well be the reason why he takes such a vigor command of the role. In this adaption, Bitterman is tasked to narrate and drive the play and does it without skipping a beat.

At a theater that was founded in 1979, City Lit continues to host gripping productions, but the small stage inevitably fails its material. The Hound of Baskerville is a story involving chase, a dark, foggy moor, an isolated mansion, and a vicious hound. These are elements that are left up to the imagination of the audience. Though this doesn’t ruin the production it gives moments of disappointment that makes you yearn to see a hound that’s asleep somewhere far away.

Bitterman’s performance allows the audience to understand why Doyle never wrote a mystery from Sherlock’s perspective. To watch Sherlock as Watson does and anticipate his arrival, wait anxiously for his conclusions, intertwines with the excitement of the mystery. Dr. Watson has never been as alluring as his counterpart, but he also never lost his ability to remain the most relatable character in Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s world.

Through November 10, 2019 at City Lit Theater.