Life comes at you fast. We go about our lives, navigating the ups and the downs, never really thinking of more than the day to day, the little irritations of work, or being consumed by a new love. Then, as it always seems to go, something upends our life, like a life threatening illness. Suddenly everything that once consumed our thoughts becomes trivial, eclipsed by the momumentalness of the new reality. While most could succumb to the pressure of such news, others persevere, determined to live their life on their terms, regardless of knowing what lies ahead of them. This very real life scenario played out in Melissa Ross’ 'The Luckiest'.
Lissette and Peter are best friends living their best lives. But when an out-of-nowhere diagnosis shatters Lissette's world, Peter is left trying to pick up the pieces. Suddenly finding herself at odds with her best friend and her mom – who each come bearing strong opinions wrapped in good intentions – Lissette is forced to navigate between the two while unflinchingly forging her own path for her future. This tender, funny, and keenly-observed play explores the uncertain and sometimes heartbreaking territory of how we choose to take ownership of our lives. Melissa Ross’ moving play, full of heartbreak and hilarity makes its Chicago Premiere.
As one who nows cries at every sad or beautiful movie, play, or song, I fully expected to be clutching a tissue all evening while watching The Luckiest. As I watched Lissette, played by Cassidy Slaughter-Mason, and Peter, played by Christopher Wayland, throughout their friendship we see a beautiful complex narrative that forces the question, “who really is the luckiest?” Is the luckiest Lissette, who, despite this life ending illness, chooses her own fate and lives her life unabashedly? Is she the luckiest to have had such a friend as Peter, who helped her navigate her life with the illness? Perhaps the luckiest is Peter, who is lucky to have met and befriended Lissette, lucky to have had him in her life. One could say Lissette’s mother, played by Tara Mallen, is the luckiest to hae been there for her daughter in her time of need. Consider for a moment that the luckiest people are the survivors, Peter and Lissette’s mother, who live on no longer under the weight of caretaking nor bearers of the weight of such a onerous decision. Maybe the luckiest person is the one who chooses to leave this world, no longer in pain or heartache.
The beauty of Melissa Ross’ 'The Luckiest' is that the lucky one is in the eye of the beholder. She holds a mirror to our lives with honesty, grounding, and even a little dark humor. I happen to think that we, the audience, are the lucky ones. We’re lucky to be spectators to such a story, to have our health and ability to see Lisette and hear her words, and walk away from the play knowing we too could have our lives changed at any moment; a reminder to live our lives. 'The Luckiest' is a substantioanlly light play that is sure to stay with you long after you leave the theatre, and we are all the more lucky for it.
'The Luckiest' is playing at Raven Theatre located at 6157 N. Clark Street, Chicago, IL 60660 through June 9th. Tickets are available at https://www.raventheatre.com/stage/the-luckiest/.
Dancing normally isn't my thing, but literature is. And "The Yellow Wallpaper" by Charlotte Perkins Gilman is, surprisingly, a better candidate than most short stories for a dance interpretation. It starts as something quaint, recognizable, and spirals its way into madness: something dance and music can convey potently.
Gilman's feminist classic "The Yellow Wallpaper" brought much-needed light to the issue of women's mental health when it was published in 1892, and it still sheds light on this often misunderstood experience today.
The postpartum-suffering protagonist of this story wants to be heard, but her husband silences her at every turn — confining her to the house, isolating her from friends, even discouraging her from writing — leaving her anxiety and confusion nowhere to turn but inward. She starts seeing things in the yellow wallpaper of her bedroom. She sees a woman trapped behind bars, her own situation playing out in the wallpaper every night. By the end, she and her hallucination are one and the same. With no other outlet for her emotions, she's turned herself into something flat and silent, but weirdly free.
And to see this all acted out through dance is visceral and wonderful.
This joint production by Chicago Danztheatre Ensemble and RE Dance Group comprises of two shows: "The Attic Room" by RE Dance and "The Yellow Wallpaper" by Danztheatre. The choreography by Michael Estanich and Ellyzabeth Adler, respectively, is desperate and graceful, the characters losing control in one moment and suspiciously, blithely sedated the next. The dance incorporated into the story was emotive and seamless. As a dance dummy, these vague terms are the best I can use to describe it, but what I can say is it made me feel things.
What was an unreliable narrator on paper, too wrapped in her psychosis to describe herself objectively, is now right in front of us, slowly losing it and crying out for help. While "The Attic Room" is more abstract, both productions depict a slow undoing of a character's reality, and the helplessness and confinement of not understanding her own mind.
"The Attic Room" and "The Yellow Wallpaper" are playing November 19th & 20th at 8PM at 1650 W Foster Ave. Tickets at Danztheatre's website.
If RENT made a baby with an episode of Dateline, the result might be something like Murder Ballad, the musical. This rock opera tells the story of a love triangle gone out of control, and there is much in the way of drama, energetic pop/rock anthems, suspense, and -- you guessed it -- murder.
In New York City, Sara is an Upper West sider who seemingly has it all: money, a good husband, a beautiful daughter, but she also harbors a dark, destructive past that was never fully left behind. When she reconnects with her unpredictable ex, Tom, her life takes a turn towards the chaotic and explosive.
The audience is launched head-first into the story as the four-person cast of Murder Ballad belts and wails their way through 75 minutes of frenzied rock numbers, strung together by a crooning fly-on-the-wall narrator. A unique element of this show is the voyeuristic set-up and theme. Essentially, you are sitting in Sara's kitchen, and Tom's bedroom, and the King's Club, the divey downtown joint that serves as the homebase for this tale. You're not onstage or offstage, you're sharing the space with these folks. You can even order a complimentary drink at the bar before showtime, then take a seat with your friends to hungrily watch the plot unfold. Because after all, to paraphrase from the show's finale, drama is delicious entertainment, "until it happens to you."
Murder Ballad, created by Julia Jordan and Juliana Nash, and directed by James Beaudry, is playing at the Flat Iron Arts Building (1579 N Milwaukee Ave) until May 9th. Tickets available at bailiwickchicago.com.
Five years ago, anonymous graffiti artists caused quite the hubub at the Modern Wing of the Chicago Art Institute when they "bombed" a major wall of the wing. Their message was clear: THIS is modern art. While a clever, powerful statement, and seemingly jabbing at the art that resides within the walls of the modern art wing, it presents a paradox: Isn't graffiti, by definition, a rebellious art? Would graffiti still be as powerful and compelling if it were inside the museum rather than outside?
This Is Modern Art, written by Kevin Coval, attempts to answer these and hundreds of other questions regarding high art versus common art versus street art and so on. The play, while neither a knuckle-whitening drama nor a belly-clenching comedy, merely seeks to educate the viewer on this commonplace, yet mysterious, art form. You'll learn the differences between "tags," "stickers," "throw-ups," and "pieces," short for "masterpieces." You'll learn the names of dozens of Chicago graffiti artists, or "writers" as they're called. You'll see what goes into "bombing" -- spray painting an urban canvas as much as possible without getting caught -- a city location, the preparation that needs to be done, the items to have, the backup plan, the lookout, the logistics... it practically gives you a how-to guide.
We pass by graffiti every day in this city. Some of us may see it as an eye sore that should be scrubbed away, as vandalism, as criminal activity. Conversely, some of us may see it as art that makes the city more vibrant and beautiful, as spontaneous creativity, as colorful accents on a gray urban backdrop.
But what does this art say? What does it do? It wants to be respected and appreciated, surely. It wants recognition from those who decide what belongs in a museum and snub it as low art. But does graffiti even want to be in a museum? In and of itself, graffiti is rebellion. It's anti-establishment. It's instant social/political commentary. And it's fleeting, temporary. If the Art Institute commissioned a graffiti writer to fill a wall inside the museum, could this still be considered graffiti? Or would it lose the essential qualities that make it graffiti art?
Maybe the point isn't to be in a museum; maybe graffiti seeks to dismantle these labels and present the notion that art should be free and accessible to everyone. Maybe, and most likely, it just wants to get us talking, and if we are, then it has done its job.
This Is Modern Art (based on true events) is playing at Steppenwolf's Downstairs Theatre through March 14th. Tickets may be purchased at the box office or by calling 312-335-1650.
"But how does one know if they've gone mad?" asks Alice of the elusive Cheshire Cat as he swings on a rail, hanging twenty feet off the ground. "You see, a dog growls when it's angry, and wags its tail when it's pleased," he answers. "Now, I growl when I'm pleased, and wag my tail when I'm angry." He grins and disappears, leaving a baffled Alice to contemplate the difference between madness and sanity, the similarities they share, and whether or not they might just be one in the same.
Set in the alternate world that exists beyond – or through – the parlor mirror, Lookingglass Alice is based on Lewis Carroll's sequel to the ever-familiar Alice's Adventures in Wonderland: Through the Looking-Glass. So instead of going down the rabbit hole, we literally step through the looking-glass into a dreamy (and sometimes nightmarish) world of opposites, nonsense, and whimsy, as if we too have dozed off after a game of chess and awake to find a new dimension waiting for us above the fireplace mantle.
With or without its befitting name, the Lookingglass Theatre couldn't be a more apt setting in which to tell this tale, with its open, industrial structure taking the viewer out of the space of traditional theatre and promising something more immediate and exciting.
Part children's entertainment, part Cirque du Soleil, part vicarious drug trip, Alice takes the audience on a journey simultaneously magical and dark, funny and frightening, alarming and calming, and above all, surreal. Characters have different proportions through the looking-glass, some excessively tall, some uncharacteristically small; one can run fast for hours and wind up in the very same spot from which they started; Red Queens float on umbrellas in the ocean; cats play with oversized balls of yarn (or is it you who are under-sized?); Alice spins so fast on a suspended hoop you don't know which end is her head and which are her legs – the visual equivalent of how both the audience and the heroine feel after their disorienting passage into the world within the mirror.
A very physical show, Alice is the sort of spectacle meant to be enjoyed by all types of audiences. Young children might be best left at home – the loud noises, confusion, and surreality of it all can be a little overwhelming – but it's undoubtable that physical feats like continuous two-person backflips, the lifting and balancing of actors as though they were weightless, and an anxious finale where Alice wraps herself in ropes mid-air and falls without hitting the ground will impress adults, teens, and kids alike.
Remarkably executed by a vastly talented five-person cast, Alice is less a play than it is an experience. It's colorful and unpredictable. What it lacks in plot, it makes up for in intrigue. Where it forgets logic, it remembers absurdity. You may run in place for ninety minutes and end up in the self-same spot, but you'll have gained a gleeful acceptance of your own madness and the insight that our world is not always as it looks.
Lookingglass Alice, directed by David Catlin, is playing at the Water Tower Water Works space at 821 N Michigan Ave through February 15th, 2015.
Does your theatre company want to connect with Buzz Center Stage or would you like to reach out and say "hello"? Message us through facebook or shoot us an email at This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it..
*This disclaimer informs readers that the views, thoughts, and opinions expressed in the text belong solely to the author, and not necessarily to Buzz Center Stage. Buzz Center Stage is a non-profit, volunteer-based platform that enables, and encourages, staff members to post their own honest thoughts on a particular production.