Goodman Theatre launches its 2025/26 season at the Owen with Revolution(s), a world premiere musical that thunders with urgency and defiance. Written by Zayd Ayers Dohrn—2016 Horton Foote New American Play Prize winner and son of Bill Ayers, co-founder of the Weather Underground—the play carries the weight of history and the pulse of rebellion. With music by Tom Morello of Rage Against the Machine and Audioslave fame and direction by Steve H. Broadnax III, Revolution(s) explodes onto the stage as both a call to arms and a meditation on generational resistance.

Dohrn’s daring script weaves two timelines into one charged narrative. In 1989, African-American veteran Leon (Al’Jaleel McGhee) and his quick-thinking, idealistic wife Emma (Jackie Burns) find themselves fugitives, forced to flee with their newborn twin sons. Their flight captures the uneasy tension of a generation torn between paranoia and hope—a time when the dream of revolution still felt urgent and within reach. Fast forward to 2016, and those twins, now adults, grapple with the legacy their parents left behind. Hampton (Aaron James McKenzie), scarred by his service in Afghanistan, abandons his post and returns to Chicago’s South Side and to Lucia (Alysia Velez), his undocumented girlfriend who anchors him to a fragile sense of home. His brother Ernie (Jakiem Hart), once a prodigy on the guitar, has withdrawn from both his talent and the world—until Hampton’s unraveling forces him to confront the very past he’s been avoiding.

Broadnax directs with a ferocity that mirrors the play’s title, blending moments of tenderness and chaos with cinematic precision. He builds scenes that combust with tension and intimate ache, often within the same breath. The design work—gritty projections, steel scaffolding, and stark, rhythmic lighting—evokes both the bunker of a warehouse and the battlefield. There’s an immediacy here: revolution is not a metaphor, but a lived inheritance.

(L-R) Jakeim Hart and Aaron James McKenzie in Revolution(s).

Then there’s the music—pure Morello. The score, straight from the Rage Against the Machine playbook, fuses electric rebellion with spiritual yearning. Songs like “Battle Sirens,” “Hold the Line,” and “Whatever It Takes” roar as anthems of resistance, while “Rise to Power” and “Promenade” reveal unexpected warmth and vulnerability. The songs don’t so much advance the narrative as expand it, offering philosophical texture instead of plot propulsion. In Revolution(s), music is both protest and prayer—an act of survival.

What happens when the spirit of rebellion is passed down like trauma? What does it mean to inherit both resistance and loss? Revolution(s) suggests that revolution isn’t merely an act—it’s a legacy, coded into the body like memory or pain. Leon and Emma’s defiance becomes both a beacon and a burden for their sons, who carry the scars of a fight they didn’t choose but can’t escape. For Hampton, rebellion manifests as a restless need to confront authority—even when the war he’s fighting is within himself. For Ernie, it’s the refusal to participate, a quieter but no less radical protest against expectation. The play’s most haunting insight is that revolution reshapes generations; its victories inspire, but its wounds linger.

Dohrn’s writing captures this duality with compassion and fury, showing that to inherit rebellion is to inherit a question—how do you keep fighting without becoming consumed by the fire your parents lit?

Revolution(s) is a work of conviction—raw, restless, and unapologetically alive. It asks hard questions about legacy, freedom, and what we’re willing to sacrifice for change. In a cultural moment of complacency by our elected representatives, Revolution(s) doesn’t just remind us of what rebellion sounds like—it dares us to remember why it matters.

Highly Recommended

When: Through Nov. 16th
Where: Goodman Theater (170 N. Dearborn)
Tickets: $34-$104
Info: goodmantheatre.org

*This review is also shared on https://www.theatreinchicago.com/!  

Amiri Baraka’s Dutchman remains one of the most incisive allegories in American drama—a modern tale in which seduction, power, and racial history collide in the confined space of a subway car. Trap Door Theatre’s production, directed with precision and calculated risk by Keith Surney, resurrects the play’s mythic and political undercurrents, deepening its resonance as both ritual and warning.

Baraka titled his 1964 play after the legend of the Flying Dutchman, the ghost ship doomed to sail the seas forever, unable to find port. In Baraka’s interpretation, a subway car becomes that ship—an eternal vessel circling the underworld of American consciousness. The passengers are ghosts of history; the cycle of desire and destruction never ends. Surney underscores the play’s endless cycle of seduction and destruction by dividing Lula among three actresses—Carolyn Benjamin (white dress), Genevieve Corkery (red dress), and Ali Foley (blue dress)—each embodying a different facet of America’s recurring racial performance. Together, they form a chorus of seduction and menace, representing the shifting faces of white America—erotic, violent, and self-possessed. Their presence before the play begins, prowling the stage like sirens holding apples, transforms the theatre into a space of temptation and foreboding.

Surney himself plays Clay, the young Black intellectual aboard this spectral train unaware of his fate. His Clay is both composed and vulnerable—buttoned suit, tie, but no shirt—an image that literalizes the illusion of assimilation stripped of safety. Lula, one at a time, approaches him with the ferocity of predators, their sexuality exaggerated to the edge of discomfort. Surney embraces that discomfort deliberately, making it clear that the erotic tension in Baraka’s play is not merely physical—it is historical, rooted in the dangerous seductions of American liberalism and white desire.

The production’s design reinforces the tension between abstraction and reality. Viscaya Wilson’s bare stage of metal poles offers a skeletal suggestion of a subway car, though it lacks the oppressive grit that defines the New York underground. For a native New Yorker, the environment may not fully convince, yet its sparseness allows the actors’ physical and emotional choreography to dominate the space. Gary Damico’s lighting cuts through the minimalism - isolating bodies in sharp contrast.  The uncredited sound design fills in what the set omits. The deep metallic rumbles immerse the audience in a world both real and hallucinatory, the jazz soundscape itself becoming the heartbeat of Baraka’s infernal train.

At moments, Surney allows erotic interplay to linger past its breaking point, delaying the eruption of Clay’s righteous fury. Yet when that fury finally arrives, the scene ignites with the same volatility that scandalized audiences in 1964. The words still wound; the violence still feels inevitable.

One critic described Baraka’s original Dutchman as “an explosion of hatred,” a reflection of a truth white America could barely confront. Trap Door Theatre’s version does not soften that explosion—it contextualizes it. Baraka’s play is a parable of historical repetition. The subway, like the ghost ship, circles endlessly, carrying the same sins and the same souls. In this staging, Dutchman becomes a ritual exorcism—a reminder that America’s voyage through its own darkness is far from over.

Baraka would soon transform from LeRoi Jones, the bohemian poet of downtown New York, into Amiri Baraka, the militant architect of the Black Arts Movement. Dutchman marks that turning point—a theatrical bridge between personal identity and collective consciousness. Surney’s production captures this moment of awakening, reminding us that Baraka’s rage was never chaos but clarity: a demand that America look into its mirror and recognize the ghost at its shoulder. Trap Door Theatre’s Dutchman sails that ghost ship again, not to escape the curse, but to make us hear, once more, the hum of its unending voyage beneath our feet.

That clarity also defines Keith Surney’s directorial debut, a bold and fearless entry that takes genuine risks—some raw, some revelatory— announcing a director unafraid to challenge both text and audience. If Dutchman is a voyage into the heart of America’s contradictions, Surney steers it with both daring and intellect. I’ll be looking to see more of him in the future.

Highly Recommended

When: Through October 25

Where: Trapdoor Theatre, 1655 W Cortland St, Chicago

Running time: 50 minutes

Tickets: $22

773-384-0494

https://www.trapdoortheatre.com

Rajiv Joseph’s Mr. Wolf is a striking departure from the warmth and humor of his recent King James. Where King James used the comfort of sports as a language of friendship, Mr. Wolf asks us to sit inside the fragile, fractured space of trauma. In Steppenwolf’s intimate production, ensemble member K. Todd Freeman directs with an unflinching precision that refuses to soften the material. His approach creates a space where silence weighs as heavily as dialogue, where each pause presses the audience closer to the raw pulse of grief, survival, and uneasy healing. This is a small play set against a very large world, and its intimacy makes it resonant.

The play centers on Theresa (Emilie Maureen Hanson), a teenager recently rescued after twelve years of captivity. Her abductor, Mr. Wolf (Tim Hopper), is not only a predator but also an astronomy professor who reshaped her entire worldview with cosmic metaphors, rigid theories, and apocalyptic visions. For Theresa, the cosmos—and Mr. Wolf—are inseparable. He does not see the stars as sources of wonder but as proof of his twisted logic.

Mr. Wolf bends the language of science into a doctrine of control. Whereas most scientists keep religion and science in separate spheres, he blurs that boundary, turning the vastness of the universe into a kind of scripture. He declares Theresa a prophetess of the cosmos, teaching her to view the stars not through physics and wonder but through his rigid, apocalyptic framework. Hopper embodies this chilling certainty with unnerving precision, a man who once lectured on the heavens but now orbits entirely within his own delusions.

Now reunited with her parents—Hana (Kate Arrington) and Michael (Namir Smallwood)—Theresa must navigate a world that feels as alien as the galaxies she once studied under his command. Julie (Caroline Neff), Michael’s new wife, hovers between empathy and helplessness, unsure how to reach someone marked by unspeakable experience while quietly grappling with her own grief.

The acting is superb across the board. Hanson captures Theresa’s uneasy balance of fragility and resilience. Arrington and Smallwood embody grief in contrasting shades—Arrington’s sharp-edged regret against Smallwood’s wounded stoicism—while Neff supplies a warmth the others cannot. Hopper, disturbingly calm as Mr. Wolf, delivers control with the cool precision of a man who has transformed astronomy into a theology of delusion.

The design team amplifies this unsettling intimacy. Walt Spangler’s set suggests a world we recognize—rooms, walls, familiar structures—that have splintered into pieces. Watching the play, we feel as though we are tasked with reassembling it, just as the characters try to piece together their broken lives. Dede Ayite’s costumes root the play in ordinariness, and Josh Schmidt’s sound and original music create an undercurrent of wonder. Rasean Davonté Johnson’s projections echo the celestial images that once defined Theresa’s captivity, lingering like ghosts of her indoctrination.

Freeman’s direction sharpens the play’s unease into something inescapable. Rather than offering distance, he compels the audience to witness the jagged rhythms of survival. Where King James thrived on joy and connection, Mr. Wolf strips us down to silence and difficult truths. It is a play less about resolution than endurance, and in Steppenwolf’s hands, it becomes a stark reminder of how trauma ripples outward—and how putting the pieces back together is never simple, but always necessary.

RECOMMENDED

When: Through Nov. 2nd

Where: Steppenwolf Theatre, 1650 N. Halsted St.

Running Time: 90 minutes

Tickets: $20 - $133.50

312-355-1650

www.steppenwolf.org

*This review is also shared on https://www.theatreinchicago.com/!  

Court Theatre has opened its 2025/26 season with a thunderclap: Theodore Ward’s Big White Fog directed with remarkable sensitivity and vigor by Resident Artist Ron OJ Parson. This is not only a revival of a classic work from the Federal Theatre Project era—it is also a reminder of how eerily contemporary Ward’s questions of ideology, disillusionment, and power struggles remain nearly ninety years after the play first startled audiences at Chicago’s Great Northern Theatre in 1938.

At its center, Big White Fog dramatizes the life of the Mason family, a striving Black household in Depression-era Chicago. Ward places the Mason living room at the intersection of history’s most turbulent crosscurrents: the false promise of the American Dream, the fiery appeal of Marcus Garvey’s “back to Africa” movement, and the revolutionary fervor of Communism. The fog of the title is both literal and metaphorical—a veil of economic despair, racial injustice, and ideological confusion that threatens to swallow the family whole.

Ron OJ Parson, long admired for his deft handling of Black classics, stages the play with clarity and urgency. Parson respects the density of Ward’s text but never lets the ideological debates bog down the human drama. Instead, he finds the beating heart in the Mason family’s conflicts—the stubborn pride of the patriarch, the sacrifices of the women, the fragile dreams of their children. Parson’s direction makes clear this is not an artifact of theatre history; it is a living work, pulsating with relevance for an America once again convulsed by inequality, polarization, and disillusionment.

The cast assembled for this production is outstanding. Joshua L. Green brings charisma and conviction to Victor Mason, the father whose fierce commitment to Garveyism and economic uplift sets him on a collision course with his family. Green embodies Victor’s unbending pride, making his devotion to a nationalist vision both inspiring and tragic. As Ella Mason, Sharriese Hamilton gives the play its moral core: her performance glows with quiet dignity, balancing love for her family with the weary pragmatism of a woman trying to hold a household together as history presses in from all sides.

Patrick Newson Jr. is superb as Lester Mason, the eldest son, a man who has had to stifle his own dreams, his every ambition weighed down by the crushing realities of family duty and economic hardship. Newson brings a heartbreaking openness to the role, embodying the innocence crushed under the weight of adult failures and historical forces. Greta Oglesby, as matriarch Martha Brooks, is simply unforgettable. Oglesby’s performance is steeped in humor, wisdom, and resilience; she grounds the play in generational memory. Her presence on stage is nothing short of magnetic.

The production’s design team gives Big White Fog a visual richness that matches its thematic weight. Jack Magaw’s scenic design transforms the Court stage into a lived-in Mason household, layered with details that evoke aspiration. Yvonne L. Miranda’s eye-popping 1920s costumes dazzle while grounding each character in their social and ideological context, making the clash of visions as visible as it is spoken. Lee Keenan’s lighting design shifts the mood with precision. Adding another layer of atmosphere, Christopher Kriz’s original compositions during scene changes, underscores the emotional undercurrents of the play and keeps the audience tethered to its restless rhythm.

The ideological clash within the Mason household is the play’s dramatic engine. Victor’s belief in Garvey’s call for Black economic independence and a return to Africa is met with resistance from his family, who seek other paths—through Communism, through assimilation, or through personal ambition. Ward refuses to let any single vision emerge as the sole solution, instead dramatizing the painful divisions that ideological fervor can create within a family. In the end, no ideology rescues them from the crushing realities of poverty, racism, and systemic neglect. This tragic irony is what makes Big White Fog so haunting.

Ward’s writing is radical for its time. To depict a Black family grappling openly with competing ideologies and the hypocrisy of the American Dream in 1938 was nothing short of revolutionary. It’s no wonder Big White Fog had a fraught reception in its original run. Yet the very qualities that unsettled audiences then—its candor, its ideological clashes, its refusal to reduce Black life to stereotype—are what make it feel so piercingly contemporary now.

The play’s questions echo loudly: What system, if any, can deliver justice and dignity to Black Americans? What price must be paid for loyalty to one’s ideals? And can a family survive when its members are torn apart by competing visions of liberation? In today’s America, as the nation debates racial justice, economic inequity, and the limits of free speech, these questions resonate with uncanny force. The Mason family’s divisions mirror our own: parents and children, neighbors and colleagues, citizens and leaders locked in ideological combat while the fog of inequality thickens around us.

Theodore Ward dared to write the truth. At a time when most mainstream depictions of Black life trafficked in stereotype or sentimental uplift (think “Cabin in The Sky”), Ward insisted on portraying the complexity, dignity, and contradictions of ordinary people. His plays carved out space for honest exploration of the Black experience—politically charged, socially grounded, unflinchingly real. Ward’s commitment cost him: his leftist sympathies drew the scrutiny of the FBI, and he was effectively blacklisted during the McCarthy era. Yet his legacy endures, shaping the lineage of Black theatre from Lorraine Hansberry to August Wilson and beyond.

Court Theatre’s revival is more than an act of cultural memory. It is an act of cultural urgency. To stage Big White Fog now is to recognize that the struggles Ward captured in 1938—the tensions between faith and politics, survival and principle, hope and despair—are still the struggles being faced in 2025. Parson and his cast honor Ward’s achievement while challenging us to confront the fog we still inhabit.

In the end, the play offers no easy answers. Ward was too honest for that. But what he gives us—through his words and through this luminous production—is the reminder that theatre can be a forum for grappling with the hardest questions of human existence. Big White Fog demands that we listen, that we argue, that we reckon with the past and the present alike.

Court Theatre has given Chicago audiences a gift in reviving Theodore Ward’s masterpiece. And with Parson’s masterful direction and this ensemble’s unforgettable performances, the fog clears just enough for us to see the truth: Ward’s voice still matters, perhaps now more than ever.

HIGHLY RECOMMENDED

When: Through Oct 11th

Where: Court Theatre, 5535 S. Ellis Ave.

Running !me: 2 hours, 15 minutes  - 15 minute intermission

Tickets: $27 - $94 Student, Group and military discounts available

773-753-4472

https://www.courttheatre.org

*This review is also shared on https://www.theatreinchicago.com/!  

Kimberly Dixon-Mays’ debut play Rabbits In Their Pockets, developed in the Lifeline BIPOC 2024 Workshop and now receiving a world premiere under the direction of Christopher Wayland, is a bold but uneven first effort. The play aspires to braid together family drama, Black folklore, and speculative Afrofuturism, but its script often buckles under its own ambition. Fortunately, Wayland’s staging and the committed, charismatic performances of his cast keep the production afloat, offering the audience enough vitality and resonance to stay engaged.

At the heart of the play are two sisters facing grief and legacy. Ash (Lakecia Harris), the elder, is a methodical aerospace engineer who believes joy can be engineered, even embedded into the walls of their late father’s home. Harley (Simmery Branch), younger, mercurial, and endlessly playful, sees improv as a distinctly Black technology—an art of survival through adaptability and wit. Together they clash over what to do with the family house: sell it, reinvent it, or transform it into something larger than themselves. Along the way, they are joined by Jasper (Marcus D. Moore), a friend and aspiring performer, and Inola (Felisha McNeal), an enigmatic elder who oscillates between investor, trickster, and perhaps even ancestor.

The script brims with ideas—sometimes too many for its own good. Dixon-Mays clearly has a fertile imagination and a keen sense of cultural inheritance. Br’er Rabbit folktales and the language of improvisation surface as recurring motifs, meant to show how Black families survive through cunning, resilience, and creativity. But rather than letting these motifs emerge organically, the dialogue often pauses to explain them at length. Ash’s “joy technology” speeches are dense with jargon, and Harley repeats her philosophy of improv as survival until the point is belabored. What should be vibrant metaphors instead risk feeling like lectures.

The dramatic stakes are also uneven. The decision to sell or keep the house is meant to stand in for deeper questions of legacy, cultural continuity, and grief. Yet too often the debate feels abstract, more a clash of ideas than a struggle rooted in palpable necessity. What happens if they don’t sell? If Ash’s joy system fails? If Harley’s dream fizzles? The play gestures toward these consequences without fully realizing them, softening the urgency.

Some characters suffer from this imbalance. Jasper, despite Marcus D. Moore’s affable performance, fades into the background as the sisters’ conflict escalates. Inola, wonderfully embodied by Felisha McNeal, is fascinating but underdefined: sometimes elder, sometimes ancestor, sometimes entrepreneur. This ambiguity could be powerful if sharpened, but as written, it feels more inconsistent than intentional.

Where Dixon-Mays overreaches, Christopher Wayland’s direction provides clarity. He keeps the pacing brisk, shapes the tonal shifts with care, and leans into the play’s improvisational spirit without letting it sprawl.

The performances are this production’s saving grace. Lakecia Harris gives Ash a flinty discipline that gradually reveals a woman undone by grief. Simmery Branch lights up the stage as Harley, balancing mischievous humor with aching vulnerability. Marcus D. Moore mines Jasper for humor and pathos, especially in his monologue about being both celebrated and consumed as a “rabbit.” And McNeal, magnetic and sly, grounds the play’s slipperiest role with commanding presence.

Rabbits In Their Pockets is not yet a fully realized play—it is a workshop bursting with possibility, weighed down by over-explanation and underdeveloped stakes. Yet as a debut, it reveals Dixon-Mays as a writer unafraid to ask large questions about joy, memory, and cultural survival. Thanks to Wayland’s sharp direction and the cast’s deeply felt performances, audiences can glimpse the vibrant play struggling to emerge.

Recommended

When: Through October 5

Where: Lifeline Theatre,  6912 N. Glenwood

Running time: 90 minutes

Tickets: $25 - $45 at

773-761-4477 and www.lifelinetheatre.com

In the Goodman Theatre’s stirring new production of The Color Purple, director Lili-Anne Brown delivers a version of Alice Walker’s landmark novel that feels both stripped down and soulfully expansive. Forgoing spectacle in favor of raw emotional clarity, Brown places the story’s heart—female resilience and love—center stage, and the result is a deeply moving, musically rich, and spiritually resonant experience.

Performed on a minimalist wooden set, this production doesn’t rely on lush visuals or elaborate scenery. Instead, it trusts in the power of storytelling, character, and song to carry the audience through Celie’s journey. And Brittney Mack, as Celie, is a revelation. Her performance is layered and honest, tracing Celie’s transformation from a silenced, abused girl to a self-possessed, radiant woman with astonishing depth and grace. Mack’s voice, vulnerable and strong in equal measure, anchors the production emotionally and thematically.

What sets this Color Purple apart is Brown’s unflinching loyalty to the spirit of Walker’s novel. Where some adaptations have diluted or sidelined the central theme of same-sex love, this one centers it. Celie and Shug’s relationship is not a footnote—it’s the story’s spiritual awakening. Aerie Williams as Shug Avery brings magnetic charm and fierce tenderness to the role, particularly in the aching duet “What About Love,” which becomes a quiet act of liberation for Celie. In this production, purple is not just a color—it’s a symbol of the love between women, of beauty that exists even in suffering, and of a life finally chosen on one's own terms.

Nicole Michelle Haskins brings fierce humor and unbreakable will to Sofia, commanding the stage with her booming presence and crystal-clear purpose. Her scenes with Gilbert Domally’s affable and conflicted Harpo pulse with humor and tension. Evan Tyrone Martin as Mister and Sean Blake as Ol’ Mister embody the failure of patriarchy to extinguish women’s light. The men here, barely even named, are forces to resist rather than understand—an intentional move that mirrors Walker’s narrative framing.

Musically, the show is a triumph. Jermaine Hill’s musical direction allows the score—by Brenda Russell, Allee Willis, and Stephen Bray—to soar. From the quiet yearning of “Somebody’s Gonna Love You” to the exuberant defiance of “Push the Button” and “Big Dog,” every number drives the story forward with emotional precision. Breon Arzell’s choreography adds joy to even the darkest moments, reminding us that Black joy, even amidst oppression, is a radical act.

By centering the relationships between women—mothers, sisters, lovers—and embracing the spiritual and sexual awakenings that shape Celie’s story, this Color Purple finds new life and renewed purpose. Brown doesn’t simply direct this musical; she honors it, restores it, and reminds us why this story still matters. It’s not just about surviving trauma—it’s about reclaiming beauty, pleasure, and love on your own terms.

In a world that often asks Black women to be strong for others, this Color Purple says: be soft, be bold, be free. And be seen—in all your brilliance.

Top of Form

Highly Recommended

When: Through Aug. 3
Where: Goodman Theatre, 170 N. Dearborn St.
Tickets: $33-$143
Run time: 2 hours, 50 minutes
Info: goodmantheatre.org

*This review is also featured on https://www.theatreinchicago.com/! 

New York City in the 1980s—marked by Reagan-era conservatism and the devastating effects of the AIDS epidemic—was in decline. This is the backdrop for Tony Kushner’s Angels in America, a sweeping two-part epic that earned the Pulitzer Prize, multiple Tony Awards, and a lasting place as one of the most influential works in modern theatre. Invictus Theatre Company, known for fearless storytelling and bold, intimate productions, meets the challenge with conviction. Their staging not only honors Kushner’s towering vision but also transforms it into something urgent and immediate. The result: an experience that speaks powerfully to our present moment.

Directed with striking clarity by Charles Askenaizer and assisted by Kevin Rolfs—who also designed the production’s remarkable set—this version of Angels doesn’t merely revisit America’s past; it interrogates it. Rolfs’ design, echoing the collapse of once-sacred institutions, transforms hospitals, apartments, courtrooms, and Central Park into ghostly battlegrounds for justice, truth, and redemption. Brandon Wardell’s extraordinary lighting heightens the effect—especially one cue so immersive and thunderous, you might think the ceiling is about to cave in. (Seriously—OMG.)

The cast of eight delivers fearless, multidimensional performances, with each actor covering several of the play’s 28-plus roles. Joe Bushell (Joseph Pitt), Grant Carriker (Louis Ironson), Michael D. Graham (Roy Cohn), Ryan Hake (Prior Walter), Miguel Long (Belize), Nicki Rossi (The Angel), Renae Stone (Hannah Pitt), and Anne Trodden (Harper Pitt) all impress. Ryan Hake brings heartbreaking vulnerability and wit to Prior Walter—a bold, beautiful performance—while Miguel Long’s Belize is grounded, magnetic, and gloriously biting. Michael D. Graham’s Roy Cohn is monstrous and mesmerizing, a chilling embodiment of American power and denial. Nicki Rossi’s Angel is both ethereal and commanding—an apocalyptic herald with real presence.

That presence feels especially relevant in 2025. In many ways, we are living Roy Cohn’s dream—a world where power is prized above truth, image eclipses integrity, and accountability is reserved for the powerless. In Angels in America, Cohn embodies a ruthless, transactional politics that weaponizes fear, denies reality, and elevates self-interest at all costs. Today, those tactics are no longer confined to courtrooms—they dominate headlines, social media feeds, and entire political ideologies. The erosion of public trust, the glamorization of cruelty, and the refusal to reckon with systemic failure all echo the legacy he helped forge. Roy Cohn may be long dead, but his playbook is alive and thriving.

Jessie Gowens’ costume design dazzles—otherworldly when needed, sharply evocative when grounded—capturing the period while fully embracing the show’s surreal, metaphysical edge. Every design element contributes to a visual world that is both haunting and theatrical, elevated by bold creative choices and performances that are deeply cohesive.

From PART ONE: MILLENNIUM APPROACHES. Michael D. Graham (left) as Roy Cohn, Joe Bushell (right) as Joe Pitt.

Invictus Theatre remains one of the true treasures of Chicago’s storefront theatre scene. Known for consistently punching above their weight, they once again surpass expectations. With Angels in America, they reach an artistic pinnacle—ambitious, fearless, and heartfelt. This production is a testament to what’s possible when daring meets discipline and vision is matched by talent.

There’s something truly transcendent about experiencing both parts of Angels in America—Millennium Approaches and Perestroika—on the same day. The emotional arc deepens, the themes resonate more fully, and the epic sweep of Kushner’s vision unfolds without interruption. It becomes not just a play, but a full-day journey through love, loss, politics, and prophecy. Invictus Theatre offers this rare opportunity only on Saturdays during the run, and it’s absolutely worth carving out the time. That said, each part stands powerfully on its own. Whether you see them together or separately, the momentum and emotional impact remain firmly intact.

A final word of thanks to the front-of-house team. The warm, welcoming experience begins the moment you walk through the door. Theatre doesn’t start onstage—it starts in the lobby. And Invictus gets it absolutely right.

A triumph.

Highly Recommended
When: Through September 6
Where:  Invictus Theatre @ Windy City Playhouse, 3014 W Irving Park Rd, Chicago
Tickets: $25 - $38
Info: Invictustheatreco.com

PART ONE: MILLENNIUM APPROACHES will play Fridays at 7 p.m., Saturdays at 12 p.m., and alternate Mondays at 7 p.m., starting Monday June 30.
Additional performances of PART ONE will be presented Sunday, July 6 at 12 p.m., and Thursday August 28 and September 4 at 7 p.m.
Final performance Saturday, September 6 at 12 p.m.

PART TWO: PERESTROIKA will play Saturdays at 7 p.m., Sundays at 12 p.m., alternate Mondays at 7 p.m. starting Monday, July 7.
Additional performances of PART TWO will be presented Thursday, July 3 and Friday, August 29 at 7 p.m.; and Friday, September 5 at 7 p.m. Final performance Sunday, September 7 at 12 p.m.

Each part has two intermissions.

There are no performances on June 29, July 4 or 5, or on August 30, 31 or September 1.

*Extended through September 21st

*This review is also featured on https://www.theatreinchicago.com/! 

Stories that explore the emotional lives of men—especially Black men—are still far too rare on the American stage. Outside the monumental works of August Wilson, narratives that center male vulnerability, intimacy, and connection remain the exception. Lolita Chakrabarti’s Hymn, now playing at Chicago Shakespeare Theater, is a welcome and moving addition to that limited canon.

Originally written for a London audience, Hymn has been thoughtfully reworked by Chakrabarti for an American setting, shifting the story from Bristol, England to Chicago. The transition is seamless—perhaps even revelatory. Under the deft direction of Ron O.J. Parson, the play feels deeply rooted in the cultural and emotional rhythms of its new home.

At the heart of Hymn is the evolving relationship between two middle-aged Black men: Benny, played with warmth and quiet power by Chiké Johnson, and Gil, brought to life with nuance and restraint by James Vincent Meredith. The story begins with a funeral and slowly unfolds into something akin to a spiritual duet. Benny introduces the idea of “sympathetic resonance,” a musical concept describing how sound vibrations can cause another object to vibrate in harmony. It becomes a poetic metaphor for the emotional bond that grows between the two half-brothers as they become a whole.

Though the story is driven by dialogue, it's punctuated by music and movement—moments that feel less like breaks in the action and more like expressions of unspoken truths. As Benny and Gil dance, sing, and joke their way through scenes from their shared and separate pasts, their connection strengthens in ways that are more felt than seen. It’s only as the final notes settle that we fully understand what we’ve witnessed.

The production design roots the story firmly in the present while pulsing with the energy of the hip-hop era that shaped the characters. Rasean Davonte Johnson’s scenic and projection design is sleek, versatile, and evocative, transforming the minimalist set from a church to a boxing ring, a spare bedroom, and even a local eatery effortlessly. Yvonne Miranda’s costume design subtly tracks the characters’ emotional evolution, using clothing as quiet storytelling. Willow James’ sound and composition design doesn’t just support the action—it lives within it, amplifying the emotional beats with a soundscape drawn from the golden age of hip-hop and rap, pulling the audience into the same rhythm that moves the characters.

Hymn is a quiet triumph. It doesn’t shout its themes or offer easy catharsis. Instead, it hums, vibrates, and resonates—an invitation to witness male vulnerability not as spectacle, but as something sacred and human.

Highly Recommended

When: Through May 25
Where: Chicago Shakespeare Theatre 800 East Grand Avenue in Chicago.
Tickets: $52 - $95
Info:  www.chicagoshakespeare.com

*This review is also featured on https://www.theatreinchicago.com/!

Something extraordinary happens on a street in Huntsville, Alabama. Mr. Woods (Keith Randolph Smith), a hard-working Black man in the community, is involved in a traffic stop with two cops (Mark Bedard and Jorge Luna) - a scene witnessed far too many times in America. But this time something strange occurs. As his neighbors, Retta (Caroline Stefanie Clay), Reggie (Ray Anthony Thomas), and their grandson, Trent (Cecil Blutcher), watch from their balcony perch, Mr. Woods's anger transforms into something... unexpected. Something that changes everything.

That's where Zora Howard's "BUST: AN AFROCURRENTIST PLAY" begins, and to say more would spoil its interesting revelations. "Bust," written by Zora Howard and directed by Lileana Blain-Cruz, is produced by Goodman Theatre in association with Alliance Theatre.

What makes this play remarkable is how it reimagines Black rage not as a liability, but as a source of protection - a force that might finally shield from, instead of exposing to, danger. Howard asks us to consider: What if the very emotion that so often puts Black lives at risk could become their shield?

Zora Howard's dialogue—especially in its most naturalistic scenes—crackles with authentic humor. Retta and Reggie's interactions sparkle, their shared past adding layers of meaning to every exchange. Their long history together makes even the smallest moments between them feel like inside jokes waiting to be told. The classroom sequences, where students push back against repressive authority, each other, and the invisible weight of a broken system, are electric. But as the narrative slips into more surreal terrain, cracks begin to show.

Unlike the magical realism of Gabriel García Márquez—where supernatural moments are seamlessly embedded in the everyday, unquestioned and mythic—"Bust" dwells too long in the confusion of its own metaphors. The characters' prolonged reactions to the inexplicable events ("What just happened?", "Where is…?", "How can…?") pull us out of the flow and render the surreal sequences more like detours than revelations. The unnamed, non-descript space—perhaps intended as a psychic or spiritual refuge from racial trauma—feels underdeveloped and too divorced from the world around it. Rather than expanding the emotional scope of the play, this abstraction creates a frustrating disconnect.

There's a clear metaphor at work: rage forces retreat; grief bends reality. But in "Bust," that retreat never fully reconciles with the lived world of the characters. The liminal realm they enter—be it dream, myth, or madness—never roots itself in the logic of the story. It becomes less a mystical integration and more an escape hatch, leaving the audience unsure how to interpret it, or why the play is split in two.

A seasoned dramaturg might have helped stitch the play's dual impulses—realism and abstraction—into a more cohesive fabric. As it stands, "Bust" is a piece with two distinct voices: one that speaks in the language of humor, pain, and communal survival, and another that whispers through metaphor, without always being heard.

Still, even in its fragmentation, "Bust" pulses with urgency and vision. Blain-Cruz's direction keeps the energy taut and the stakes high. The ensemble, including Bernard Gilbert as Zeke, Victoria Omoregie as Paige, Ivan Cecil Walks as Boobie, Renika Williams-Blutcher as Krystal, and Caitlin Hargraves as Ms. Pinto, bring unvarnished honesty to their performances.

In the end, "Bust" isn't a bust—it's an eruption. It's bold, funny, and full of potential. But in aiming for the transcendent, it sometimes loses sight of the real—and the real, here, is already more than enough.

SOMEWHAT RECOMMENDED
When: Through March 18
Where: Goodman Theatre, 170 N. Dearborn St.
Tickets: $25-$85
Info: www.goodmantheatre.org

*This review is also featured on https://www.theatreinchicago.com/!

Court Theatre’s world premiere of Berlin, adapted by Mickle Maher from Jason Lutes’ monumental graphic novel, is a breathtaking achievement. Directed with precision and deep sensitivity by Charles Newell, Berlin brings the chaos and beauty of Weimar-era Germany to stunning life on stage, rendered in an unforgettable 1930s noir style.

Lutes spent two decades crafting his sprawling graphic epic, and it’s clear Maher and Newell approached this adaptation with profound respect. The production’s black, white, and grey palette—designed by scenic designer John Culbert, lighting designer Keith Parham, and costume designer Jacqueline Firkins—immerses the audience in a city teetering on the edge of catastrophe. Every shadow and seam speak volumes, creating a world that feels both immediate and mythic.

Raven Whitley leads the ensemble as Marthe Muller, capturing a young woman’s vulnerability and fierce independence with magnetic grace. Tim Decker’s Kurt Severing carries the weary idealism of a journalist witnessing democracy’s slow death, while Ellie Duffey delivers a moving performance as the idealistic Silvia Braun. Elizabeth Laidlaw is harrowing as both Gudrun Braun and Adolf Hitler, offering a brutal glimpse into rising fascism.

Special mention must be made of Julia Rhoads’ fluid, expressive movement direction, which underscores the sense of a city swirling with ideas, danger, and desire. Sammi Grant’s expert vocal and dialect coaching ensures every character’s voice feels authentic—from Joseph Goebbels’ oily charisma (a chilling performance by Terry Bell) to the many Berliners struggling to survive an unraveling world.

Kate Collins, Mo Shipley, Jack Doherty, Guy Van Swearingen, Christopher Meister, Molly Hernandez, and Brandon Ruiter round out the exceptional ensemble, each carving out vivid portraits of citizens caught in history’s gears.

Watching Berlin today mirrors America’s turbulent political landscape with haunting clarity. From surging extremism to collapsing civil discourse, from journalism under siege to widening economic divides—these echoes ring too close to home. Berlin is more than historical; it is an urgent warning, a desperate plea, and a piercing call for vigilance.

Newell’s production reminds us that civilizations don’t collapse with a bang—they decay slowly, invisibly. Each small compromise, each overlooked lie, each quiet injustice piles up until the ground gives way beneath us. By then, we’ve sealed our fate, having watched our undoing unfold in slow motion.

Court Theatre hasn’t merely adapted a graphic novel—they’ve unleashed a theatrical thunderbolt. Under Newell’s visionary direction, Berlin transforms into something rare and electric: a defining moment of Chicago theatre that will be talked about for years to come. In a time when we desperately need art that matters, Berlin delivers with a punch that leaves you breathless.

HIGHLY RECOMMENDED                                                                                                                                                              

When: Extended through MAY 18TH

Where: Court Theatre, 5535 S. Ellis Ave.

Running time: 2 hours, 30 minutes 15-minute intermission

*This review is also featured on https://www.theatreinchicago.com/!