Items filtered by date: November 2007

Scott Bradley is an institution within the Chicago theater community. His quirky, campy musical versions of old horror movies have been sell-out hits around town for years. Which is what makes “Packing” all the more interesting. He instead turns the spotlight on himself. About Face borrows Victory Gardens artistic director Chay Yew to direct Scott Bradley’s one-man confessional.

In “Packing” Bradley moves away from the puppets and classic rock and opens his own life up to a 90-minute journey through the turbulent AIDS-era gay life. First and foremost, this is incredibly brave for someone as well-known as Scott, many colleagues are likely to see About Face’s premiere. Bradley is not afraid to expose every aspect of his life from physical abuse to addiction and failure. That might all sound like a bummer but Bradley’s inviting narrative style is humorous and relatable. And of course, it’s all tied to together with various pop culture influences.

“Packing” is Bradley’s life story, but it’s also the collective legacy of the midwestern gay experience. A reminder of how far the LGBT community has come in the past three decades. Bradley stands alone on a stark stage and begins his story at the age he began to understand he was different. His childhood is rather unhappy, but his delivery makes it seem as if he’s the only who doesn’t know how traumatic his home life was. As he grows up, the story becomes more familiar. The far reaches of the Midwest can be an unaccepting place and that sent many LGBT people to the cities to seek acceptance. Not only acceptance of the LGBT lifestyle, but acceptance of the creative lifestyle.

Bradley’s heartbreaking failures changed the course of his life in ways that few can predict when they’re in the pits of despair. His struggles with drug addiction and alcohol dependence and his explanation for why he turned to substances to quiet the critical voices in his head are all too real. Many people in the LGBT community struggle with substance abuse and non-traditional societal norms can sometimes perpetuate cycles of addiction. His stories aren’t just his stories, they’re all of our stories.

It’s hard to imagine anyone else portraying Scott Bradley but Scott Bradley. His performance style is at times frantic, but always warm and authentic. He takes an audience in his arms and let’s them know that it’s okay to fail. He doesn’t ask an audience for approval, but rather to say if you’re struggling, you’re not alone. Chay Yew helps draw out Bradley’s vulnerability through a variety of pseudo-characters; Bradley at various ages of his life. Yew also designed the set, though sparse, is effective. The pop cultural cannon that inspired Bradley is playfully cast on the floor of the stage rather than the backdrop. An interesting visual twist.

“Packing” is a journey of self-acceptance through an era that was less gay friendly. It’s Scott Bradley exposing his storied life in order to help anyone who finds themselves in the same boat. It’s a theater experience that gives voice to anyone who fled small town roots in order to find themselves.

Through December 7th at About Face theater - Theater Wit. 1229 W Belmont Ave. 773-975-8150

Let’s begin with a children’s story. A children’s story about children’s stories, really.

Long, long ago, there lived a boy who could not decide what he would be when he grew up. He might have grown up to sing songs or tally bills, to right wrongs or treat ills, but he just could not decide. Then one day, the boy met a wonderful enchantress — a creator and a raconteur who herself had vowed never to grow up, and who lived her life telling stories for children. She told the boy that he, too, needn’t ever grow up, for he had been placed in this world for the same purpose as her — to tell tales that enchant children, young and old. And so, the boy did just that for many years until one day, as boys sometimes do, he grew up and went on to smaller, lesser things. And while that ageless enchantress still tells stories to children while the tired, graying boy does not, somewhere deep inside him lurks a longing for that storybook world he left behind, a longing let out now and again when he reads or hears or sees a story told truly and lovingly, told for and to those who have yet to grow up.

I begin with that story because Hans Christian Andersen’s fairy tale “The Steadfast Tin Soldier” was always the gold standard when that boy considered what a true and lovely children’s story is. Lookingglass Theatre’s The Steadfast Tin Soldier, written and directed by Mary Zimmerman, is the rare adaptation of a true classic that’s not only worthy and respectful of its source material, but takes it to new and wondrous places.

Show, don’t tell. That’s perhaps the first rule of good storytelling, and Zimmerman’s production adheres to that maxim. From the curious pre-show goings-on that evoke an advent countdown to both Christmastime and the curtain’s rise, to the inspired puppets and streamers and set pieces that create worlds within worlds on the Lookingglass stage, to the powdered wigs (“That’s Mozart!” my six-year-old cried when she spotted music director and arranger Leandro Lopez Varady take his seat at the piano) and classical instruments that arm the four-piece orchestra tasked with playing Andre Pluess and Amanda Dehnert’s exceptional score, a time and a place and a mood have been created before the story even begins.

Show, don’t tell. For the length of the play, not a word is spoken. I imagine that Ms. Zimmerman drew inspiration from silent movies, as her cast tells the story with what they show the audience — with their actions, with their bodies, with their faces, with their eyes.

John Gregorio and Joe Dempsey are the play’s active, madcap jacks of all trades, filling pointed elven shoes as puppeteers, scene-makers and set-movers, and various roles throughout. Dempsey’s Nursemaid is positively Pythonian in her prissy, proper pomp and posture. And Gregorio’s Rat, one of many parts he plays, adds a sense of gnawing doom and gloom.

As the ballerina, tucked away inside a doll’s house into which the audience is soon invited, Kasey Foster enchants both said audience and the titular tin soldier with her grace and her beauty. But she’s equally charming later on as a rambunctious rapscallion wreaking havoc in the Danish streets.

Anthony Irons’ costumes and props — as a wine-buzzed master of the house, as a masked fairyland creature of questionable species, and as a jack-in-the-box goblin who sets the story’s plot in motion — often capture the eye, but it’s his facial gestures I noticed most. From grins to glares to grimaces, Irons harkens character actors like Don Knotts with his oversized expressions that translate from the stage every bit as clearly as his castmates’ bodily movements.

But it’s Alex Stein’s Steadfast Tin Soldier who’s, quite literally by the end of it, the play’s heart. While the others frolic about, Stein’s one-legged plaything is destined to remain static, so it’s his eyes that show us all we need to know. Above, I wondered if Mary Zimmerman was inspired by the silent movies of yesteryear, and I think it’s Stein’s Buster Keaton-esque ability to tell it all with just one look that got me thinking that way, every bit as much as the entire wordless production did. When Stein’s eyes gleamed, brimming with tears, so did mine.

Perhaps he’s as old fashioned as those silent films of yore, but that boy who’s all grown up now is not a crier. Then this holiday play for kids of any age went and brought him to tears, the same as Hans Christian Andersen’s original children’s story always did. And maybe, just maybe, this children’s story told truly and lovingly will also remind that boy that he hasn’t yet grown up all the way and that there are still children’s stories of his own to tell — stories that delight and inspire, that entertain and touch — just like Lookingglass Theatre’s The Steadfast Tin Soldier is doing from now through January 26.

We all know that certain words are verboten in polite society - some because they are coarse, like expletives; others because they are demeaning or belittling, or off-limits.

One of these – the N-word – is the hook that triggers the action in a new play, called, simply, ‘N,’ at the Greenhouse Theater Center. Smoothly directed by TaRon Patton, the story revolves around an ambitious young actor, Eddy (Ryan Smetana) who has been hired as a live-in aid for the 70-year-old Mrs. Page (Stacie Doublin).

Immediately we are intrigued by Mrs. Page, who is a character rarely (if ever) portrayed, an African-American Goldwater Republican. Eddy, who is white, is all about proper liberal social behavior, in visible arenas, like recycling, and bringing his own shopping bags to the grocery store. He is also rather a narcissist, and the consummate guy with his heart-on-his-sleeve.

Mrs. Page does not suffer his foolishness gladly, and has reluctantly accepted his arrival in her home. She quickly sets, and carefully maintains, a dividing line to ward off any emotional intimacy with this intruder. But Eddy is young, and crashes and burns a couple times – expecting and eventually getting emotional support, though its dispensed sparingly by Mrs. Page.

Things all come to a head when Eddy gets his career break with a major name theater production. But then, a script rewrite inserts the ‘N’ word in the show, and he resigns the role. There are stormy moments for both parties.

And Mrs. Page, who earns a living as a stock trader and investment advisor, makes a compelling case for her support - as an African-American – for conservative 1960s-era Republican Barry Goldwater, who staunchly defended the right of the individual. “Contrary to popular opinion,” Mrs. Page tells Eddy, “you are a minority – of one.”  

Playwright David Alex shows canny skillfulness in the craftsmanship of ‘N.’ For example, as the play opens, Eddy is auditioning with lines from Oedipus concerning fate versus free will, done in a Southern dialect - foreshadowing the discussions ahead. 

Still the first act needs polishing: lines by Mrs. Page like, “Your employment includes room and board,” and “Understand it is not by my choice that you are employed here,” seem less like dialog than scene-setting pronouncements. At two different points, in a darkened room, a phone call is overheard by an unseen third party – that seems contrived. And Eddy behaves and speaks with unnatural familiarity as a new arrival in Mrs.Page's home. Likewise for Mrs. Page, though she is rough, not friendly like Eddy.

There seem to be some distracting plot points, e.g., Mrs. Page is an avid astrologist, but has been housebound since one of her predictions led to tragedy. And she cooks Jewish dishes for a neighbor.

The second act, though, completely redeems things – suggesting that first half may be in development still. We really see the characters come into their own. Stacie Doublin is powerful in the later dialog. And a final, doleful scene performed in silence by Eddy and Mrs. Page is moving and strongly affecting.

Also noteworthy is the performance of Reginald Hemphill as Eddy’s buddy DeShawn, who commands the stage for his brief time on it. Speaking also on word usage, “You are not a ‘brother,’” DeShawn, who is African-American, advises Eddy. “This may come as a shock to your white liberal sensibilities, but you are not black!”

Alex, who is a fixture in Chicago theater, has written more than a dozen other scripts, including Eroica at Red Twist Theatre, and Ends, which won an African-American Theater Festival Award at the University of Louisville. ‘N,’ thought provoking and lively, comes recommended. ‘N’ runs through November 17 at Greenhouse Theatre in Chicago.

What separates a musical from an opera? Technically an opera is a story in which all the dialogue is exchanged through song. Hence the term rock opera, which describes modern musicals that have little to no spoken dialogue. Such semantics may seem trivial, but as the world moves forward traditional opera must too in order to thrive.

“Dead Man Walking” is by no means a new work, as it had its world premiere at the San Francisco Opera in 1999. It’s composed by Jake Heggie with a book by Tony Award winning playwright Terrence McNally. It is an adaptation of the 1995 film for which Susan Sarandon won an Academy Award for Best Actress. Based on the true story of Sister Helen Prejean’s special relationship with two death row inmates in Louisiana, “Dead Man Walking” is an excellent example of what the future of opera theatre might look like.

“Dead Man Walking” holds its Chicago premiere at the Lyric under the direction of Leonard Foglia. What is immediately striking is a scene of graphic sexual violence right off the bat. A stark departure from the usual 19th Century fantasies normally produced on the Lyric stage. Though the English subtitles are much appreciated, they’re somewhat unnecessary as this opera is sung in English.

Heggie’s music shares a lot in common with traditional musical theatre. The consistent through-line melody “He Will Gather Us Around” will have you humming into intermission and wiping your eyes by the finale. While Heggie’s compositions are quite good, and very cinematic in their aesthetic, it is the deeply humane storyline of condemned prisoner Joseph De Rocher that will hold your attention. McNally does what he does best, sharp dialogue and tight narrative structure.

It’s not often to hear sniffles during the climax of a traditional opera. No matter how arresting the score, or brilliant the performances, classical opera can sometimes create an emotional disconnect. In this work, we see modern day reality and that feels more relatable than say, Wagner. That’s not to say it’s missing the spectacle. As the case with any Lyric production, the staging is epic and visually stunning.

Though most of the cast is making their Lyric debut, they leave a big impression. Joe De Rocher is sung by Ryan McKinny. A booming voice fitting of an unrepentant killer and he’s able to sing opera in a southern accent. Patricia Racette portrays Sister Helen Prejean. It’s her journey we are on. She knows as well as the audience that De Rocher is guilty, but like her, we hold the slimmest hope that maybe he’s innocent. Her unwavering love for De Rocher is his redemption. It’s her power as an actress and a singer to evoke the spirit of forgiveness. Even as McNally’s dialogue is stretched into soaring arias, there’s an authenticity in Racette’s performance.

“Dead Man Walking” achieves what good opera should, and that is to move its audience through the power of music. Theatre, regardless of the type should comment on the world in which we live. While the classics are so for a reason, they’re becoming less of a draw for younger audiences. “Dead Man Walking” proves that opera isn’t a dying art form. It’s an invitation for audiences to have post-show discussions about real world issues.

Through November 22nd at Lyric Opera Chicago. 20 N Wacker Drive. 312-827-5600

What better props and scenery than that in one’s own imagination? And what better way to give each audience member their own unique experience than to let each follow their own journey guided only by storytelling without any visuals to distract, detract or force its own interpretation of what we are supposed to see?  Theatre in the Dark masterfully succeeds in bringing to life a story that is sure to be different for each end everyone in attendance. ‘Three Stories Up’ is the theatre production’s company latest undertaking – a noir mystery/thriller that takes places in complete darkness.

Taking place at The Church on Thorndale (1244 W. Thorndale), theatre goers are put into different groups consisting of just a handful of people each. We are then led through the main congregation area of the Church, through a hallway and into a small, but comfortable, sized room. At that point, all attendees are blindfolded and led in a single file line - holding onto the shoulder of the person in front of us for guidance - into another room where we are seated. Before taking off the blindfolds, we are given instructions and cautionary directions on what to do should claustrophobia take effect – so, worry not, every precaution is taken and by the time the play begins, we are at ease and ready to immerse ourselves into a suspense mystery. 

We are then directed to remove the blindfolds – and it is pitch black. After waiting for my eyes to adjust just ever so slightly to see the most minimal amount of light, I realize minutes later, nope, this is truly the absence of light in its greatest sense. A hand inches from one’s face may have well been twenty feet away. And though the actors move about, and are sometimes seemingly inches away from seated guests, they make a point to not touch anyone. 

 
Chicago playwright Mackenzie Gordon gives us a gripping 80-minute drama done in the style of radio mysteries done in the 1930s and 1940s. As the story progresses, we hear characters move from one location to another. Director Cory Bradberry does a wonderful job of delivering this engaging story that revolves a Canadian transit cop, Beatrice Dulaurier, who finds her husband dead upon coming home, as each scene is painted so beautifully that vivid images effortlessly appear in our heads throughout.

As a crime drama that has all the elements of a noir thriller, ‘Three Stories Up’ is filled with colorful personalities including the hardboiled detective, the ambitious (and suspicious) journalist and a host of quirky characters. Unsure of how many cast members were handling the voices of the story’s characters during the performance, I was surprised when it turned out to be just two actors handling all the roles – Bethany Arrington (Beatrice Dulaurier, others) and Mackenzie Gordon (Gunner Bjornsen, others). Both were nothing short of outstanding. And kudos to Corey Bradford who really enhanced the overall experience with strategic foley and sound design.

‘Three Stories Up’ is a thriller that keeps its audience guessing, but the originality behind the production – and its precise execution - makes it a must see as one of Chicago’s more creative theatre adventures.

‘Three Stories Up’ is being performed at The Church on Thorndale through November 9th.

For tickets and/or more show information, visit www.theareinthedark.com.   

 

Sometimes tragedy is so extreme, our only response is to be driven to distraction – like that character in a graphic novel pushed off the edge, laughing in the abyss. Or think of the performance of Joaquin Phoenix in The Joker.

A work springing from this sentiment is playing live on stage, at the Athenaeum Theatre, in a new production format called “The Style,” a unique performance vernacular developed by The Conspirators. Every element – writing, directing, ensemble performance, music, set - brings something you will likely not have seen before.

The play is Accidental Death of a Black Motorist- the title alone both suggestive and incendiary. What happens on stage is even more so, with a truly barn-burning performance by Anthony Hinderman – a recent arrival to the Chicago scene and now an ensemble member in The Conspirators. (I am already grieving the likelihood this guy will soon be scooped up by New York or Hollywood.)

The roots of this work are heady, drawn from Italian Nobel laureate Dario Fo’s absurdist Death of an Anarchist. Writer Sid Feldman, who has adapted it into a precise Chicago argot, justifiably claims script credits, having updated the original to a relentlessly witty, laugh-rich brew that will leave you breathless, and powerfully impacted. 

In a nutshell, the story tells of a Chicago police crew who have arrested a man for “driving while black,” (we never see him). "The subject was driving too nice of a car for that neighborhood," explains the arresting officer in his broad Chicago accent. 

The victim somehow ends up jumping to his death from a fourth floor police station window during questioning. Feldman has transmogrified these hapless cops into a witless crew that is unable to develop its own cover story to avoid liability for the innocent man’s death. 

Then comes the subversive Actor (Anthony Hinderman) who re-enters the scene (he had earlier been arrested for a minor infraction but skipped out) and now convinces the police he has been sent by the court to help them clear their names. Crafty as a grifter, The Actor transforms into several characters, but the cops don’t catch on. As Actor reads through the police report he ostensibly helps them generate alibis for their inconsistencies, but once they commit to one of his proposed covers, he lets them see the new story won’t fly under questioning either. 

Detective Berkstra (Nathaniel Fishburn), speaking in heavilyinflected South'side, complains,  "You said you were here to help us, but all you've done is cast doubt on everything we say!" 

Hindeman brings a extraordinary plasticity to his facial expressions. Coated in pancake and heavily made up, he grimaces and mugs for all he is worth. 

The technique used in the show is “The Style,” which The Conspirators describe as a distilled amalgam of the 16th century Italian Commedia del Arte style, with “influences like Kabuki, Kathakali, Bugs Bunny, and a high-energy punk-rock aesthetic” that is like “a coke-fueled clown nightmare.”

Abandoning any semblance of naturalism, the actors are done up in grotesque makeup, with stylized movements punctuated by very expressive percussion as commentary. (Sarah Scanlon played the night I saw the show.) Footlights illuminate the stage in a stark glare, perhaps off-putting at first, but mesmerizing soon enough.

You may fear for Hinderman lest he be immolated in the blaze he sets on stage, but so too the rest of the troupe, who have clearly drunk whatever cool-aid The Conspirators are mixing. In fact, the cast really becomes one actor. Every performer amazes – Kate Booth as Detective Bertowski, Nathaniel Fishburn as Detective Berkstra, Ali Janes as TV newscaster Madison Boan, Nicole Frydman as Chief of Police, and the list goes on.

I sought out this play after a friend mentioned their previous production, The Deckchairs, or, Make the Titanic Great Again. (That one tells what happens on board after an iceberg denier is elected captain of the unsinkable ship.)

Wm. Bullion directed this unique show, which uses its special forms and styles to cast a fresh light on the social injustice it addresses. Far from dreary, it is truly liberating. Accidental Death of a Black Motorist runs Thursday, Friday and Saturdays through November 23 at the Athenaeum Theatre, 2936 Southport on Chicago.

Triggered by Shylock’s role, Invictus Theatre gives us a strong production of The Merchant of Venice. One of Shakespeare’s most accessible plays, The Merchant is seasoned with timeless lines: “Love is blind”, “Let me play the fool,” “The quality of mercy is not strained,” “the devil can cite Scripture for his purpose.”

And its well-crafted subplots include the famous trio of suitors seeking the key to marry the princess Portia (Julia Badger), by choosing blindly among three boxes - with only the barest of hints to guide them. The Merchant of Venice also features Shakespeare’s only explicitly Jewish character, Shylock (Joseph Beal) – a moneylender who, along with his Jewish companion, Tubal (Joshua Seeger), is reviled by the citizens of Venice. In this production, we are transported to Mussolini’s Italy in 1938 – a time when Hitler’s Nuremburg laws against Jews were promulgated.

Though updating the period of Shakespeare’s plays is almost commonplace, as though the scripts are in need of a facelift, Invictus heightens the impact of the singularly disturbing Jew-baiting structured into Shakespeare’s action and dialog. The opening scene features menacing uniformed Blackshirt fascista in jackboots and jodhpurs, and soon enough the merchant Antonio (Chuck Monro) spits in the face of Shylock (Joseph Beal). Mussolini’s face is plastered in posters all around, and his thundering speeches play before the curtain rises. The costumes by Sato Schechner are elegant and on trend.

What Shakespeare had in mind with Shylock is open to question; Jews had been driven from and banned by England for centuries. Invictus dramaturg Michael Shapiro notes the play was likely produced in response to a plot to kill Queen Elizabeth – for which her Jewish-Spanish physician was executed. The Bard may also have been drawn to the outsider nature of Shylock, who like Othello or Hamlet, suffers for his “otherness.”

Christians in Venice were prohibited by the Church from making loans, so Jews made them. Shylock laments his lack of stature among the merchant class, despite the essential service he offers.

In the play, the young merchant Bassanio (Martin Diaz-Valdes) needs funding for ships in a trading expedition. Shylock sets up a bullet-proof contract with default requiring payment in the famous “pound of flesh.” Bassanio also needs the wealth to buttress pursuit of Portia as his bride. As the plot turns, the ships founder in storms, and the loan is called. Shylock engenders our sympathy as he expounds eloquently on the abuse he suffers from the trading class.

When Bassanio’s associate Salarino (Mitchell Spencer) suggests the terms are too harsh to enforce, Shylock asserts his case compellingly in the marketplace:

He hath disgraced me, and….what's his reason? I am a Jew….

Hath not a Jew eyes? Hath not a Jew hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions? …If you prick us, do we not bleed? if you tickle us, do we not laugh? if you poison us, do we not die? and if you wrong us, shall we not revenge?

In this Merchant of Venice, the language of Shakespeare is handled effectively, with Chuck Monro as Antonio, Martin Diaz-Valdes as Bassanio and Madeline Pell as Nerissa delivering compelling performances.  Monro also brings a depth of emotion to his part.

In the role of Shylock, Joseph Beal uses a kind of Ashkenaz accent (a Western European “Jewish” accent if I have it right) which atop the Elizabethan English is quite a feat. But it seemed to me the Ashkenaz was slathered on a bit heavily, which at times diminished the power of the underlying script. Still you cannot not miss the power of his Shylock performance, a testament to Beal’s strength. A nod to a very special performer is in order: Jack Morsovillo played Launcelot, the Jailer, and the suitor, the Prince of Arragon, effortlessly switching roles, between stints playing incidental guitar music. Well done!

Recommended, The Merchant of Venice runs through November 17 at the Pride Arts Center, 4147 N. Broadway in Chicago.

What brings people together? Similar interest, physical attraction, and availability? Or could it be just a side effect of the medication the doctor prescribed? Strawdog Theatre Company kicks their 32nd season off with the Chicago Premier of Lucy Prebble’s The Effect.

Tristan, a cheerful young man hungry to see the world, and Connie, a bright young woman unsure of her purpose in life, volunteer as subjects for a new antidepressant. The study is being monitored by Dr. Lorna James who battles with her own depression. From the moment they take their first dosage of this new medication, Connie and Tristan find themselves falling in love. An attraction that appears as a blessing to Tristan but troubling to Connie who is already in a relationship with an older man. As the experiment proceeds, and the dosage Tristan and Connie ingest increase, so does their attraction with one another. Connie offers that the antidepressant could very well be the reason they are willing to change their lives for one another. Believing what is pulling them together is simply a side effect. That’s until one of them finds out that the other is on a placebo.

Acclaimed writer Lucy Prebble, Co-Executive Producer and Co-writer of HBO new hit show Succession has created an impressive catalog. The Effect originally premiered at the National Theater and won the Critic’s Circle Award for Best New Play and has been dazzling audiences since then. The dialogue feels authentic to the point that it hurts. Free of any restraint, allowing the characters to reveal the best and worst part of themselves. 

Chicago based director Elly Green gives displays The Effect on a cube shape stage. Using the monitor in the center as into the character’s dosage amount, their EKG, and bio. It’s presented in a way that to make the audience feel like doctors sitting before the stage in lab coats, analyzing the experiment at hand. The production very well deserved an applause along with the actors for catapulting the audience into the play like a 2001: A Space Odyssey trip in a vortex of lights.

Each actor holds their own in this fine play, but the one I want to place the spotlight on is Justine C. Turner who plays Dr. Lorna James. She handles the transition from a calm, collected doctor doing her job to a broken woman in an astounding way. As if you’re watching Lady Macbeth struggle to rub that damn spot from her clothes for an entire half of a play. 

The Effect is modern love tale that deeply absorbs the reality of prescribed medications and its weight in our society. These new medicines, its shady providers or overuse by the consumer, brings new questions for this generation and others following to answer. We must find a balance between ourselves and this new medicine. Establish a way we use them to aid us through our everyday lives and not hinder or disrupt. The Effect takes on this subject with intellect, humor, and plenty of heart. 

Through November 23, 2019 at Strawdog Theatre.

How many times have you heard someone say they went to see a western/zombie play? Most people would dismiss the idea of a western/zombie story especially one being played out on a stage. The two genres don’t seem to mesh well together when you put them in the same sentence. The western is a genre of post-Civil War America. The genre comes with a bravado similar to Arthurian mythology. The zombie genre has mostly been a contemporary tale. Usually a terrifying result of some wacky science experiment. Since The Walking Dead or Zombieland, the genre has seen a resurgence. We enjoy playing with the idea of “what if". The zombie and/ or zombie invasion has become a way to study relationships when love ones die and resurrect into a dangerous, poisonous being. Bill Daniel’s Hell Followed With Her attacks this study and blends it with drama you can only find in a well-written Western.

Willow Parker is a hardened bounty hunter out for revenge. For the two years, she’s travel far and wide to locate a man named Glanton, who muredered her family after escaping prison. She finds him in Dodge, Texas, along with a few other shady characters in a dimpy lit saloon. The zombie invasion starts of as subtle, with the town’s doctor mulling over the unusual bite marks he discovered from the last thirteen patients. As tensions skyrocket, the disease spread all over Dodge, and the sick have their sights set on the saloon where they can hear gunshots being fired.

Later, Willow Parker reveals that the disease has been following her throughout her journey for revenge. Every town she passed by is swallowed by the disease, which brings the two genres together in an interesting way. Though the origin of the disease is never revealed nor is there any explanation in the connection between the disease and Willow Parker’s revenge, the parallel adds an excitement foreign to the Western genre. An excitement that the genre could use (except for stuff like that 2011 film Cowboys and Aliens. That movie should cover the alien invasion angle). Without explanation, the audience can understand that the disease is a manifestation of Parker’s revenge. Where some revenge stories glorify the idea for an eye for an eye, Hell Followed With Her examines the revenge story as a dark passage that comes with heavy consequences when traveled.

Sophia Rosado gives a reserve performance as Willow Parker that works well with the cold-hearted character, but Krista D’Agostino, as Dr. Haxton is magnificent. Laying it all out on the stage, you feel her confusion, her sorrow, and panic. Out of all of the tough and rough characters in the play, hers is the most relatable. The intellectual trying to make sense of something supernatural.

The first half rolls along and ends on a high note that leaves the audience anxiously waiting for the outcome. But when the second half comes along it's stuffed with two flashbacks. One detailing a time when Willow Parker and another infamous bounty hunter Cole White met in Mexico. The other Glanton describes the night he murdered Parker’s parents. The play drags for the last fifteen minutes. A dice game is used as an attempt to intensify the moment but end up being unnecessary along with a shaky fight scene and long pauses in between lines. By the time the ending finally arrives, it ends the same it began with a song written by Bill Daniel called Willow’s Song. Sophia’s silky smooth voice almost makes up for the second half, but one may still leave their seat wishing there was smoother road to the end.

Despite the second-half’s length, Hell Followed With Her brings a different kind of story to the stage that blends well with the Halloween season. I challenge anyone that questions the idea of a western/zombie play being any good to see this show. It will shock you, make you laugh, and possibly change your mind on what’s possible and what’s not.

Through November 9th, 2019 at The Den Theater.

There is something immensely endearing in the passion that community theater groups bring to the stage. A Man of No Importance captures exactly these qualities, as its cast plays a troupe preparing for a production of Oscar Wilde’s Salome.

Set in 1964 Dublin, Ireland, A Man of No Importance was a 2002 Broadway musical comedy written by the team that created Anastasia and Ragtime – Lynn Ahrens, Stephen Flaherty, with book by Terrence McNally (Master Class, The Full Monty, Kiss of the Spider Woman, et.al.). While not a blockbuster, it does have some lovely music. 

That show in turn was adapted from the well-regarded 1994 film (a non-musical), which starred Albert Finney in an exceptional performance as Alfie, a 60-year-old Dublin streetcar conductor. Severely repressing his gay orientation (even the term “closeted” was not in general use then), Alfie expresses his gay self channeling Oscar Wilde in his mirror. 

The broad strokes of A Man of No Importance are the same in both the film and the musical, though the inner life of Alfie is the point of the film, while the musical version emphasizes the community of players – and the redemptive quality of being who you really are, even if you are gay. That was more easily said than done in 1963 Ireland, where a “pouf” was the pejorative term for a gay person, who was subject to severe social opprobrium in the period. Same-sex relations were only decriminalized in 1993 in the Republic of Ireland. (For the U.K., including Northern Ireland, it was legalized in 1967.)

In both versions Alfie is beaten and outed, but survives and comes back stronger. Finney’s Alfie is an exuberant, ebullient fellow, though filled with longing and extreme inhibition about sharing his secret of the “love that dares not speak its name.” In Pride Films & Play’s production, directed by Donterrio Johnson, Alfie (Ryan Lanning) is likewise filled with longing and inhibition, but with little of the kind of verve that made the film version Alfie believable and lovable.

Alfie entertains his streetcar patrons with warm banter and poetic readings, and scouts their numbers for potential performers in his troupe. He identifies one new arrival on his Dublin streetcar – Adele Rice (Ciera Dawn) – as a prospect to for the show – and talks her into joining. 

Alfie is also secretly in love with the motorman, Robbie Fay (Nick Arceo), and entreats him to join the cast, with a promise of meeting single women players. Robbie Fay in turn pressures Alfie to join him in the pub after work. Alfie does so reluctantly, retreating awkwardly when his secret yearnings turn up on the gaydar of a barfly, the comely young Breton Beret (Kevin O’Connell, who also plays a phantom Oscar Wilde).

All the while, Alfie risks running afoul of society. Late middle aged (he is 60 in the movie) Alfie lives - since mother died - under the watchful care of his spinster sister Lily (Sarah Beth Tanner brings great life to this character). Lily avidly wants Alfie to find a girl to marry, so she can relinquish her responsibility of caring for him. (That's how society worked in Ireland.) Lily's intended, the butcher Carney (Tommy Bullington), is a regular cast member in the Alfie’s group, but also an arch conservative Catholic in the Altar & Rosary Sodality.

It isn't long before Carney figures out that this year’s script includes salacious scenes "and fornication" as Carney rails – the Dance of the Seven Veils included – and the show is booted from St. Imelda's as pornographic midway through rehearsal. The positive resolution of this crisis - it’s Broadway, after all, the show must go on – is melodramatic, but still somehow satisfying.  

This cast features some very good singers, dancers, and performers. Though there are a couple somewhat wooden actors, most bring an infectious energy to the show, as do the characters they play in the rehearsal for Salome. Lanning is a polished tenor; and Nick Arceo’s baritone gives Robbie Fay the requisite manliness. Amanda Giles’ performance as Mrs. Curtin earned belly laughs, especially her proposal to transform the seductive “Dance of the Seven Veils” as a tap dance sequence. A Man of No Importance runs through November 10 at The Broadway Theater in Pride Arts Center, 4139 N. Broadway.

*Extended through November 17th