Displaying items by tag: Emjoy Gavino

Lookingglass Theatre, known for its excellent production values and its incomparable space at the Water Tower pumping station, brings us an intriguing new work, Act(s) of God. 

Billed as an existential dark comedy, but really much more of a farce, it is a “guess who’s coming to dinner” tale of cosmic proportions. Written by troupe member and actor Kareem Bandealy and directed by Heidi Stillman, the show spares nothing in quality of effort and has an intriguing storyline, but runs off the rails by the third act. 

It opens on a middle-class family home where Father (Rom Barkhordar) and Mother (Shannon Cochran in an outstanding performance) await the homecoming of their boy Middle (Anthony Irons) and his girl Fiancée (Emjoy Gavino). Their two other children will also be arriving soon, a daughter Eldest (Kristina Valada-Viars) and another son, Youngest (Walter Briggs).

Sorting the mail, Mother listens to a radio report on the imminent passage near earth of the asteroid, Apophis, while she and Father reveal in passing that it is April 2029 – a date that gains in significance. Other rather witty exposition tells us how much (and how little) the world has advanced from the present. “Everyone’s driving solar cars, but why do we still have junk mail?” Mother asks.

In the mail pile Mother finds an unusual letter, but she can’t tear the envelope, nor can Father, nor the other children as they each arrive. No one can, that is, until Eldest arrives, disturbing the others who are deep in a stylized, futuristic New Age prayer ritual. (In a  droll touch, Bandealy has them ask God not for forgiveness, but to “Help us forgive ourselves.”) As it turns out Eldest is not only an atheist but also a lesbian, things which estrange her from the family. And perhaps to the detriment of this script, Eldest is a writer. But she is able to open the letter, revealing that it contains a message from God: he’s coming for dinner tomorrow night.

The plot thickens promisingly, and great deal of angst and stress accompanies preparations for their guests’ arrival, with Mother begging the rest, “Please don’t embarrass me in front of God.”

But the play takes a turn for the worse, as family tensions and dynamics fill the remainder of a way too-long show (three acts, two intermissions). These scenes are full of drama, but they do not a play make.  And while Bandealy’s characters are clearly defined personalities, jousting continuously, they seem only vaguely related to each other. Was it a matter of casting or direction?

Perhaps it’s the script – which is not fully jelled. Much of the dialog is actors reciting lengthy written texts, well stated, but mostly unconvincing as spoken language. This is slightly less of an issue with Mother, Youngest, and Fiancee, but is especially a problem with Eldest, who talks over the other characters in sometimes interminable diatribes and expository essays. Such character types have been known to represent the author.

There are also unconvincing dramatic moments, as when Father falls asleep sitting up in a chair for almost an entire Act, while a wild family wrestling and shouting match surrounds him. Or the siblings and Mother sitting unnaturally rigid and immobile throughout a scene as Father comes and goes from the kitchen, talking a mile a minute. 

Bandealy does give each character a moment of glory, with a signal monologue: in the son Middle’s take-down of his sister, Anthony Irons is moving and convincing. In Father’s recitation of an invented religious parable, Rom Barkhordar is flawless. Likewise, Shannon Cochran, who in what might be a ranting soliloquy decrying the raw deal given her by motherhood, instead sings her lines to the accompaniment of a baroque sinfonietta. It’s surpassingly than charming.

Oh yes, and God comes and goes, unseen by us. But we do hear him like a “passing wind” (a nice inside joke for religious folks, he is flatulent on a cosmic scale as well, it turns out). The date of God’s arrival, April 14, 2029, is repeated so frequently in the dialog I looked it up in Wikipedia. It is the day a large asteroid will come within 19,000 miles of the Earth – which clarifies the radio report in the opening minutes of Act(s) of God. 

The set by Brian Sidney Bembridge – the living and dining room of a middle-class family home – is wonderfully appointed, and conveys that indeterminate futuristic point in time with a mix of furnishings dating from 1920 deco and ersatz 1950s French provincial, to mid-century modern and contemporary retro, along with futuristic sconces and wall paper. 

The set matters, as it must also provide a climactic end to the play. But it was not a particularly satisfying one. The coincidence of a visit from God and an asteroid flyby gives a reasonable platform for an existential dark comedy, but hours of family squabbling didn't seem very existential or funny. There’s some good in Act(s) of God, and some great bits, so it's somewhat recommended if you have the patience for it. It will be at Lookingglass Theatre through April 7, 2019.

The Chicago premiere of a Tom Stoppard play is one of the most hotly anticipated events of this season. We’re never short for great Stoppard productions in this town, but The Hard Problem was Stoppard’s first new play in nine years when it debuted in 2015, and since Court Theatre’s Charlie Newell can be trusted to mount a strong production, the author is undoubtedly the main draw. Some of his best-known plays, such as the recently produced Travesties and Arcadia, were extremely complicated, sprawling works which required the audience to have a sizable pre-existing knowledge of artistic movements and the interplay between culture and technology, but The Hard Problem, as the title states, zeroes in on a single issue which, depending on which side of it you fall on, might not really seem to be a problem at all. Whether the mind is a function of the brain or has an ethereal quality is not something Stoppard attempts to answer definitively, but the degree to which this play interests you will largely depend on your investment in the debate.

Chaon Cross owns the part of Hilary, the only fully three-dimensional character in the play. A young psychologist whose path in life has had some unexpected hiccups, Hilary is dependent on Spike (Jürgen Hooper), an evolutionary biologist, to help her fake the mathematical credentials she needs to get a job with the Krohl Institute, a research lab dedicated to solving the mind-body problem. She doesn’t even particularly want to work there, but it was the only place she applied to and heard back from. Spike is an utterly noxious, self-justifying proponent of evolutionary psychology, but it seems to be more than just a need to be perceived as good at data processing which causes Hilary to keep inviting him into her bed. Anyway, it turns out that Leo (Brian McCaskill), the man running the part of the Krohl Institute Hilary’s interested in, shares her preference for psychology over neurology, and she gets the job on her own merits.

The Krohl Institute was created by Jerry Krohl (Nathan Hosner), a billionaire hedge fund manager, to help him gain an edge over other traders. Krohl himself doesn’t really care whether the brain is a meat computer or a conduit for the sublime; he just wants to eliminate uncertainty in practical matters. Early on, we meet Amal (Owais Ahmed), a mathematician who holds the position that the soul is flesh and whom Krohl later punishes for publicly predicting the 2008 crash instead of keeping it close to the vest. Amal’s growing disillusion with humans’ capacity for rational thought is driven largely by what he sees happening in the stock market, but he’s reluctant to fall into line with Hilary’s belief that this leaves us with no alternatives but belief in some kind of divinity.

The plot concerns Hilary’s struggle with a job that was never a good fit for her while her entire field appears to be in jeopardy. But Stoppard’s interest seems to be in how nobody really wants to acknowledge the true implications of their belief system, whatever that happens to be. Hilary is a less forceful arguer than Spike, but Newell’s centering of her on stage almost throughout the show and Cross’s commitment to her full range of emotions prevent us from dismissing her. Stoppard has also made her opponents repulsive Thersites-like characters, while Hilary’s on-stage ally is the kind-hearted, idealistic Bo (Emjoy Gavino). John Culbert’s scenic design doesn’t give them very many hiding places, which is perhaps why they resort to vicious verbal, and eventually, physical confrontations to make their points.

If Stoppard’s goal was to show how the debate over the hard problem spills out of sealed realms such as universities and think tanks to strike at peoples’ deepest vulnerabilities, the flatness of the other characters prevents him from quite getting there. However, he does a good enough job of illustrating his point for us to understand it. A great many people love Stoppard and Court Theatre simply for having these conversations, with no expectation the problem will be resolved. Pointing out how divorced from real life rationalism and rationalizations are is enough to make a fruitful evening, and getting to experience it being put so eloquently by fine actors is a bonus.

Recommended

The Hard Problem plays at Court Theatre through April 9, with performances on Wednesdays and Thursdays at 7:30 pm, Fridays at 8:00 pm, Saturdays at 3:00 pm and 8:00 pm, and Sundays at 2:30 pm and 7:30 pm. Running time is one hour and forty minutes with no intermission. Tickets are $48–68; to order, call 773-753-4472 or visit CourtTheatre.org. For more information, see TheatreinChicago.com.