Patrick Du Laney and Neala Barron/Photo: Matthew Gregory Hollis
There is a case to be made for the correlation between the expedient rise of fascism and the expansion of expressionistic art in the early twentieth century. On their respective faces they are in stark opposition. Fascism’s commitment to the sanctity of statehood clashes deeply with expressionism’s conviction in subjective reality. It would seem that Elmer Rice was mulling over these polarities when he wrote “The Adding Machine” in 1923. Rice’s play was given a second life as a musical that began in—and now returns to—Chicago, where it finds an ideal home with the sensitive polymaths at The Hypocrites. Read the rest of this entry »
(front) John Taflan, Patrick Du Laney and Bear Bellinger. (back) Tyler Brown, Jonah D. Winston, Laura McClain and Kelli Harrington in The Hypocrites production of “Adding Machine: A Musical”/Photo: Matthew Gregory Hollis
“Adding Machine: A Musical” at The Hypocrites. An expressionistic take on the play of the same name. Love, murder and key changes. Through May 15. For tickets and more information visit the-hypocrites.com
“The Diary of Anne Frank” at Metropolis Performing Arts Centre. The most iconic tale of WWII returns to Metropolis. Through April 11. For tickets and more information visit metropolisarts.com
“Kill Floor” at American Theater Company. A meaty Midwest premiere about lean times and second chances. Through May 1. For tickets and more information visit atcweb.org
“That Maxwell Bitch” at The Annoyance Theatre. Finding empowerment with Annoyance vet Megan Johns. Tuesdays. For tickets and more information visit theannoyance.com
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Joanne Dubach and Zach Wegner/Photo: Evan Hanover
“The Glass Menagerie” comes with its own set of built-in values. Mounting it is like renting a vintage sports car. It is a luxurious, time-tested play that is bound to garner attention whether you launch it out of a reputable regional playhouse or a metropolitan storefront. Yet it is easy to be too attentive to Williams’ anti-magic act, to swoon too deeply for the charms of his play. With their current production, The Hypocrites fall hard for this national treasure. The feelings, evidently, are not mutual. Read the rest of this entry »
Jay Torrence, Anthony Courser, Pam Chermansky, Molly Plunk, Leah Urzendowski and Ryan Walters/Photo: Evan Hanover
For all but the cult-like fans of “Mr. Show,” the appearance of “W/ Bob & David” on Netflix is likely little more than a curiosity. For the inquisitive, I recommend a quick scan of the infamous “Mr. Show” sketch “The Story of Everest,” wherein a young climber returns from his daring exploit only to ritualistically make himself a fool in a far more domestic setting. From there, “The Story of Everest” evolves into “The Story of ‘The Story of Everest’,” proving how the “reality” behind the fiction can often be far more entertaining than the fiction itself. Read the rest of this entry »
Hunter Dunn, Justin Burns, Olivia Shine (rabbit) and Brian Baren (turtle)/Photo: Evan Hanover
For the last three years I’ve been the organizer of a short-film festival dedicated exclusively to the work of high-school students from around the world. The films submitted are often a lot like you might imagine: low-budget auteur idolatry, a general air of basement and backyard spontaneity, a loose definition of plot and even looser definition of resolution. Yet there is one element that comes up again and again in the films I have watched that does surprise me: death. Read the rest of this entry »
Malic White (center) with cast and band/Photo: Evan Hanover
Green Day’s “American Idiot” sounds like someone took a real work of art, hammered and sanded it into an orb of commodified meaninglessness, cooked it up under the flame of unquenchable corporate greed and shot it straight into the arm of a generation of angst-ridden teenagers starving for some—or any—kind of validity for their hormonal rage. It is a pop-culture object for which I not only feel zero affection but actual repulsion. But I would be more full of shit than a mid-2000s middle school Live Journal if I said I did not enjoy every second of this not-quite Midwest premiere of the musical that bears its name, which is currently being staged by the incomparable ensemble known as The Hypocrites. Read the rest of this entry »
Geoff Button and Walter Briggs/Photo: Evan Hanover
One might think that Sean Graney’s title for his play/adaptation/mashup/opus “All Our Tragic” is a bit of playful hyperbole. But nope. It’s all in there. From Prometheus on the rock to Herakles butchering his children to Oedipus and Troy and Orestes’ revenge on Klytaimnestra, “All Our Tragic” is an entire survey course in Greek tragedy crammed into a single twelve-hour play.
Oh yes, about that. It’s twelve hours long. And it is definitely worth it.
Adapted by Graney from all thirty-two surviving Greek tragedies, “All Our Tragic” is as liberal with its source material as it is with its blood effects. It isn’t necessarily meant to be an “accurate” adaptation of the classic tragedies—which were themselves a remixing of mythology, history and commentary. It treats the plays like raw ores that Graney melts down to then forge into something bigger, grander and truly epic.
And as much as the play is a never-ending parade of death and misery and woe, it is also shot through with irreverence. The play isn’t only alive, it is also keenly self-aware. And that’s good, because Greek tragedy is weird, man. Dragons and spear brides and witches, and… . But by allowing the play to laugh at itself, Graney pre-empts our own ironic detachment. We are allowed to laugh with the play, rather than at it. And then we cry with it too. Read the rest of this entry »
Lindsey Gavel, Joel Ewing, Mary Williamson and Hilary Williams/Photo: Evan Hanover
In college, the old adage goes: sleep, work, social life; choose two. For Anton Chekhov, a similarly triangular logic exists: happiness, knowledge, safety; choose two and constantly long for the third. Or better yet: choose all three, believe they are within your grasp, discover how wrong you were, become disillusioned, find an adequately expressive metaphor, sink into existential grief.
The Hypocrites adaptation of “Three Sisters” aims to bring Chekhov to a generation of “Downton Abbey” viewers. It is an honorable task that the company is more than equipped to handle. There are moments of audience-baiting—a casual “whatever” or two gets dropped—though things mostly stick to the script. There is a wedding, a fire, a couple of affairs and a duel, all of which take place offstage. Like a decadent feast, the real story takes place in the kitchen, not the dining room.
Naturally, this is Chekhov’s prerogative. Given the atmospheric nature of “Three Sisters,” the challenge is in staging. Director Geoff Button is undeniably talented in this regard. While the period and tableau may require rigidity, his actors remain fluid and graceful. They work harmoniously toward the play’s delightful anticlimax and dour conception of life constantly on the cusp of truly beginning. Read the rest of this entry »
Kurt Ehrmann, Brian Shaw and Donna McGough/Photo: Evan Hanover
The plays of Samuel Beckett are self-contained worlds. They are shorn of history, context and anything resembling realism: life boiled down to its bone-broth essence. So when director Halena Kays gives us a production of Beckett’s “Endgame” that is itself contained in its own little traveling vaudeville stage wagon, it makes a refreshing amount of sense. And it helps that the set by Elizabeth Bracken along with the lights by Maggie Fullilove-Nugent, costumes by Jessica Kuehnau Wardell and makeup by Nathan Rohrer all look fantastic. And seedy. And a little bit scary.
Kays however doesn’t fully embrace the starkness of Beckett’s vision, and it’s to the play’s benefit. Not only do all the characters speak in the playwright’s natural Irish lilt, but they wear the old-timey vaudeville heart of his style on their sleeve. They mug, they perform, they savor their moment in the (literal) spotlight. They seem of a specific place and specific time, and these glimmers of what once was make their irrevocable collapse all the more melancholic. Signs of children, an extinct species here, abound. Read the rest of this entry »