2008: By The Numbers

Cadillac - 44 Shows Down

Remember when this blog was more than just a running blog? It is once again. 

Trading the comfortable and familiar for the scary and thrilling unknown is a comfortable and familiar dramatic staple. Hard to imagine an effective nostagia piece on the 'glory days' of glad handling car salesmen but Cadillac, a 2007 hit returning in summer '08 for a well-deserved victory lap at Theatre on the Lake, gets us there. Nostalgia might not be the right word for looking 5 years back. Then again, VH1 gets misty over last week, so go figure.

The story transpires on the last day of a tense month. The cocky young gun of the sales staff needs one more sale to break the wily 'ol veteran's monthly record. By extension, time honored gumption and outsized personality would be eclipsed by a kid fielding requests off the internet.  

So when the new girl needs this one more sale to hit quota and save her job, the other players line up to help/hurt her for their own selfish reasons. The sales manager must decide whether to step in or let his sales team duke it out. Here's an ethical quandary straight from Mamet's best work, resolved uncomfortably, realistically, and with much less profanity.  

Golda's Balcony - 43 Shows Down, 57 to Go

War is messy.  Politics are messy.  Politicking during war is all kinds of messy.

Golda Meir's legend as the endearing mother and housewife turned hawkish prime minister is taken to task but mostly reinforced in this splendidly acted but historically dubious one-woman show. She holds court from her kitchen, charting her reluctant, meteoric career while gradually revealing her personal demons. On Israel's enemies: "They want us eliminated, we want to live.  There's no room for compromise!" Often during the Jewish state's first three decades, the prime minister makes decisions in a code orange environment.  Retaliation is a given, the question is how.

An hour and a half of war room stories and gut wrenching reactions to fallen soldiers later, Golda is no less the enigma she was before the lights went down. Writer William Gibson's clearly trying to have it both ways: his heroine's tough-minded enough to forcefully respond to all threats but human enough to be critical about it. War's a given in the world of this show. It's the existing, unquestionable order not to be questioned.  The diplomatic tasks will be largely left to her successors, for now she can't lose face.  Sound familiar?

These reservations aside, Janet Ulrich Brooks delivers a well measured performance, tightly winding the title character's maternal instincts, belligerence and grating sense of entitlement. You love her and hate her for it but, as she's speaking at the end of her life (and metaphysically speaking, from the grave), she's sincerely atoning for past sins and sharpening her moral compass. An imperfect figure in far from perfect times.

Dante Dies!! (and then things get weird) - 42 Shows Down, 58 to Go

Dante's Inferno was a hit with my high school in class, its lurid descriptions of suffering and redemption appealing equally to the goth kids and comic book fans. Not too surprised then that a stage adaptation by a young writer, performer and company was this summer's darling among younger, hipper theater patrons.

Despondent over a voice mail breakup, protagonist Dante plunges into the netherworld, facing nine circles of frustration at the hands of quirky gatekeepers. Matt Fletcher's the man in the one-man show, a well oiled machine smoothly shifting through more than a dozen characters.  If anything, his disciplined transitions come at the expense of deeper character development. Considering the non-equity venue and Fletcher's age (only a couple years removed from college), it's a very assured, professional performance.  Thrift store castoffs and random trinkets litter the landscape, making this journey very familiar and only slightly kitschy.

Good Crazy, Bad Crazy - 41 Shows Down, 59 to Go

In the opening video for her first one-woman show, Sarah King queries her parents on the definition of crazy and, the heart of the show, asks them to distinguish between good crazy & bad crazy. Which one’s her daughter? Mom: “the best kind of crazy.”  It’s the first of the night’s many disarming moments. Sarah’s plenty funny and it’s fun to watch her improvise. Crazy? Sure, a little from column A & a little from column B. Ten minutes into the show, she’s having so much fun, the crazy seems harmless enough.

This is more variety show than coherent plot-laden exercise. The one recurring story is completely based on true events, chronicling her decision to donate her eggs to her sister and brother in law and its consequences. Nothing tragic here, the child was actually born during the show’s initial run. (It’s since closed but, word has it, she’s bringing it back to the Lakeshore this fall.)

Only complaint is that she needs to tighten up some of the skits, like her talk show personality Mama Truth (pictured). But for an early career comedienne, she’s ahead of the game. And that’s not crazy talk.

Gutenberg! The Musical! - 40 Shows Down, 60 to Go

Gutenberg! gleefully, and somewhat cynically, exploits two noble truths of entertainment: 1) striving for success is a much more fascinating story than actually attaining success; 2) making fun of goofy dumb guys never goes out of style.

This story of Bud and Doug, a writing duo auditioning their “Broadway Bound” musical tribute to the inventor of the printing press and the revolution he’d foment is loads of silly, occasionally rather clever, and less occasionally dumb. The two actors portray every character, from the plucky titular inventor to the old black narrator to the adorably anti-Semitic little girl who gets in the way, cycling through dozens of them simply by changing hats. Cute and funny, yes, and a knowing satire of our dumbed down discourse, our ADD-fueled pop culture and the cheap, gimmicky culture known as Broadway.

I only wish they could sustain this ridiculous premise through the second act. That’s when the performers reveal their less than compelling personal stories and past failed ventures (musicals based on vampires and Stephen King books). It’s when they run into the dilemma of “meta” entertainment trying to have its cake and eat it too. When the show turns simple and the jokes turn flat, it surely can’t be because the show’s writers have run out of things to say. No, it’s simply Bud and Doug being Bud and Doug! Winking and nodding at a strained pun rarely makes it better. In fact, one of their best jokes reads better than the duo’s smile-nod-get it?-get it? delivery:

 

Doug: This is what's known as foreshadowing.

Bud: What's foreshadowing?

Doug: I'll tell you later!

 

 

Maybe they’re trying so hard to justify the hype and $40+ ticket price that come with a national sensation camping out at the Royal George. A shoestring spoof of overexposed entertainment isn’t exactly new to Chicago. I’ve seen this type of thing done much better in midnight shows at broom-closet black boxes when some kids have a wicked premise and nothing to lose.

Woody Guthrie's American Song - 39 Shows Down, 61 to Go

Here's a charming look at folky Guthrie's life and music. A multi-generational ensemble transforms a near barren stage into a hootenanny as history lesson. Guthrie came from nearly nothing to develop a following decrying the injustice and greed extending Depression-era bread lines, then taking aim at fascists around the world.

Woody seems like the perfect subject for a musical barn burner, so it's disappointing to see Blindfaith Theater present such a milquetoast rendering of Peter Glazer's musical, which itself stays too close to the surface. Decades after Guthrie's death, this production focuses on a compelling personality and more generalized pain and suffering. There's only a hint of rancor between the troubadour and the more conservative business owners who'd try to censor him. 

It doesn't have to be this way. Billy Bragg and Wilco's tribute to the lost Guthrie songbook wasn't shy about its call to action, taking plenty of swipes at repressive jerks. And those guys are far more pampered than the non-Equity folk. That said, the singing and collaborative vibe is quite fine. Pair it with the right material and spirit and we'd really have something.

Durango - 38 Shows Down, 62 to Go

A sign of true greatness in Julia Cho’s family drama as road trip story—by the end, we are immensely satisfied but feel there’s so much more we’ll never know. A freshly laid-off father decides to drive his two sons to the titular tourist trap. As the hours pass, the facades of the trio’s seemingly tranquil lives crack, each summoning the spirit of the family’s prematurely deceased matriarch. Those monologues add a mystical, somewhat humorous and deeply affecting dimension to the evening. The only “female character” is expressed through three dudes, two put her on a pedestal, the other consistently avoided necessary confrontations.

In three short years, the producing company Silk Road Theatre Project has consistently amazed me. Founded by two theater pros of Middle Eastern descent to highlight work from and inspired by the countries of the Silk Road, their earliest productions were healthy does of intelligence concerning the Arab-Israeli conflict and Arabs in America. This season headed east, focusing on Indian Americans and, here, Chinese Americans.

Pairing a multiculti stable of actors with top quality work is tough enough. Here, the father, an immigrant speaking perfectly broken English, bears the stress of a world he rarely understands. Homeland values like hard work and rampant dedication don't take him very far and his sons dreams are altogether different. The great American family story has evolved for the 21^st Century, and that’s a very good thing.

Not A Game for Boys - 37 Shows Down, 63 to Go

Simon Block’s mid 90s “laddie drama” beautifully resolves the sorest feature of the Goodman’s more hyped but somewhat weaker Gas For Less. Specifically, how to negotiate competing on- and off-stage storylines. For most of the Goodman show, characters fixated on an upstage television broadcasting a Chicago Bears game; whether cross-town or cross country, they could only passively watch.

The gents in Not a Game For Boys prep for, cheer for and barrel through a series of table tennis matches, all happening offstage. They’re a team aiming to conquer a B-level recreational league. Plus, this is the most exciting moment of their mediocre existence. This afternoon, their messy, personal crises will interfere and, worst of all, one of them might be trying to sabotage the team. We won’t see a single swing, only the pre-game rituals (high fiving a paddle and crying “Fuck Luck!”) and hyperactive cheerleading punctuated by thirtysomething angst.

Presentation is king here; the American and British stage suffers no shortage of dudes assessing and reassessing their lives, ladies, manhood, or lack thereof. When everything collides, it’s beautiful cacophony. Stress brings out the authentic lad, and their real selves are smartly revealed.

Jersey Boys - 36 Shows Down, 64 to Go

When Jersey Boys wrestled the "hottest ticket in town" title from Wicked*, it seemed like the boomers and seniors were reasserting their consumer power over the tweens and their parents. I'm a Gen Xer caught in the middle; I could care less about which demographic prevails. But having seen both, I'm happy to see the better show "winning." Jersey Boys knows what its audience wants and delivers in spades-- catchy music impossibly sung, a compelling but easy to follow story and nostalgia for the "underdog." Specifically, Mr. Valli and his Four Seasons pals rising from working class obscurity to international acclaim.

Expectations met:

The dudes nailed those super high notes and dance routines perfectly.

My parents and their contemporaries went wild for the hits that defined their high school years and beyond.

I flashed back to hearing this stuff on commercials for Time-Life Records and Bennigan's.

Behind the Music-esque storyline cleaves the band apart, reunion and redemption are uneasy but realistic enough.

And a few surprises:

The band's success is a minor miracle, they seemed genuinely lost in the early years, when their producer and lyricist kept feeding ideas and saving them from their knuckleheaded instincts. Not so many artists are willing to be that honest on a national scale.

Prom staple "Oh What a Night!" isn't just about sex, it's about that clumsy, embarassing first time you'd rather not discuss with thousands of strangers.

The writers either lifted the 'DJ locking himself in the station to play hit song all night' device from The Buddy Holly Story or DJs across the country shared this affliction 40 years back.

Genuinely well-adjusted composer Bob Gaudio honestly (if the script is accurate) doesn't miss the spotlight and is content to sit on his boat, whiling away his afternoons.

* Assessment based on difficulty of securing tickets to said shows. I visited both box offices 2 months in advance & got orchestra, inner aisle for Wicked, side second balcony for JB.

Chicago Improv Festival, Day 2 - 34 Shows Down, 66 to Go

Chicago’s the cradle of improv, with a scene responsible for large portions of the SNL, MadTV, and 30 Rock casts, among others. Its Improv Festival catches comic celebs in the weeks after the TV season has wrapped, hence no shortage of marquee names. Opening night paired Jack McBrayer (30 Rock’s twinkly page Kenneth) and Paul Scheer (one-third of MTV fave The Human Giant), word has it they didn’t disappoint.

 

I volunteered and saw the second night when 30 Rock’s Scott Adsit (that balding dude over there) joined local giant Susan Messing and her funny friend Mick Napier for her trademark show “Messing With a Friend.” This time, Messing with Two Friends. Study in contrasts with the night’s other threesome—T.J. Jagodowski, a Chicago stage virtuoso, who you may know from Sonic’s free-form commercials, joining Bassprov, Joe Bill and Mark Sutton’s celebrated long-form banter on a fishing boat..

 

I didn’t expect this: Messing’s normally reliable show disappointed. Comic chops were displayed, laughs ensued, but timing and energy felt off and the audience grew restless. Adsit’s limp material largely detracted from his friends’ show; his best moment, fittingly, was as a taxidermied late husband. He’s apparently fed too long on network writers’ milk. Meanwhile, two guys I’d never heard of and another I’d only heard about brought the house down with their relaxed but endlessly clever Bassprov bull session. Messrs. Bill and Sutton discussed plans for an upscale gentleman’s club (“a breast lounge”) which segued into dinner theater’s business model which led to musical theater love. The  flannel clad, working guys’ guide to finding a good show (“If it has Andrew Lloyd Webber on the poster, you’ll want to skip that…”) was a classic. Uh, classic for a couple hundred patrons.

 

New Yorkers and their tourist friends can enjoy a taste of T.J.’s improv magic at Barrow Street Theater while “T.J. and Dave” plays occasionally at Chicago’s I.O. His extended Chicago Reader profile explains why he won’t be going nationwide anytime soon.