There’s something magical happening up in Glencoe, Ill. It’s a sparkling new production of Stephen Sondheim and Hugh Wheeler’s 1973 musical, A Little Night Music — a sophisticated, romantic comedy set in 20th century Sweden about mismatched pairs who, through a mix of fate peppered with manipulation, waltz into the arms of their ideal lovers.

One of my most cherished theatrical memories is a 2002 production of Night Music at Chicago Shakespeare Theatre, directed by Gary Griffin. Everything about it was glorious (including Barbara Robertson’s earthy Desiree) and I felt it couldn’t be topped — until I saw Writers’ Theatre’s production a few days ago, directed by William Brown.

This production, though much smaller in scale than ChiShakes’, succeeds so well mainly due to one very important thing: superb casting.

The captivating Shannon Cochran, who recently tore up the stage as the frustrated daughter in the first national tour of August Osage County, strikes the perfect balance of drama, deviousness and self-depreciation as perpetually touring actress Desiree Armfeldt. This is a woman who drinks beer in her dressing room, isn’t afraid to laugh at herself and knows how to charm her way out of any situation. But then Frederik Egerman (the perfectly cast Jonathan Weir), an old flame, reenters her life, and she comes to the realization that she’s, perhaps, ready to reevaluate her “glamorous life” and settle down. Meanwhile, Frederik’s (much) younger wife, Anne (Kristen French, doing great things with a typically shrill role) devises a scheme to reclaim her husband with the manipulative Countess Charlotte Malcolm (Tiffany Scott, who seems born to deliver droll line readings). And the Countess is only doing so to win back her husband, the hot-headed Count Carl-Magnus (the robust of body yet thin of voice Brandon Dahlquist), who’s affairing round with Desiree. Read the full review at The Huffington Post >

Unknown Karen Cartwright steps in for Hollywood star Rebecca Duvall in “Bombshell.”

You can’t make this sh*t up.

Since I can smell a bomb(shell) a mile away, I decided to catch this turkey before it flew the coop.

Oh, boy. It’s worse than we feared.

Marilyn is an icon. We all get this. She lit up the screen, and, from what we’re told, when she entered a room, she was impossible to ignore. She radiated. She was both untouchable and incredibly human. An enigma. A star.

Obviously, filling Monroe’s pumps is a tall task for any actress — especially when the highly publicized star of a million dollar production has very publicly jumped ship. I’d love to report that the young woman taking over for Duvall is a star in the making, yet understudy Karen Cartwright (who, inexplicably, has zero professional stage credits to speak of) radiates about as much star power as a pocket flashlight. Sure, she’s a lovely girl and hits all the marks and notes, which is commendable, but she has, what I call, “dead eyes.” There’s no “there” there. Unfortunately, this is not something that can be fixed from a rehearsal room. You either got it, or you don’t, and Cartwright don’t got it.

I mean, during the classic scene when Monroe’s skirt billows up around her (which is recreated here in strangely staged production number), I was half expecting Cartwright to be blown off the stage — she’s that inconsequential.

So, that’s a major problem when your title star isn’t up to the challenge. Yet, that’s the least of their worries. The show, frankly, is a mess, and director Derek Wills, who’s known for his highly conceptual takes on classic material, seems like he’s pulling out all the stops to fix it, including a trite opening featuring “shadow” Marilyns who call out belittling phrases to the star just before she launches into her first, of many, powerballads of the evening, “Let Me Be Your Star.”

Julia Houston and Tom Levitt, who had a mild success with the overrated Heaven on Earth last season, have penned a score that sounds like it was written with a gun to their heads. The pastiche-heavy tunes by Levitt (there’s mambo, Whitney Houston-like ballads, swing and country to name a few) fail to capture any sense of cohesion. And Houston’s pedestrian lyrics include rhymes like sights/lights and tears/fears. I won’t even discuss the tacked on epilogue (yet another powerballad) that obviously was written minutes before curtain time as it wasn’t listed in the program (but, amazingly, was fully orchestrated!)

There are some bright moments. Michael Swift, though horribly miscast, elevates each scene he’s in as the quietly volatile Joe DiMaggio (Monroe and DiMaggio had a tumultuous and short-lived relationship — one of many for Monroe). And the young ensemble, acting as a greek chorus of sorts, moves things along with energy and verve, though obviously with little direction, as Wills has most likely been consumed with star issues.

Maybe Rebecca Duvall is smarter than we thought?

We’ll see if this makes it to Broadway.

America – that shining land of opportunity. I know I take my freedoms for granted. They’ve just always been there, and it’s hard to imagine life without them. However, in Debra Ehrhardt’s semi-autobiographical one woman play, Jamaica, Farewell, she reminds us that we have it pretty damn good. And for a young girl growing up in a third world, highly volatile country who’s looking at us from the outside in, there’s no risk too great to experience such freedoms.

Ehrhardt is a charming, straightforward performer who easily slips between her wide-eyed childhood self to her no-nonsense mother to her deadbeat alcoholic father, as well as other colorful characters on her path to freedom from ravaged 1970s Kingston, Jamaica. She certainly knows how to spin a tale using both humor and pathos, and the dramatic stakes get higher as, after several false starts and dead ends, she latches onto a risky and nearly life-threatening opportunity involving a bag of money and a man named “Bullet” to make it to America. I’d be interested to know how much of it is true vs. teased up for dramatic purposes, but I was engaged throughout, and it all felt honest, so that’s what really matters.

That said, the play has many rough edges. Sound and music cues are thrown in like afterthoughts, and the stage features a giant, white video screen that’s only used at the very end to project the American flag. A wasted opportunity to complement her compelling story with arresting visuals of her homeland and perhaps the actual people in her story. The ending also feels jarring. Yes, she got to America, but what did she learn? A summary of “where are they now” for the characters in her story is fine, but I want to know where Debra is now — was America all she dreamed of?

“Jamaica, Farewell” plays through May 27 at Chopin Theatre. More info here >;

However, yesterday I got the craziest press release I’ve ever seen from a theatre company. It’s so strangely written, so outlandishly pretentious, so utterly baffling, it’s near parody. And, well, I just think it’s worth sharing so we can all learn a little something about how not to promote your show.

To protect the innocent, I’m not going to reveal what theater company this release came from. But, also, the rambling passage below, which is only a section of the release’s first paragraph, doesn’t even mention what theatre company or show they’re even talking about. So, no editing necessary!

Without further ado…

…The process of the actor, the means by which she is able to produce for an audience such fine and striking semblances of reality, is often not the matter of a rehearsal process. It is left to the actor’s good conscience and commitment to his craft to develop an inner life capable of sustaining the director’s vision. This is done somewhere else. At home, perhaps, or at a café, or on the bus, usually alone, but some rare times with one’s dramatic compatriots. But in this case it takes an extraordinary actor indeed to develop and grow her capabilities in this realm with no partner, no fellow adventurer into the realm of the actor’s craft. One rests often on the laurels of training, employing a method without testing it, stealing it, stretching its capabilities, only reemploying its maxims. It could be said, what right have we to manipulate and alter those theories developed over decades by the fathers and mothers of our form? I say we have every right, if we take up that responsibility with the seriousness and respect owed to those who have come before us, and set out to make our own work…

Now, what have we learned here? I’m not sure, either, but since I don’t have any “dramatic compatriots” to help “reemploy my maxims,” am I missing something? And if I stretch and manipulate my craft with said dramatic compatriots, will the fathers and mothers of my form ground me? Should I wear protection? Should I invite them? I’m nervous! (And a touch jealous.)

(My friend Jamie and I argued if we saw her in The Three Musketeers musical at Chicago Shakespeare Theatre back in 2007 or if if we actually saw her sister Abby, and we were actually both right: Abby played the lead love interest, while Jessie was in the chorus.)

Well, after her breakout role in the flop revival/revisal of On a Clear Day You Can See Forever, Ms. Mueller has been nominated for a Best Supporting Actress in a Musical Tony Award. Yes, her career seems to be taking off. And good for her — she’s a marval. Next up: the highly anticipated production of Into the Woods at the Delacorte Theatre in New York’s Central Park (Mueller’s playing Cinderella opposite fancies like Amy Adams as the Baker’s Wife and Donna Murphy as The Witch).

Plus, you know you’ve really made it when you’ve been featured in Broadway.com’s “Show People” segment:

Notice how Broadway.com Editor-in-Chief Paul Wontorek seems lost as to what types of questions to ask someone with only one Broadway credit. It’s hard not to feel that he treats her Chicago work like one would refer to the roles you played in high school.

So, this leads to the question: is a stage actor’s career only relevant if they make it big on Broadway? Let’s turn to what the refreshingly candid Adrian Aguilar (who’s rocking it out in Porchlight’s Tick, Tick… Boom) had to say in a recent Time Out Chicago interview:

What is your reaction then to comments that you’re Broadway bound or that you’re getting too big for Chicago?

You know what, I’ve got a bone to pick with those comments! I’ve read a few things, and I’m not trying to personally attack anyone, but this is something I’m really tired of seeing and hearing. It seems that there’s this trend, that every time there’s an amazing show, or a person—the Mueller girls or something like them—every time there’s someone that’s standing out and really shining, the theater community in Chicago, the critics and reviewers, their general statement is “this thing is so good, it should not be here.” And I hate that! We’re not supposed to be perpetuating this stereotype that New York is better than Chicago. Is New York bigger than Chicago? Absolutely. Is there a lot more money there than in Chicago? Absolutely. But there are great shows there, there are great shows here. And there are horrible shows there, and horrible shows here.

What do you think?

It’s a Jonathan Larson summer in Chicago. Currently, the genre-defining musical theatre composer is receiving productions of his two major shows by a trio of distinguished local theatre companies.

Tick, Tick… Boom!, which is essentially the precursor to Rent, is a largely autobiographical musical about the late composer’s artistic struggles as he begins to ease into his rock-meets-musical-theatre sound. Porchlight Music Theatre’s superbly pitched production captures Larson’s artistic valley just before he entered the highest peak of his tragically short career (Larson died of a rare, misdiagnosed heart disorder in 1996 just before Rent’s first major production Off-Broadway).

As “Jon” (the Larson stand-in), we have the immensely talented Adrian Aguilar who holds this fragmented show together with charisma, humanity and killer vocals. As his best friend and former fellow artist, Bear Bellinger (what a name!) melts our hearts with his earnestness and golden voice. And Jenny Guse is tasked with playing the various female roles, including Jon’s mis-matched love interest.

Director Adam Pelty keeps things simple, but also has done the smart thing by partnering with Anna Henson and Rasean Davonte Johnson to develop a series of eye-popping projections that powerfully punctuate the story. Together, this team drives home the tragedy of losing a talent at his prime through a simple yet powerful framing device. Stunning stuff.

Boom and Rent carry many similar themes, chief among them the struggle to find one’s way without compromising one’s internal ambition. So, it makes total sense to see Rent following Boom. Unfortunately, About Face Theatre and American Theater Company’s co-production is lacking in some core ways. Read the rest of this review at The Huffington Post >

Chicago truly is an amazing theatre town — especially now, where we have two epic plays receiving landmark productions, and I’ve been lucky to see both of them. Following the seven hour Angels in America at Court Theatre this weekend, I took in Goodman Theatre’s highly anticipated The Iceman Cometh, which clocks in at just under five hours. Yes, with just two productions in the past week I’ve spent more than a half day in a theatre seat.

And, because competitions are fun, if I were to pit these epics against each together, I’d say Iceman slides ahead by a sliver — mainly because Iceman‘s production grabs you by the throat and never lets go.

True, Angels may leave you empowered and ready to face life with rekindled fearlessness while Iceman makes you question if your life is a big delusional sham. But Euqene O’Neill’s writing is so specific, uncompromising and sobering, such personal introspection is why we go to the theatre in the first place, right? Read the full review at The Huffington Post >

I love cats. The animal and the show. Ok, maybe not the animal so much, but I love my cat, Alley. She’s, I guess, what you’d call a former Jellicle cat. She lived a rough life before we claimed her in our back alley 10 years ago where she probably had some inscrutable Jellicle name such as Skitterbellum or Mungoshanks or some such.

But I digress.

Cats the musical holds a special place in my heart. It was my first Broadway show I ever saw as a wee lad. You can read all about that memory (MEMORY!) here. I’ve since seen several other productions, including a first-rate German production in Stuttgart and an in-your-face production at Chicago’s Theo Ubique Cabaret Theatre. Each time I watch the show, it’s like visiting a comfortable, old friend. An old friend wearing yack-hear wigs, fright makeup, lycra and leg warmers, but an old friend nonetheless.

This actually isn’t my first time seeing this non-Equity bus and truck tour. I caught the production three years ago at the Cadillac place (my review, with catty intro, here). Many of my criticisms from three years ago still hold today: the tempos in this tour are too slow, and it seems that the synth heavy band sounds even more synthetic than last time. Smartly, they seemed to have cut the canned tap dancing during the Jennyanydots number. And then there are the inflatable sets, which get the job done but look theme-parkish. Grizabella makes her entrance to the heavyside layer via something that resembles a mini disco spaceship topped with a cardboard iceburg (rather than the glittery staircase that the bigger Cats productions have featured).

Speaking of Griz, this time around a young woman named Melissa Grohowski is playing the faded glamor cat, and she knocks her big number, “Memory,” out of the junk yard. Amazing. However, because this is a non-Equity tour, Grohowski also serves as the tour’s company manager and assistant stage manager. Poor Griz has to work hard for her cat food.

Other highlights include Chaz Wolcott, who may not have the high jumps of other Mr. Mistoffelees I’ve seen, but still kicks the energy up a few notches, and Nathan Morgan, whose rich baritone nicely fills out Old Deuteronomy’s duties.

The rest of the eager, young ensemble executes Gillian Lynne’s iconic choreography (recreated for this tour by Jonathan Stahl) with focused precision, if not with the requisite energy. These cats look tired, man. The sluggish tempos might be to blame.

So, yeah. I enjoyed myself, but I think it’s time to retire this tour and consider reenergizing this show for future generations. Because, Cats, now and forever, man. Meow.

“Cats” plays through May 6 at the Cadillac Palace. More info here >;

The cliffhanger that concludes the first half of Tony Kushner’s epic Angels in America is designed to stun. It’s the moment when the angel — an earth-shattering vision or a violent fever dream, or both — crashes through Prior Walter’s bedroom ceiling to deliver a prophetic message.

However, in Court Theatre’s glorious yet frustratingly uneven production, the angel appears (following a momentum-killing blackout) dangling precariously above Walter’s bed. While actress Mary Beth Fisher delivers her lines with the requisite grand imperiousness, something’s missing. And then it hits me.

This angel doesn’t have wings. Read the full review on The Huffington Post >

There’s a rock revolution going on, and should you choose to attend, you’ve automatically become an unwitting member of The Numberless.

Who are The Numberless, you ask? Why, they’re the forgotten children who’ve been living underground out of sight from the government for the past five decades, and now they’re gearing up to tell their story and rally support for a mass revolt.

You see, 50 years ago, in an effort to control overpopulation, Congress passed a law prohibiting families from having more than one child, and the child they did have was injected with an implant (or a “Number”) to track them. Those families who did have more than one child would scuttle them away into an underground secret society called, appropriately enough, The Numberless. And today, they are ready to break above ground and tell their side of the story by means of a punk rock pageant play called Rise of the Numberless. Read the full review on The Huffington Post >