Tag: Catherine Tantillo
Complete History of America
By Adam Long, Reed Martin & Austin Tichenor
Mother Bear roars with danger
|Mortar Theatre presents|
|Written by Jayme McGhan
Directed by Jason Boat
at Athenaeum Theatre, 2936 N. Southport (map)
through June 19 | tickets: $15-$20 | more info
Reviewed by Barry Eitel
As a normal, sedan-wielding citizen, the life of a trucker has a white trash mystique for me. Rest stop showers. Knowledge of every 24-hour diner in the country. A glove compartment bulging with methamphetamines for those all-night long hauls. Yes, much of this is a big rig fantasy. But it’s a whimsy Mortar Theatre’s Mother Bear indulges in heavily. While the tone is unstable and the story questionable, Jayme McGhan’s play is a white-knuckle ride, full of scumbags. I’ve reviewed most of Mortar’s production history and Mother Bear is the most entertaining piece I’ve seen.
The world-premiere tale isn’t set on the open road, but in a tiny trucker diner in the middle of nowhere, Utah. The pancake house, run by the pictured-sweatshirt-wearing Vera (J. Kingsford Goode) is a front operation for the Disciples, a quasi-Christian mob of truckers who earn higher wages because a Disciples’ trident stamp is on their rig. They also nab a few bucks from hijacking trucks transporting drugs and arms fresh from Mexico. They are led by Mother (Jim Farrell), an unapproachable God-like figure who on some days seems like a reasonable dude, but, on others, won’t hesitate to smash a disrespectful fellow’s head into a table. A young outsider, Freely (Brian Plocharczyk), wants Mother to sign the Disciples to his new truckers’ union. Mother is plenty content with his semi-legal operation. Mother’s days are numbered, though. Spunky female trucker Delia (Maria Enriquez) looks to take down the Disciples from the inside. And Bones (Dustin Whitehead, in the most delicious performance in the piece), Mother’s amoral bodyguard, has his own loyalty issues.
McGhan can’t keep the mood of the piece stable. The first act, though there are plenty of head injuries, knives, and guns, emits a charming warmth and mostly likable, albeit rough around the edges, crew of lowlifes. This feeling flees from the second act, which takes a dark, undeserved turn. The final few scenes have more immediacy, but it comes out of nowhere. The characters unravel, all of them revealing that they are much different than what we first thought.
This makes for an interesting study of appearances vs. reality, but I don’t think that’s McGhan’s point. According to Mortar’s promotion (and their usual pick of work), Mother Bear is a social issues play which opines on the hotly-contested subject of unions. The series of twists undercut the message. I left the Athenaeum unsure of what I should be taking away. There’s no final thesis on labor relations—it’s a play about the nature of evil. This is fine, but McGhan could frame the theme better.
The performances fit right into the text. To be honest, I don’t think the world of truckers and the world of theatre intersect often, but Jason Boat’s cast is wholly authentic. Farrell’s Mother is a King Lear of the open road. There’s a welcoming twinkle in his eye, but also a repressed ferocity just waiting for the cage to be opened. Plocharczyk is a bit whiney, but it works for the oft-abused Freely. Goode’s deadpan portrayal of Vera is spot-on for a cynical diner owner/only waitress. Enriquez’s Delia is tough-as-nails and brashly sexual, except in her last scene where her bravery and dignity disappear—a disappointment. Whitehead rounds out the cast excellently. His Bones is straight out of that bar where your kind isn’t welcome.
Mother Bear pulls as much inspiration from the Bible as it does from America’s highways. It’s this oddly spiritual realm that McGhan seems to really want to explore. McGhan’s script requires re-evaluation and tightening. Boat and the cast invest so much of themselves in the world, though, McGhan’s true intent doesn’t seem so important.
Mortar Theatre’s Mother Bear continues through June 19th at the Athenaeum Theatre, 2936 N. Southport Ave., with performances Fridays and Saturdays at 7:30pm, and Sundays at 3pm. Tickets are $20 ($18 seniors, $15 students, $12 veterans), and can be purchased by phone (800-982-2787) or online here.
Jewel heist hits familiar farce notes
|Metropolis Performing Arts Centre presents|
|The Butler Didn’t!|
|Written by Scott Woldman
Directed by Brad Dunn
at Metropolis Arts Centre, Arlington Heights (map)
through April 17 | tickets: $35-$43 | more info
Reviewed by Dan Jakes
For anyone who doesn’t look closely at the Metropolis Performing Arts Centre’s promotional materials for its new comedy The Butler Didn’t!, it would be easy to miss that key little word: “new.”
It isn’t. Resident playwright Scott Woldman’s mansion-crime-caper is a venerable checklist for a theatrical form that’s seen its heyday come and go, unabashedly marking off the requisite +5 doors, spastic pace, ‘uh-oh’ twists, and ludicrous premise. Expectedly, the women are sex-obsessed, the men are idiots, and the title-butler is a combination of both. Splash in a little of Neil Simon and a bit of Moliere’s The Imaginary Invalid, and you have a sense of the universe where con-artist and faux-Brit butler Rick resides.
That’s not necessarily a bad thing. Woldman’s play admittedly doesn’t do much to forward farcical conventions; at times, the lack of audacity is frustrating–it feels like some of the stones laid by the show’s nontraditional darker tone are left unturned–but as it stands, his comedy is fit to sit comfortably alongside more recognizable staples.
Rick (Michael B. Woods), alongside his wise-cracking, why-does-the-Hispanic-always-have-to-be-the-landscaper side-kick Ernesto (Richard Perez), is in the final phase of his Job to End All Jobs at the Podmore estate. With his billionaire boss (David Belew, capable, albeit a little young) asleep upstairs, Rick and Ernesto take a crack at the safe, before (of course) all hell breaks loose. Lies cover lies, mischief proceeds mischief, and innuendo occurs just about everywhere else.
Situational comedy is usually dependent on characters’ perception of high stakes in low-stakes circumstances, a discrepancy only seen by the audience. Suspension of disbelief is mandatory when viewing anything that aims for ‘wacky,’ and The Butler Didn’t! sacrifices some of those required stakes by asking for more than its fair share. Say, when Mr. Podmore’s lawyer, Anna (Elizabeth Dowling) goes gaga at the sight of Ernesto, it’s challenging to stay invested. One second she’s a menacing professional capable of shutting down the entire operation; the next, she’s nearly orgasming in her pant suit. In farce, tinkering too much with plausibility downgrades the humor, an offense both Woldman and director Brad Dunn commit.
The silliness is so-so, and like most farces, it could shave off half an hour. When the Metropolis allows itself to push the envelope a bit, however, the true potential of The Butler Didn’t!’ emerges. At the performance I attended, the audience was more receptive to riskier jokes. Perhaps the Metropolis doesn’t want to offend the sensibilities of its ticket holders. Restraint is admirable; big scores require going all in.
Save for production team, this office is dead on arrival
|Dog & Pony Theatre presents|
|Dead Letter Office|
|by Phillip Dawkins
directed by David Dieterich Gray
at Storefront Theater (DCA), 66 E. Randolph (map)
through July 18 | tickets: $17-$22 | more info
reviewed by Barry Eitel
The concept of a dead letter office, the place where undeliverable mail retires, is ripe with theatrical metaphor. What is the existential condition of those letters that can’t go backwards or forwards? How do the employees feel about rummaging through an anonymous person’s mail? With such questions, and others, it is surprising no one has mined this before. Dog & Pony Theatre took the chance to grab onto this fresh idea and commissioned scribe Phillip Dawkins to write a play around it. Unfortunately, the resulting piece, Dead Letter Office, doesn’t deliver. The production dabbles in a few styles and storylines, but never makes a decision concerning what it ultimately wants to be.
Dawkins sets his story around office veteran Christian (John Fenner Mays) and his budding relationship with newbie Je’ Taime (Kristen Magee). Like the wayward parcels surrounding them, the two have dubious pasts. Je’ Taime has worked careers more fitting for her moniker, and Christian used to be a boxer but then he killed a guy. Dawkins’ exposition and storylines seem to recycle plot-points yanked out of everything from Spring Awakening to Pulp Fiction. Unlike the dead letter office setting, these backstories are stale. Through the course of the play, we also get to see saccharine Agatha (Susan Price) gradually “go postal,” and boss Rolo (Joshua Volkers) be creepy.
The script is wildly uneven. Act One is staunch realism and drags along at a sleepy pace. By the second act, the play has become a ghost story a la Piano Lesson. At an unintentionally farcical speed, the characters (especially Je’ Taime) rip away layers, revealing abuse and self-destruction. In one awkward scene, Je’ Taime asks Christian to punch away so “she can feel something.” I’m fine with wacky, screwed-up plays (which it seems every young, male playwright has to write), but that sort of gritty ridiculousness has to be introduced early and often. Here, it comes out of nowhere. Most of the last hour is unearned, and the production devolves into a messy conclusion.
Part of the problem can be pinned on the process of this production. It was mere weeks ago Dawkins was commissioned to write the piece, which had everything (actors, director, concept) but a script. So it’s understandable (and forgivable) that he turned to hackneyed and scattershot plots and characters.
The most gratifying element of this production is the design. It’s friggin’ amazing. William Anderson’s USPS office is wonderfuly cluttered with all the mismatched objects you would expect to find in such a bizarre place. The most whimsical aspect of the whole production is the giant chute that spills out all sorts of things (I was expecting a dead body to fly out at one point, but, alas, we can’t get everything we hope for). When Aaron Weissman’s lights, Stephen Ptacek’s eerie sound design, and Catherine Tantillo’s spot-on costumes are added to the mix, the production is given a creaky yet beautiful shell. It’s a shame the actual play doesn’t live up to it.
It takes more than a concept to drive art forward – no matter what the medium is – else you end up with a heady, theme-over-content mess. Dead Letter Office isn’t that far gone. Mays does great work as the icy Christian, making the production watchable. Another standout is Volkers, who is quick to find the comedy in Dawkins’ welcoming text.
Hopefully, director Dieterich Gray and Dog & Pony will learn from this experience. They have heart and talent, obviously. Even when fertilized with such a great idea, without a healthy base of character and story, any commissioned piece is going to grow stunted and wilted. Perhaps one should allow Dead Letter Office be a growing pain, and leave it at that.