Displaying items by tag: Amia Korman

Prolific, and routinely recognized as being one of the most produced playwrights in the country, Lauren Gunderson’s range is as impressive as the quality and popularity of her work.  Inspiration for her plays often springs from things she loves, with history and science at the top of the list.  They can also arise from sheer curiosity or when she notices a subject matter void.  I and You can be said to fall in both latter categories.  Now playing in Lake Forest’s Citadel Theatre, it burrows into the lives of people we don’t see enough on the theatrical stage, the young.  By centering on youth, she gives us an opportunity to better understand ourselves from a rarely observed perspective. 

In I and You, a genetic condition diagnosed at birth has Caroline (Amia Korman), now 17, homebound.  She used to be able to go to school, but the progression of her illness now has her doing remote learning exclusively.  With a wonderful wall of photographs and images covering its back wall, a not too frilly bedroom and her stuffed turtle make up her universe.  The only human contact she has is with her mother; someone we never see.  Understandably, she’s both surprised and alarmed when Anthony (Jay Westbrook) bursts into her room after a perfunctory knock on the door looking for help with a homework assignment.  Directed by Scott Shallenbarger, it’s a tense encounter.  Anthony’s Black, and there’s a tinge of racial fear detectable in the scene.  But through it we get a baseline on the character of these two young people; or at least on how they relate to other people.

Caroline’s prickly, defensive and sharp-tongued.  We soon detect too that she’s angry about not having a normal teenage life and psychologically weary of waking up to the possibility of imminent death every morning of her life.  Anthony’s just a regular pleasant teenager intent on getting an assignment done.  Sports, other interests and procrastination have put him behind the eight ball and, with the assignment due the next day, he’s a little anxious.  When he lets slip that he volunteered to team with Caroline on this project, he’s compelled to admit he did so because she was a topic of curiosity at their school, and he wanted to meet her.  Walt Whitman’s Leaves of Grass is the assignment and, despite being an avid B-baller, Anthony’s a big fan of Whitman’s poetry.  Beautiful and still groundbreaking 170 years after it was originally published, Whitman’s classic looms large over the entire play.  So much so you might find yourself checking your bookshelves for a copy when you get home to reacquaint yourself with the poet’s seminal genius.

Gunderson’s writing and Shallenbarger’s direction perfectly capture the almost exasperatingly rapid speed and quirky fluidity of teenage-ese.  Well matched in its fluency, Caroline and Anthony also happen to be very intelligent and willing, once trust is gained, to speak candidly to one another.  Something not easily done with someone who’s accustomed to closing herself off from a world that hasn’t given her much to believe in.  What Caroline doesn’t want is pity, especially in the form of reflexive or obligatory niceness.  It’s the reason she initially closes the door to kindness of any type from Anthony. 

Picking up cues from the way Anthony talks about his father, his love of jazz and his interaction with girls, she feels he has it all.  It’s a notion he quickly disabuses her of by revealing personal flaws and confessing to missteps he’s taken that bring balance to her perception of him.  Flashes of vulnerability that they both share lead to frank, thoroughly absorbing dialogues about death.  When she confesses her dream of being a photographer and travelling the world, and then demurs saying she knows it’s all fantasy, it's Anthony’s turn to bristle by demanding she “stare it down and don’t give up”.   Both young actors display a natural and refined intuition for their craft. The deeper their roles take them, the greater their appeal as they invest an uncanny honesty into their characters.  As they disclose more and more about themselves, barriers between them begin to quietly tumble.  Something that they both notice, resist, slowly accept and finally embrace. 

As with so many who share her craft, displaying the universal need for connection between people was a conscious goal of the playwright in I and You.  That the two characters be of different races or ethnic backgrounds was a casting condition for Gunderson in this play as well.  As the playwright has noted, it’s reflective of the real world and doing so created a silent but constant reminder of the arbitrary boundaries we create between ourselves.   As Caroline and Anthony gain deeper insights into each other, and as they explore together the wonders and possibilities Whitman’s words engender, the barriers separating them, including that of race, fade like a mist.  They quite unconsciously begin to focus on what they have in common.  An affection that only deep understanding arouses begins to germinate, preceding an ending that’s so startling it makes some people gasp. A shock that prods us to take stock of ourselves and the world we live in through a more illuminating and expansive light. 

Unobtrusive yet discreetly distinctive, David Solotke’s set design held insinuating touches that added notes of mystery to the play and Jodi Williams’ lighting during pivotal moments amplified its drama in hugely rewarding ways.  Paired with an exemplary story, very fine acting and discerning sure direction, Citadel’s production of I and You is a delight that can be savored long after the lights come up. 

I and You

Through March 23, 2025

Citadel Theatre

300 S. Waukegan Road

Lake Forest, IL  60045

https://www.citadeltheatre.org/

*You can also find this review featured on https://www.theatreinchicago.com/.