Displaying items by tag: Bryan Breau

I like theatre that’s deep, thoughtful, angsty. There’s much to be said for a play providing undemanding escape, but I prefer to challenge my mind, to make me think. And THE LOWER DEPTHS, as adapted by Grayson Kennedy for Gwydion Theatre Company, certainly did that. Don’t see this alone – you’ll want to talk about it afterward. And do not forget to take your Prozac!

The play is the second in Gwydion Theatre's "Season of Class", exploring classism in society. THE LOWER DEPTHS, written in 1902, explores themes of truth vs. illusion, hope vs. despair, through characters like a thief, a prostitute, and an alcoholic actor in a dreary flophouse on the Volga. The central conflict emerges with the arrival of a mysterious tramp who offers hope through stories and advice. However, hope cannot long survive the lodgers’ perpetually bewailing their travails and vicissitudes.

I was initially anxious about how such a large cast (13!) could operate in the confined space of Chopin Theatre. I personally love Chicago’s singular streetfront theatres, boasting perhaps 50 seats and 200-300 square feet of stage space. See, I like to be immersed in the players’ pheromone cloud, perhaps even bespattered with various bodily fluids.

Y’know, reading back over that, it doesn’t sound very inviting, but trust me on this. And trust Chicago as well – Gwydion is oner of the myriad smaller companies that showcase the multitude of superlative actors in this town. In decades of attending these storefront venues I’ve seen plays I didn’t like, I’ve been critical of some production decisions, but very seldom are the actors themselves disappointing. We are very fortunate here in Chicago. I only wish I could believe these professionals are earning paychecks commensurate with their skill.

Where was I? Oh yes, big cast; and I find myself unable to single out the players of individual characters. I always try in these reviews to praise each actor on their individual performance but between their sheer numbers and the peculiarities of Russian names I can but name the cast and beg the actors’ forgiveness:

Alex Levy (Vaska Pepel); Katherine Schwartz (Vasilisa Karpovna); Matt Mitchell (Mikahil Kostilyoff); Brynn Aaronson (Natasha Karpovna); Tommy Thams (Andrei Mitritch Kleshtch); Hannah Freund (Anna Kleshtch); Christopher Meister (Abram Medviedeff);Bryan Breau (The Baron); Evan Bradford (The Actor); John Nicholson (Satine); Howard Raik (Luka); Maddie Hillock (Kvashnya); Abraham Deitz-Green (Alyoshka); Maya Moreau (Swing); Grayson Kennedy  (Swing).

If I’m totally honest (and I owe this stellar troupe that much), even as it was playing, I couldn’t keep track of which character was who. To my relief, this did not interfere with my appreciation of the play and the performances, as it is actually in keeping with the theme of the play. THE LOWER DEPTHS tends to undermine the individuality of the characters: they are emulsified into a slurry of Poor People, faceless and nameless. In this THE LOWER DEPTHS mirrors the attitudes of our Administration: they’re po’ folks, not actual people with real needs and feelings.

Adapted by Maxim Gorky, he was more interested in the characters than in creating a formal plot. There’s no linear sense to the situations portrayed – a woman is dying; the landlord is heartless; everyone’s having an affair with someone – but these are only separate instances in their overall wretchedness. Tellingly, none of them acknowledge any kinship in their tribulations; no one ever says, ‘yeah, I know what that’s like’ or ‘something like that happened to me once’. Thus, while society depersonalizes them, each isolates themself within the siloes of their personal experiences.

Luka, an elderly tramp, arrives with a philosophy of consolation and a better life. Reactions to this message - this theme of harsh truth versus the comforting lie - pervades the play and divides the inhabitants into opposing camps of the hopeful and the realists. Most of them choose to deceive themselves rather than acknowledge the bleak reality of their condition, leading inevitably to violence and death.

Oi! I’m supposed to be encouraging you to see this play, but you’d need to be, like me, a real angst enthusiast to be attracted by my description! But if you do like exploring the depths of desolation; the frequency of forlornness; the drama of dreariness … then THE LOWER DEPTHS is the play for you!

The production team included its artistic directors Tommy Thams and Grayson Kennedy and was drawn largely from Gwidion company members. Scenic Designer Hayley Wellenfeldt and Morgan Kinglsey created a monochromatic and versatile set with Lighting Designer Sam Bessler effectively defining scenes and characters. Costume Designers Cindy Moon and Grace Weir differentiated the subtle differences between, say, the actor and the Baron. Sound Designer Rick Reid sourced authentic Russian period music while Stage Manager Katie Espinoza pulled it all together and put it out there fluidly.

The Lower Depths is the first time in Russian literature that society’s outcasts took center stage in a drama. In claiming importance and humanity for a class that Gorky described as “ex-people” and “creatures who were once men,” he moved Russian drama into the political and social arena that would lead to revolution. May that purpose prevail in our own trying times!

THE LOWER DEPTHS plays at Chopin Theatre through February 28 - https://chopintheatre.com/.

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Let me start by saying: this play is not for anyone unfamiliar with feminine rage. While I’m all for experiential desensitization, diving straight into a show all about female “hysteria,” periods, witches, and penis-biting might be a bit much for your first swim.

You don’t need to be a woman to enjoy it, but there’s a particular subset of audience members who might find themselves squirming in their seats. And that’s fine. Not all art needs to be for everyone. That said, for anyone personally acquainted with (or at least comfortable around) Millennial and Gen-Z “femme fury”, Director Kayla Menz’s production of The Sporting Life is a riot that will have you laughing from beginning to end.

The six-person cast is stellar:

Ziare Paul-Emile – as Dot, the main character and high school girl – shines as she causes the entire play to unfold. Starting off as the sweet, behind-her-peers type, Paul-Emile continues to add on new layers to Dot, masterfully and constantly shifting her conviction. Each shift feels performative in the best way: showing the audience both her growing façade and the fragile, adolescent truth beneath it.

Tyara Whitted – as Dot’s best friend, Mikayla – is one of the funniest actors I’ve seen on stage. Whiteed’s delivery of every line was impeccable, hilarious, and perfectly conveyed her character’s too-eager-to-grow-up nature. Mikayla later finds herself in an abusive relationship, which Whitted handles the material with rare nuance, conveying both the pain and the impossible contradictions of still loving someone who hurts you.

Elizabeth Macdougald – as Sherry, the witch – is an absolute force of nature. Spunky, raunchy, and wickedly funny, Macdougald is the (by technicality) antagonist that you can’t help but love. Although arguably being the source of the play’s chaos, she also grounds it with a mix of blunt and maternal tenderness throughout.

Bryan Breau – as Dot’s dad – is the quintessential bewildered girl dad. Fumbling through his best attempts to understand his daughter, his earnestness carries the father-daughter relationship at the heart of the play.

Last but certainly not least, Ian Mason and Bill Daniel round out the cast, playing every. other. character. Collectively playing at least 8 distinct characters, the duo’s range was incredible. Both Mason’s and Daniel’s physical comedy abilities are like none other, from larger-than-life reactions to painfully believable combat and stunt choreography.

From a production standpoint, I have to give enormous credit to the team’s handling of blood. In case you’ve never worked with it, stage blood is notoriously difficult: just when you think you’ve solved one logistical challenge, five more appear. I have nothing but admiration for the technical crew’s ambition and precision. Most plays save blood for the final moments, so cleanup only happens once, but The Sporting Life opens with a full-on blood spray within the first five minutes. And it just keeps coming.

That commitment is both hilarious and impressive. Not only does it demand careful coordination from the crew, but it also requires the cast to maintain a constant, almost subconscious awareness of every inch of the stage. The blood remains throughout the show, forcing the actors to adapt in real time: lying down carefully to avoid accidental gore in quieter scenes, or using existing puddles to amplify the chaos in violent ones. It’s a masterclass in controlled mess – a game of theatrical chess played with absolute effortlessness.

As the world premiere of Playwright Marjorie Muller’s newest script, there’s definitely room for iteration. The play was advertised as running 1 hour and 40 minutes, but it clocked closer to two hours with no intermission – and I felt it. The ending, in particular, seemed to have an ending tacked onto an ending, creating the sense of a partial conclusion before launching into another. This extended the runtime and diluted some of the sharp focus and wit that made the first two-thirds so strong. Structurally, the piece could benefit from rethinking that final stretch, whether by adding an intermission to give the audience a breather or by condensing and reworking the conclusion into a single, more cohesive ending. Either route would help preserve momentum and leave the show on the high note it earns during the majority of the play.

That said, for a modern, edgy comedy, the writing overall is excellent. One of my biggest pet peeves is when playwrights overdo emotional or “hysterical” female characters, veering into mockery instead of authenticity. Speaking as a former 15-year-old girl: yes, it’s funny to look back and realize how seriously we took small things – but at the time, those things really did feel like the end of the world. The Sporting Life captures that perspective without condescension. It’s a fine line between humor and misogyny, and this play walks it with grace, empathy, and a sharp sense of humor.

The Sporting Life is running at Factory Theater through November 22nd. Tickets are available at: 

https://thefactorytheater.com/portfolio/the-sporting-life/

https://thefactorytheater1.thundertix.com/events/245024. 

Dead Man’s Cell Phone- its title a built in spoiler alert - opens with an unbeatable scene: In a nearly deserted café, the young woman Jean (Cydney Moody) dining alone is disturbed by the repeatedly ringing cellphone at the next table.

The young man sitting there with his back to us makes no effort to answer it. In frustration she walks over to confront him, and gets a shocking surprise. Then she answers the phone – it is Mrs. Gottlieb, seeking her son, Gordon, the man whose back is to us – and Jean tells her he can’t answer.

Jean continues to answer more phone calls from relatives and business associates. She soon becomes enmeshed in the family and its affairs, and what we learn are Gordon’s unseemly business dealings. That set-up was enough to make me see this play for a second time – I had been so thrilled by Steppenwolf’s 2008 production that I bought the script and rave about the play – it has also made me a fan of Ruhl, a Macarthur Genius and Yale drama professor.

Ruhl's scripts, especially Dead Man's Cell Phone, go well beyond the ordinary, bundling sometimes conflicting dramatic elements – the literal storyline of the plot, but infused with absurdism and serving up commentary on religious, philosophical, and psychological issues. All that gives Dead Man’s Cell Phone true substance, but the audience also gets an entertaining show that is largely a romantic comedy – and very funny at that.

Among the most entertaining aspects of Dead Man’s Cell Phone is the irreverence. Soon after that café scene, we meet Mrs. Gottlieb onstage, a well-off matron, and now delivering a eulogy at her son Gordon’s funeral. Describing herself as non-religious, Mrs. Gottlieb (her name, ironically, mean’s God’s Love) praises the soaring sanctuary.

I’m not sure what to say. There is, thank God, a vaulted ceiling here. I am relieved to find that there is stained glass and the sensation of height. Even though I am not a religious woman I am glad there are still churches. Thank God there are still people who build churches for the rest of us, so that when someone dies – or gets married – we have a place to - I could not put all of this – in a low-ceilinged room – no – it requires height.

Then a cell phone goes off and Mrs. Gottleib swears. In minutes she violates a sacred space, taboos on foul language, funerary propriety; she is off-hand about her son’s religious service, and the church in which it takes place. It’s subversive, and very funny.

High praise is due for The Comrade theater group's selection of Dead Man’s Cell Phone. It is well done, but compared to other versions perhaps a bit more “in your face” (and maybe a little off script). Director Arianna Soloway has chosen to give the overall production a “noir” flavor, and adds theatrical flourishes that serve as commentary on how cellphones have become mandatory appendages for humans.

In the 12 years since Ruhl wrote this script, cell phones have insinuated themselves even more eventfully into our lives. This production at Greenhouse Theater has elaborate scene changing routines, with actors dressed in trench coats and fedoras to move sets, and holding a phone on-high as they leave. But arguably this puts an emphasis on an aspect of the play that mattered to Ruhl. And perhaps it's a matter of preference; I like a leaner approach that relies more on the language and timing for Sarah Ruhl’s devastatingly funny lines.

But the audience around me was loving this show, and there was a lot of laughter. Bryan Breau as Gordon turned in the best performance, while Mike Newquist as his younger brother Dwight and Lynette Li as Gordon’s widow Hermia were very strong in keeping the intellectual mayhem afloat. Cydney Moodey carries off well Jean as Everyman, and this seems to be exactly as Ruhl intended. 

The night I saw the show, Caroline Latta as Mrs. Gottlieb had all the imperiousness Ruhl must have a intended, but some of the humor fell flat because the timing was off. (When Jean is rescued by Dwight in one scene, Mrs. Gottlieb asks her if she would like “a cold compress, some quiche” and the interval between those phrases is the difference between funny ha ha and funny weird.) 

Titles of Sarah Ruhl's plays suggest her outlook: How to Transcend a Happy Marriage, For Peter Pan on her 70th Birthday, In the Next Room, or the vibrator play, The Clean House and Stage Kiss (I’ve seen the last three). She is a two-time Pulitzer Prize finalist and a Tony Award nominee. Her plays have been produced on Broadway, and translated into 14 languages.

Withal, this show is highly recommended: an opportunity to see Dead Man's Cell Phone performed live should not be missed. It's at the Greenhouse Theater through March 10, 2019.