Displaying items by tag: Shannon Cochran

Lookingglass Theatre, known for its excellent production values and its incomparable space at the Water Tower pumping station, brings us an intriguing new work, Act(s) of God. 

Billed as an existential dark comedy, but really much more of a farce, it is a “guess who’s coming to dinner” tale of cosmic proportions. Written by troupe member and actor Kareem Bandealy and directed by Heidi Stillman, the show spares nothing in quality of effort and has an intriguing storyline, but runs off the rails by the third act. 

It opens on a middle-class family home where Father (Rom Barkhordar) and Mother (Shannon Cochran in an outstanding performance) await the homecoming of their boy Middle (Anthony Irons) and his girl Fiancée (Emjoy Gavino). Their two other children will also be arriving soon, a daughter Eldest (Kristina Valada-Viars) and another son, Youngest (Walter Briggs).

Sorting the mail, Mother listens to a radio report on the imminent passage near earth of the asteroid, Apophis, while she and Father reveal in passing that it is April 2029 – a date that gains in significance. Other rather witty exposition tells us how much (and how little) the world has advanced from the present. “Everyone’s driving solar cars, but why do we still have junk mail?” Mother asks.

In the mail pile Mother finds an unusual letter, but she can’t tear the envelope, nor can Father, nor the other children as they each arrive. No one can, that is, until Eldest arrives, disturbing the others who are deep in a stylized, futuristic New Age prayer ritual. (In a  droll touch, Bandealy has them ask God not for forgiveness, but to “Help us forgive ourselves.”) As it turns out Eldest is not only an atheist but also a lesbian, things which estrange her from the family. And perhaps to the detriment of this script, Eldest is a writer. But she is able to open the letter, revealing that it contains a message from God: he’s coming for dinner tomorrow night.

The plot thickens promisingly, and great deal of angst and stress accompanies preparations for their guests’ arrival, with Mother begging the rest, “Please don’t embarrass me in front of God.”

But the play takes a turn for the worse, as family tensions and dynamics fill the remainder of a way too-long show (three acts, two intermissions). These scenes are full of drama, but they do not a play make.  And while Bandealy’s characters are clearly defined personalities, jousting continuously, they seem only vaguely related to each other. Was it a matter of casting or direction?

Perhaps it’s the script – which is not fully jelled. Much of the dialog is actors reciting lengthy written texts, well stated, but mostly unconvincing as spoken language. This is slightly less of an issue with Mother, Youngest, and Fiancee, but is especially a problem with Eldest, who talks over the other characters in sometimes interminable diatribes and expository essays. Such character types have been known to represent the author.

There are also unconvincing dramatic moments, as when Father falls asleep sitting up in a chair for almost an entire Act, while a wild family wrestling and shouting match surrounds him. Or the siblings and Mother sitting unnaturally rigid and immobile throughout a scene as Father comes and goes from the kitchen, talking a mile a minute. 

Bandealy does give each character a moment of glory, with a signal monologue: in the son Middle’s take-down of his sister, Anthony Irons is moving and convincing. In Father’s recitation of an invented religious parable, Rom Barkhordar is flawless. Likewise, Shannon Cochran, who in what might be a ranting soliloquy decrying the raw deal given her by motherhood, instead sings her lines to the accompaniment of a baroque sinfonietta. It’s surpassingly than charming.

Oh yes, and God comes and goes, unseen by us. But we do hear him like a “passing wind” (a nice inside joke for religious folks, he is flatulent on a cosmic scale as well, it turns out). The date of God’s arrival, April 14, 2029, is repeated so frequently in the dialog I looked it up in Wikipedia. It is the day a large asteroid will come within 19,000 miles of the Earth – which clarifies the radio report in the opening minutes of Act(s) of God. 

The set by Brian Sidney Bembridge – the living and dining room of a middle-class family home – is wonderfully appointed, and conveys that indeterminate futuristic point in time with a mix of furnishings dating from 1920 deco and ersatz 1950s French provincial, to mid-century modern and contemporary retro, along with futuristic sconces and wall paper. 

The set matters, as it must also provide a climactic end to the play. But it was not a particularly satisfying one. The coincidence of a visit from God and an asteroid flyby gives a reasonable platform for an existential dark comedy, but hours of family squabbling didn't seem very existential or funny. There’s some good in Act(s) of God, and some great bits, so it's somewhat recommended if you have the patience for it. It will be at Lookingglass Theatre through April 7, 2019.

a“There’s no honor in self destruction.” An interesting line to ponder when thinking about what Sam Shepard’s Pulitzer Prize winner ‘Buried Child’ says about our current times. Sadly we lost Sam Shepard recently. Writers Theatre’s production of ‘Buried Child’ serves as a fitting homage. Director Kimberly Senior assembles a dream cast for her well-conceived revival.

Senior is a meticulous director. The attention to minor details of staging makes for an immersive experience. ‘Buried Child’ is a complicated play, reading it can be challenging. Senior’s version is clear. Her grasp of the script and the meaning of Sam Shepard’s words shines through. While it adds a little to the runtime of the show, two intermissions is a wise choice.

This production changes the focus somewhat. Shepard was known for male-driven plays and some critics argue his female characters are underdeveloped. Senior mines the script for a new interpretation; that ultimately the women are the ones who keep the play moving. Shannon Cochran plays Hallie, the matriarch. Her performance is riveting, she stalks the stage doling out anger and jokes. Also playing against type is Arti Ishak as Shelly. This character is ordinarily somewhat meek but here she’s a dominant figure that forces this family to its reckoning.

The male roles are notably cast. Mark L. Montgomery is nearly unrecognizable as Tilden. His portrayal of an emotionally stunted man-child is haunting. Timothy Edward Kane delivers a sort of ‘Texas Chainsaw Massacre’ vibe as the younger son Bradley. His wandering eye contact has an unsettling effect. Larry Yando becomes Dodge. Yando’s an old pro at playing a grumpy old man but the physicality of sickness and depression are palpable.

Shepard wrote this play in the 70s as an observation on the misery of rural American life. Once idyllic places got decimated by closed factories and failing farms. Unfortunately not much has changed for the better in these places, and for that this production seems timely as ever. Kimberly Senior’s production would make Sam Shepard proud. The atmospheric staging and guttural dialogue combined with powerhouse performances will surely leave a lasting impression. A thrilling version for our modern times.

Through June 17 at Writers Theatre. 325 Tudor Court, Glencoe IL. 847-242-6000

How do you categorize a musical that is part comedy, part drama, and part burlesque? The answer is: you don't need you. Like Kander and Ebb's later popular Broadway hit Chicago, Cabaret uses flashy and often funny nightclub performance as a device to embellish and expound upon the more serious and sometimes grim events of the story. In Chicago, shameless homicide by two murderesses is explored through jazzy nightclub acts, while in Cabaret, the grisly beginnings of WWII and the anxious pall it casts over the characters' lives is explored through fearless, garter-brimming club performances.

Cabaret is a unique musical, one that will sneak up on you and knock you in the chin if you try to pigeonhole it. The songs are inordinately catchy and the story turns unpredictably. On opening night at the inaugural show of the newly named Private Bank Theatre, I was surprised to hear so many shocked reactions from the audience around me. Every Nazi reference was met with gasps, one short scene of drug use left the audience deadly silent, the never-even-mentioned-by-name subject briefly implied by Sally's doctor visit caused an audible "Oh my God!", and Cliff's apparent bisexuality was received with total confusion. "But he kissed a boy. How could he fall in love with a girl?" Please. If audiences could survive it in 1962, they should certainly be able to handle it now. The reactions only serve to prove that Cabaret has a timeless impact.

When American self-described "starving novelist" Cliff (a capable if slightly bland Lee Aaron Rosen) travels to Berlin in pursuit of literary inspiration, he discovers it in the form of the buoyant and provocative English cabaret dancer Sally Bowles (a character brilliantly committed to by Andrea Goss) and the seedy nightclub crowd with which she surrounds herself. They soon begin living together and befriend landlady Fraulein Schneider (a subduedly wise Shannon Cochran) and fellow tenant, the Jewish Herr Schultz (a cute and gentle Mark Nelson), the latter of whom begin a sweet but eventually controversial romance. Sally and Cliff's lives are an ecstatic chaos of gin and sexual liberation until Cliff's friend and confidante Herr Ludwig (flawlessly portrayed by Ned Noyes) reveals his disturbing true colors, triggering the destruction that floods the characters' lives from that point on and effectively bursting their bubble of delusion. The omniscient Emcee of Berlin's sordid Kit Kat Club (a delightfully snarky Randy Harrison) guides the viewer between the actual plot events and their corresponding cabaret acts.

My favorite of the over-the-top club performances cleverly mirroring the real life drama is the titular showstopper "Cabaret." Many folks, likely many of the shocked theatre-goers seated around me, may associate this song with a charismatic, triumphant Liza Minnelli from the 1972 film (or even an older, sequined-out Liza cheerily vamping her way through a showtune medley) and thus were not expecting the heavier tone rendered in the stage version. At this point, Sally has lost everything. She's alone, she's ill, she's broke, she is out of a job after this final performance. Her life has spiraled into a living hell. Goss made a powerful impression as Sally throughout and nothing showcased her acting talents more than her raw, enraged delivery of this song. The eerie juxtaposition of Sally's unabashed ruin with jaunty lyrics celebrating a wildly fun, carefree lifestyle gave me chills, the last line all but screamed at the audience before she knocks down the mike stand in her fury.

This is a musical that everyone should see at least once in their lifetime. It will not meet your expectations, in the best way possible.

Cabaret is playing at the Private Bank Theatre at 18 W Monroe now through February 21st. Tickets can be purchased at Ticketmaster or by going to BroadwayInChicago.