Displaying items by tag: Walter Briggs

Lookingglass Theatre Company continues its tradition of staging visually inventive and thought-provoking world premieres with its latest production, Untitled Vampire Play. Written by Lookingglass Ensemble Member Kevin Douglas - who has previously crafted well-received work for the company, including Thaddeus and Slocum: A Vaudeville Adventure - this comedy-drama uses supernatural lore to dissect the vulnerabilities of modern relationships.

The story centers on a delightfully bizarre “meet the parents” scenario. Dom (Jordan Anthony Arredondo), an everyman bartender, introduces his parents to his new girlfriend, Val (Courtney Rikki Green). The twist? Val is a centuries-old vampire. But don’t worry - she gets her blood from ethical sources, not human victims. Dom’s parents laugh it off, though, thinking their son’s girlfriend has a few screws loose.

Meanwhile, Val’s “brother” Roderick (Walter Briggs) resurfaces, wanting to reconnect. In reality, they are former lovers, but after his betrayal, she ran away. Val doubts that he’s changed, but her progeny, Rose (Jin Park), gets sucked into his orbit despite being under Val’s supernatural control. As Roderick carelessly makes kills in Chicago, bodies begin piling up, drawing the attention of Dom’s mother - a police detective - and a vampire hunter descended from Van Helsing. Who said love was easy? The result is a look at relationships in all of their messy, bloody glory.

Briggs turns in an excellent performance as Roderick, playing the charismatic bad boy with ease. He channels the classic Hollywood vampire aesthetic with immaculate fashion and a distinct, formal vocal cadence that commands the room. Sure, he’s a villain, but he’s fun to watch, especially with the little flairs he adds to his characterization.

Kareem Bandealy is another standout, tackling two completely contrasting roles. He plays Dom's father, Louie, with a relentless barrage of corny vampire dad jokes, then completely transforms into Lance Tardis Van Helsing, a fierce vampire hunter with an equally fierce hair flip.

Courtney Rikki Green as Val inUntitled Vampire Play at Lookingglass Theatre. Photo by Justin Barbin.

Anchoring the whole cast, though, is Green, who brings immense emotional weight to her performance as the complex Val. Serving as the real window into this hidden world, Green charts her character's profound transformation, as Val wrestles with whether she is seeking genuine love or simply trying to outrun eternal loneliness.

Beneath the fangs, the play asks a deeply human question: What does it mean to love someone? It explores the underlying selfishness that often masks itself as romance. Val wants Dom to turn into a vampire so they can be together forever, viewing his reluctance as a rejection of her identity rather than a defense of his own humanity. Meanwhile, Dom uses Val as an emotional security blanket to quiet his own intense insecurities. Through these characters, Douglas examines how control, weakness, danger, and even lust can taint love, or at least the illusion of it.

The script could use a bit of trimming in its exploration, as there are moments that feel repetitive, alongside a few minor plot weaknesses. For instance, it seems odd that a police detective would wait so long to investigate self-proclaimed vampires once gruesome deaths with animal-like attack marks begin happening. Furthermore, one thing I certainly could have gone without was a gruesome scene where the vampires feast on a victim, using gummy worms to simulate intestines. Still, beneath those rough edges, the play’s core story has real spark, offering a fresh, funny twist on vampire mythology that keeps the audience engaged.

I’d be remiss not to praise the play’s design. The technical execution is a masterclass in atmospheric world-building. Scenic designer Alyssa Mohn delivers an expert landscape featuring coffins that seamlessly rise from and sink into the stage floor. This clever staging pairs beautifully with Andre Pluess’s precise sound design and Jason Lynch’s lighting choices - ranging from moody washes to stark spotlights and flashing accents - to wrap the theater in an escalating sense of intrigue and peril. The atmosphere creates moments when you’re not sure if you might be the next victim.

Inventively directed by Devon de Mayo, the production also incorporates fun moments of audience engagement, whether it’s handing theatergoers caution tape to hold at a crime scene or a rather messy vampire kill that sprays stage blood into the front row.

While it doesn’t entirely break new ground, Untitled Vampire Play is creative and visually arresting. At a time when modern relationships are being heavily dissected in media - such as in the hit Obsession - Untitled Vampire Play tosses its fangs into the conversation, leaving the audience to wrestle with what should encompass the core tenets of love.

Recommended.

Untitled Vampire Play is being performed at Lookingglass Theatre through July 12^th.

This review is proudly shared with our friends at www.TheatreInChicago.com. 

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.

Jules Verne wrote one of the first science fiction novels in 20,000 Leagues Under the Seas, the story of three travelers who find themselves imprisoned on the Nautilus, a submarine captained by the megalomaniacal Captain Nemo. The novel was light on political detail, though Captain Nemo occasionally claimed to use his supremacy in the seas to right wrongs committed on land, especially those perpetrated by colonial powers. Nemo’s reasons were more fully articulated in Verne’s follow-up, The Mysterious Island, elements of which become the framing device for this Lookingglass Production, adapted by David Kersnar, who also directs, and Althos Low (aka Steve Pickering). Ensemble member Kersnar shows a deft hand and strong familiarity with the resources he can muster to bring the undersea world of the novels spectacularly to life, though the attempt to explain Nemo’s vengeful politics weighs the production down.

At its heart, 20,000 Leagues Under the Seas is an entertaining yarn, filled with hair-raising encounters with monsters, encounters made more terrifying by the fact that they take place in the unforgiving confines of the world’s oceans, with their more ordinary terrors. Kersnar and Low have done a remarkable job of bringing this world to the stage, staying true to Verne’s vision while making updates that make the story more accessible to contemporary audiences. One of these is changing the gender of the marine biologist who recounts Nemo’s travels and scientific discoveries. Pierre Aronnax and his aide-de-camp, Conseil, are recast as Morgan Aronnax and Brigette Conseil. This proves to be a strong choice in terms of storytelling, as it makes a little sense of Aronnax’s initial sympathy for Nemo, as both have felt the sting of being underestimated by those in power. The creators have assembled a team of artists and designers who are up to the task of bringing the tour of the seas to the stage. Todd Rosenthal’s set contains a toy-theater proscenium for the wide-angle shots of the ocean, from the sinking of ships to the horrors of the drowning sailors to the view from the windows of the Nautilus. The Nautilus itself is realized as an exterior platform that rises and tilts precipitously as the story demands, and hints at the confinement of the underwater craft that can be accessed only through a small hatch. Costume designer Sully Ratke combines story-telling and function, creating designs that capture the altered states of the characters as their journeys unwind, as well as their backgrounds and social stations. Props by Amanda Hermann avoid getting too steampunk, but capture the Victorian aesthetic of the novel, reminiscent of the original illustrations. However, it is the more ephemeral design elements that really transport the audience to the depths: sound designer Ric Sims and lighting designer Christine Binder immerse the audience in locations from New York City, the decks of various water crafts, to the depths of the seven seas. Floating in this aural and visual landscape are the puppets designed by Blair Thomas, Tom Lee, and Chris Wooten and athletic actors performing Sylvia Hernandez Di-Stasi’s brilliant aerial choreography, which allows the characters to float and dive beneath the waves. The puppets themselves are worth the price of admission: lifelike and magical at once, they float behind and off the stage to invite audience and characters fully into the terrors and wonders of the oceans.

The play begins with a group of refugees from the American Civil War meeting the man who enabled them to survive their escape, Captain Nemo, now older, alone and questioning his prior life as a terror of the seas. It then flashes back to where the book begins, introducing French professor of natural history Morgan Aronnax, who receives a last-minute invitation to join the crew of the USS Bainbridge, under Captain Farragut, who is commissioned to seek and destroy whatever is terrorizing the seas—be it craft or creature. Aronnax postulates a giant narwhal in a scene that brilliantly establishes her character and her position vis-à-vis her male colleagues. Kasey Foster does an admirable job of injecting charm into the generally no-nonsense and humorless professor, who is almost as single-minded in her pursuit of knowledge as Nemo in his pursuit of vengeance and domination. Kareem Bandealy is hampered by a script that does not allow him to fully realize the zealous evil of Nemo—despite his powerful presence and overbearing bluster, he gets bogged down in the scenes that switch to introspection and long-winded revelation. Scenes that allow him to do this while perpetrating acts of terror (the sinking of a naval vessel, for example) serve the plot much better than dinner time polemics and elegiac remembrances of his role in the Great Mutiny of 1847, which led to the losses that spurred his vengeance against imperialism. Rounding out the quartet that forms the center of the narrative are Walter Briggs as the cheeky Ned Land, a harpooner brought on board the Bainbridge to help destroy the monster responsible for the deaths of so many sailors, and Lanise Antoine Shelley as Conseil. Briggs brings the right balance of swagger and empathy to his role, and Shelley makes a good audience foil for the occasionally delusional professor, pointedly and humorously reminding her of the realities of their positions as women in a male world, and then as prisoners (not guests) of the mad Captain Nemo. Nemo’s “guests” also prove themselves to be up to the physical challenges of taking on human and cephalopod foes (Shelley has a brilliant and harrowing encounter with the latter). The rest of the cast—Thomas J. Cox, Joe Dempsey, Micah Figueroa, Edwin Lee Gibson and Glenn-Dale Obrero--provide some of the most striking moments of the evening and fill the stage with a multitude of supporting characters. Cox anchors the crew of Civil War wanderers and helps flesh out the alternate narrative. Joe Dempsey makes an impression as Pencroff, whose gratitude towards Nemo fuels his understanding and as the surprisingly open-minded and humorous Captain Farragut. Edwin Lee Gibson brings stalwart nobility to Cyrus Smith, one of the men who encounters Nemo in the first scene, and a roguish pragmatism to the self-serving constable who allows Ned Land to board the U.S.S. Bainbridge with a little persuasion from the Captain. Micah Figueroa and Glenn-Dale Obrero also fill the ranks of the Civil War escapees (with a humorous turn from Figueroa as the naïve Harbert), as well as handling the bulk of the fighting and diving, including an amazing sequence of pearl diving that captures the best of Lookingglass’s take on Verne’s novel—providing spectacle and social commentary in a seamless melding of physical theater, puppetry and characterization.

It’s not perfect, but 20,000 Leagues Under the Seas has enough to satisfy young (tweens and up) and old. Though it tries valiantly and not always successfully to engage with the political themes of human rights and colonization, ultimately it is buoyed by a strong sense of good old-fashioned story-telling. The breathtaking special effects, aerial dance, puppet magic, and a committed and capable cast who can match the acting and physical demands of the spectacle more than make up for some ponderous philosophical ballast. There is enough food for thought to inspire conversation, but the focus, as it should, remains mostly on the undersea journeys of the Nautilus and its willing and unwilling crew members’ battles with Kareem Bandealy’s power-hungry Nemo and the natural perils of the seas. It is well worth hopping on board to witness the sea battles, sea spiders, fish, squid and other undersea wonders dreamed up by Lookingglass’s team, under the assured direction of David Kersnar.

20,000 Leagues Under the Seas runs through August 19, 2018, at Lookingglass Theater, 821 N. Michigan. Performances are Wednesdays-Sundays at 7:30 pm, and Sundays at 2:00 pm. For tickets and more information, visit www.lookingglasstheatre.org or call 312-337-0665.

*Extended through August 26th