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Spaceman, presented by [producingbody], touches down at The Edge Off-Broadway with a quiet, unnerving force, pulling audiences into the fragile headspace of an astronaut drifting far from home and even farther from certainty. Under Eric Slater’s beautifully calibrated direction, playwright Leegrid Stevens’ one‑woman odyssey becomes less a sci‑fi spectacle than a psychological excavation, using isolation, sound, and the illusion of the vastness of space to illuminate the even vaster, far more treacherous terrain of the human mind. What unfolds is intimate, disorienting, and strangely beautiful - a mission that feels as internal as it is interstellar.

Commander Molly Jennis, played with raw precision by Ashley Neal, anchors the entire piece, and Stevens places her in a cockpit that feels less like a command center and more like a sealed chamber where every thought ricochets back at her. Seven months from Earth and en route to Mars on a mission meant to help establish the first human colony, Molly exists in a liminal space where even the simplest exchange with Houston (a.k.a. Rob, voiced by Slater) arrives with a ten‑minute delay. That communication gap becomes its own form of psychological erosion - a constant reminder of how far she’s drifted from help, from home, and from anything resembling real‑time human connection.

But Molly’s mission is no longer just scientific. It’s personal. In this adaptation, the script’s original husband Harry is affectingly reimagined as Ari, Molly’s wife - also an astronaut - who died in a catastrophic space mishap, a loss that shattered her sense of purpose and left her clinging to a belief that borders on spiritual desperation. Convinced that Mars is the gateway to the afterlife, she pushes forward not only to complete her assignment but in the hope of finding Ari waiting for her on the other side of the red planet’s dust and silence. That longing becomes the engine of the play, fueling her resolve even as it accelerates her unraveling.

Life aboard the ship only intensifies that disintegration. Molly faces a barrage of indignities and challenges that chip away at her humanity: the crushing loneliness of months without touch or immediacy; the numbing boredom of endless routines; the hygiene compromises of sponge baths and wipes in place of a shower; and the messy, often humiliating realities of zero‑gravity bathroom logistics that turn even basic bodily functions into small disasters. These details aren’t played for cheap laughs - they’re reminders of how fragile the body becomes when stripped of comfort, privacy, and gravity itself. Each inconvenience compounds her grief, her remoteness, and her growing conviction that the only meaningful destination left is the one where Ari might be found.

Neal channels all of this with remarkable control. Her Molly is a woman split between duty and delusion, the clipped professionalism of a trained astronaut slowly fraying into paranoia, longing, and hallucinatory hope. Neal’s performance is built on micro‑shifts - the tightening of her jaw, the flicker of yearning behind her eyes, the way her voice strains to maintain authority even as her internal compass spins. She makes Molly’s belief in Ari’s presence feel both irrational and heartbreakingly human.

The plot circles her in increasingly suffocating loops, blurring memory, mission, and metaphysical longing until the audience is never quite sure what’s real and what’s the product of a psyche pushed past its limits. Yet even within that pressure, the play finds brief, unexpected flickers of levity - small human moments that remind us Molly is still fighting to stay tethered to herself. It’s a performance - and a character - shaped as much by silence, distance, bodily strain, and cosmic grief as by the script itself.

Ashley Neal in SPACEMAN from [producingbody] now playing through June 13 at The Edge Off-Broadway.

The production design at The Edge Off‑Broadway becomes an essential partner in Molly’s unspooling, transforming the cozy 50‑or‑so‑seat venue into an airtight capsule that pulls the audience directly into her orbit. A lone captain’s chair sits at the center of the cockpit, surrounded by glowing computer screens that flicker with data like a heartbeat she’s trying desperately to trust. Her only living friend is a small, responsive plant that tilts and bends as though it’s trying to understand her, a fragile tether to something organic in the endless dark. But she also has Jen (Sadieh Rifai) - the ship’s AI voice whose constant presence fills the silence with a companionable, sometimes unsettling intimacy. Throughout the play, the low, constant hum of the rocket engine underscores every moment, a sonic reminder of the machine that keeps her alive even as it isolates her. Lighting is used with surgical precision: tight, concentrated beams that lock onto Molly and amplify her intensity, then suddenly widen into sweeping celestial washes that pull the audience into the vast, indifferent expanse outside her ship. When a meteor strikes the hull, the sound design erupts with visceral force, rattling the space and Molly’s nerves in equal measure. And in one of the production’s most ingenious touches, Allyce Torres - dressed entirely in black and nearly invisible against the cockpit’s shadows - moves objects with ghostlike stealth to create the uncanny illusion of zero gravity. That she also portrays Ari adds an extra layer of resonance, as if her presence is haunting the space even when Molly can’t see her. Every element works in concert to heighten the story’s tension and fragility, making the production not just a backdrop but a powerful, immersive engine driving the narrative forward.

Amy Carpenter, who helps shepherd the production as a producer, also understudies Molly Jennis - a dual role that underscores her investment in the piece’s dramatic and technical precision.

The production’s technical artistry is anchored by a trio of designers whose work deepens the play’s immersive pull. Taylor Dalton (executive producer/set design/costume design), Angela Joy Baldasare (sound designer), and Garrett Bell (lighting designer) craft an environment that feels both meticulously engineered and emotionally charged, each element reinforcing the story’s tautness, precariousness, and sense of cosmic seclusion.

Ashley Neal in SPACEMAN from [producingbody] now playing through June 13 at The Edge Off-Broadway.

Even before the lights go down, Spaceman begins tightening its grip. Audience members are required to seal their phones in Yondr pouches - those soft, magnetic lock bags used at concerts and comedy shows - and the effect is immediate. In such an intimate venue, the simple act of surrendering your device creates a subtle but unmistakable shift: the outside world goes quiet, your digital bind snaps, and a faint echo of Molly’s own isolation settles in. It’s a small, clever pre‑show ritual that primes the audience for the loneliness, disconnection, and suspended‑in‑the‑void feeling that defines her journey. By the time you take your seat, you’re already living in a version of her world - cut off, contained, and waiting for contact that won’t come quickly.

Spaceman is a singular, deeply immersive theatrical experience, the kind that sneaks up on you and refuses to let go. I felt myself drawn in further with each passing minute, the tension tightening and the stakes rising as Molly’s journey pushed deeper into the void. What lingered with me was the sensation of being slowly enveloped - not by spectacle, but by atmosphere. The production creates a kind of emotional gravity, a pull that grows stronger the longer you sit with Molly’s loneliness, her determination, her fraying edges. By the time she reaches the farthest point from Earth, I realized I had traveled with her, carrying the same weight, the same longing, the same fragile hope that something - anything - might answer back.

At just 100 minutes with no intermission - and no re‑entry if you need to leave the theatre - Spaceman demands and rewards full immersion. It’s a tightly calibrated, deeply human piece of sci‑fi storytelling that lingers long after the final blackout, and it comes recommended. Spaceman runs May 19 - June 13 at The Edge Off-Broadway, with tickets priced $15-45. Tickets and additional information are available at www.producingbody.com.

If you’ve ever worked in an urban coffee shop, chances are you’ve encountered at least one ultra-paranoid kook who believes the government is spying on them. Often they’re filling out long journals or manifestos. Or perhaps that one crazy uncle we all seem to have who believes in way too many conspiracy theories. These loveable, but disturbed weirdos commonly refer to themselves as “targeted individuals.” 

Hanna Kime’s new play The Targeted makes its world premiere at A Red Orchid Theatre. In it, she empathetically explores the lives of these folks and what draws them to their beliefs. Though it is at times humorous, Kime’s play is not exploitative. Rather, she builds an entire ecosystem for not only those affected by this kind of thinking, but the ways in which others profit from it. 

Grace Dolezal-Ng directs a bonafide dream cast of some of Chicago’s best actresses. They turn the main stage at The Chopin into a woodsy, weekend retreat called The Solidarity and Truth Summit. Rhonda (Kirsten Fitzgerald), Didi (Natalie West) at first seem very nice and chummy when welcoming newcomer Sherry (Sadieh Rifai), but as the weekend wears on, fractures begin to form. Rhonda is immediately mistrustful of Mia (Stephanie Shum), another newbie who is very upfront about not being a believer in government tracking conspiracies; she’s only there to support her misguided younger brother Eric (Glenn Obrero). The power structure becomes more complicated once the organizer of the summit, Jeff (Lawrence Grimm), starts giving whacky lectures.

In 95 minutes of quick-moving scenes, each character reveals how this affliction has sabotaged their personal lives. At the beginning, you can almost convince yourself these people are normal, just with some strange ideas. Sadieh Rifai plays Sherry with such naive conviction that you can’t imagine a simple, suburban housewife could ever be tempted by this rabbit hole. Through her character, Kime makes a thinly veiled parallel to the “Q-Anon” to “Trad Wife” pipeline. In contrast, Kirsten Fitzgerald’s Rhonda is hard as nails and her desire to control the weekends’ narrative speaks directly to just how dangerously persuasive conspiratorial ideology can be.

The central storyline presents itself in the relationship between Eric and Mia though. As a non-believer, Mia is outnumbered and it’s not long before she begins questioning her own sanity. Stephanie Shum plays the voice of reason with a quintessential authority. Her character’s demand for truth shows how frustrating independent thinking can feel in group settings.

While there is certainly a rubber-necking quality to the topic at hand, Kime never treats her characters as some sort of Netflix documentary sideshow specimens. Natalie West plays one of the weirder believers but her quirky softness makes her one of the show’s most endearing characters, even if she is hawking metaphoric snake oil for a living.

In the end, Kime lets the audience make up their own mind as to whether these folks actually believe what they’re talking about, or whether they’re just extremely lonely. It’s hard to criticize conspiracy theorists in an era in which almost every aspect of our federal government seems to be conspiring against its people. Kime builds a case for compassion with The Targeted.

Through June 14 at A Red Orchid Theatre. At Chopin Theatre. 1543 W Division St. 773-278-1500.

Timeline Theatre unveils their chic, new Uptown home with its inaugural production–Henrik Ibsen’s ever-relevant “An Enemy of the People”. A streamlined text by acclaimed playwright Amy Herzog cuts right to the bone in this fast-paced version straight from Broadway.

It shouldn’t come as a surprise that Timeline chose to open their new space with Ibsen’s classic play about a town that prioritizes economics over public health. History continues to repeat itself. Whispers of AI data centers seemed to be on everyone’s lips during the intermission as the modern day parallel is impossible to ignore. Timeline, who is known for their dramaturgical installations by Maren Robinson, doesn't shy away from the ugly reality that our Great Lakes are under attack from the tech billionaire class who aim to guzzle ungodly amounts of our fresh water. 

The play begins on a chipper note, an economically downtrodden town brims with excitement for their new spa and resort that is sure to boost local prospects. That is until plucky Dr. Thomas Stockmann (Will Allan) makes a chilling discovery about the contaminated water source. At first his friends at the local newspaper are behind his decision to inform the townspeople, but as his brother Peter, the mayor (Behzad Dabu), becomes involved support begins to waver. Soon his adult daughter Petra (Campbell Krausen) is his only ally. 

Petra Stockmann (Campbell Krausen, background from left), Hovstad (Grayson Kennedy), and Captain Horster (Charles Andrew Gardner) watch attentively as Dr. Thomas Stockmann (Will Allan, foreground) reviews shocking scientific revelations.

Herzog’s version is more akin to a chamber play than Ibsen’s, perhaps less grand in scale but certainly easier to digest. She also inserts some modern political flourishes that give more depth to the female protagonist Petra. With a slimmer cast and script, individual performances stand out and the intensity is more sustained. And by the second act, the audience becomes part of the cast in a way. This device works especially well because of the brilliant performances of this intimate cast.

“An Enemy of the People” becomes just as frustrating as Miller’s “The Crucible”. That infectious sense of outrage comes down to Will Allan’s devastatingly honest portrayal of a man who loses everything for the pursuit of truth. Allan has a gift for physicality, often interjecting some levity wherever possible. Audience participation becomes hard to contain as he’s continuously silenced by the newspaper staff and his greedy brother. Behzad Dabu opts for a more pragmatic interpretation of the mayor than straight up villain. In fact, there are moments where despite the poisonous water, you might find yourself agreeing with him, therein lies the danger. The emotional anchor of the show is Campbell’s Krausen’s Petra. Much like Allan’s performance, the shift from light to dark is heartbreaking.

Timeline’s glow up from Wellington to North Broadway is something to marvel at. Uptown has gained a Steppenwolf-level theater. Legendary Chicago director Ron OJ Parson brings a certain sophistication well deserving of this sleek 250-seat theater. Everything is just right here. John Culbert’s stylish set and stage magic really fills this gorgeous new performance space. Uptown really is quite lucky to have this wonderful new theater in its backyard. 

Through June 14 at Timeline Theatre. 5035 N Broadway. 773-281-8463 x1

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

The Goodman Theatre’s Covenant announces York Walker as a playwright ascending rapidly into the highest tier of American theater. This is not simply an impressive new work; it is the kind of play that reminds audiences why live theater remains uniquely capable of unsettling the spirit. Walker has written something rare: a Southern Gothic thriller steeped equally in folklore, faith, desire, and dread. Under the extraordinary direction of Malkia Stampley - arguably some of the finest work of her already remarkable career - the production unfolds with hypnotic control and devastating emotional precision.

Set in 1936 Georgia, Covenant begins with Ruthie’s haunting declaration: “Everybody got a secret.” That line becomes the pulse beneath the entire production. Secrets saturate every corner of Walker’s world. Desire hides beneath scripture. Fear hides beneath righteousness. Love hides beneath suspicion. And every revelation threatens to crack the play wide open.

Walker’s writing is lyrical without becoming self-conscious, poetic without sacrificing danger. His dialogue moves like music - earthy, funny, intimate, and increasingly ominous. The play’s supernatural undertones never overpower its humanity. Instead, Walker roots every eerie moment in emotional truth. The result is a suspenseful theatrical experience that genuinely keeps the audience on edge. Spooky, suspenseful plays this good are rare. Even rarer are ones disciplined enough not to betray themselves too early. The less one knows going in, the better. This production rewards surrender.

Stampley directs with astonishing confidence. She understands that terror often lives in silence, stillness, and suggestion. The production breathes with tension. Every pause feels loaded. Every gesture seems to carry spiritual consequence. The prayer sequences become almost ritualistic choreography, while scenes of intimacy hum with equal parts longing and danger. Stampley masterfully balances the play’s realism and its creeping nightmare logic without allowing either to overpower the other.

The production’s technical elements are equally exceptional. Set designer Ryan Emens creates a sparse wooden structure dominated by a cross front and center, a deceptively simple design that transforms effortlessly, with the addition of a few pieces of furniture, into both a humble church and a family home. Costume designer Evelyn M. Danner has clearly done her homework; the costumes feel authentically rooted in the period without ever appearing overly theatrical. The lighting design by Gina Patterson becomes an entirely new character in the production. Patterson’s work shapes mood and terror with remarkable precision, particularly during a stunning sequence involving thunder, lightning, and pouring rain that sends a chill through the audience. Complementing it beautifully is Dee Etti-Williams’ sound design, which works in haunting tandem with the lighting to create an atmosphere of gathering doom.

Ashli René Funches in Covenant at Goodman Theatre. Photo by Hugo Hentoff.

The all-Chicago cast is exceptional from top to bottom.

Debo Balogun delivers magnetic work as Johnny “Honeycomb” James, a wandering blues musician whose charm conceals depths the audience is never fully certain it understands. Balogun’s performance is seductive, wounded, and quietly terrifying all at once. He understands the danger of charisma.

As Ruthie, Ashli Renè Funches gives the production its emotional anchor. Her narration draws us into the story with heartbreaking vulnerability, and her slow awakening to the darkness surrounding her becomes deeply affecting.

Jaeda Lavonne is luminous as Avery, a young woman desperate to escape the suffocating boundaries of her world. Lavonne beautifully captures Avery’s hunger for freedom while allowing fear and spiritual confusion to shadow every choice she makes.

As Violet, Felicia Oduh brings sharp intelligence, humor, and emotional volatility to the stage. Violet often functions as the play’s skeptic and truth-teller, and Oduh gives her a raw immediacy that keeps the character from becoming merely symbolic.

Then there is Anji White as Mama. White disappears entirely into the role. Her performance is extraordinary in its complexity - unyielding, terrifying, wounded, and deeply tragic. Mama could easily become a caricature of religious severity, but White reveals the grief and horror buried underneath her righteousness. Her monologues land like thunderclaps.

What makes Covenant especially impressive is how fully it trusts the audience. Walker refuses easy answers. The play constantly asks whether evil is supernatural, inherited, psychological, or self-created. Is the devil real in this world? Or do people simply need something external to blame for the violence they carry inside themselves? The play never simplifies those questions.

And then comes the ending.

Do not spoil it for yourself. Do not let anyone spoil it for you. The audience will not see it coming.

Covenant is beautifully written, beautifully acted, and beautifully told. It lingers long after the lights go down, like a whispered warning you cannot quite forget.

HIGHLY RECOMMENDED

When: Through May 31 *Now extended though June 7th

Where: Goodman Theatre, 170 N. Dearborn St.

Runtime: 140 minutes (no intermission)

Tickets: $24-$44

Info: www.goodmantheatre.org

Box Office: 312-443-3800

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

There’s a rare kind of theatrical experience that transcends personal taste. Even if a genre is not typically your first choice, the sheer level of artistry on display is impossible to deny. That is exactly what director Keira Fromm’s production of Octet accomplishes: a vocally astonishing, emotionally resonant, and meticulously staged production that leaves you in complete awe of the performers.

Centered around a support group for people struggling with various forms of internet and technology addiction, Dave Malloy’s 2019 chamber choir musical somehow feels even more relevant now. Octet explores the strange, funny, isolating, and deeply human ways people use the internet to cope, connect, and self-destruct. Each member of the eight-person ensemble embodies a different facet of online dependency, from social media obsession to gaming to pornography to niche internet rabbit holes.

While the characters are intentionally heightened at times, what makes the show so effective – and a little scary – is how recognizable they still feel. The humor comes easily, but it is the moments of uncomfortable self-recognition you experience with each and every character that linger long after the show ends.

The production is, above all else, a staggering vocal achievement – made even more impressive by this marking Raven Theatre’s first musical production. Performed almost entirely through a cappella and chamber-style music, Octet demands an unbelievable level of precision, memorization, and endurance from its cast. The eight performers remain onstage for the full show, seamlessly moving between emotionally vulnerable monologues, intricate harmonies, comedic ensemble numbers, and soaring solo ballads without ever losing momentum. The result is one of the most impressive live vocal performances I have seen in quite some time.

What makes the cast especially remarkable is not just the technical perfection of the singing – though there genuinely was not a single noticeable missed cue, stumble, or musical lapse throughout the performance – but the way every performer remains completely locked into their character while executing extraordinarily difficult material. The ensemble operates like a perfectly synchronized machine, yet never sacrifices emotional authenticity for precision.

Two particular standouts were Teressa LaGamba (Paula), whose warmth and compassion radiated through every interaction and whose vocals carried extraordinary emotional clarity, and Sam Shankman (Henry), whose flamboyant humor and painfully relatable awkwardness made him both hilarious and unexpectedly touching. Shankman’s chemistry with the rest of the ensemble elevated nearly every scene he was part of, reinforcing the deeply interconnected energy that makes the show work so well.

Technically, Octet is relatively minimalist, but Raven Theatre’s production proves how impactful thoughtful simplicity can be. Utilizing the backstage area of the company’s black box theatre to create the atmosphere of a sparse church basement, scenic designers Milo Bue and Wynn Lee embrace an intentionally unpolished environment that perfectly suits the material. Every design choice feels purposeful.

The true technical standout, however, is Maximo Grano De Oro’s lighting design (with Ruby Lowe and Emmitt Socey as Master Electricians). Great lighting often goes unnoticed because of how seamlessly it integrates into a production, but the work here is impossible not to appreciate once you begin paying attention. Countless meticulously timed lighting cues transform otherwise ordinary fluorescent fixtures into an incredibly dynamic storytelling device, adding depth, tension, warmth, and unease in ways that subtly shape every moment of the show. The precision of the programming and cue choreography demonstrates an extraordinary level of care and intentionality, elevating the entire production without ever distracting from it.

With a newly announced film adaptation directed by Lin-Manuel Miranda and featuring an all-star cast already generating major excitement, Raven Theatre could not have picked a better time to stage Octet. Their production captures everything that makes the musical so singular: its humor, its humanity, its discomfort, and its breathtaking musicality. It is a deeply modern show presented with extraordinary care, and it sets an incredibly high bar for any future stagings.

Octet is running at Raven Theatre through June 7th. Tickets are available at https://www.raventheatre.com/stage/octet/.

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

City Lit Theatre is currently bringing the swordplay world of Scaramouche to vivid life, offering audiences a rare chance to experience this spirited tale of wit, rebellion, and theatrical daring onstage. With its blend of political intrigue, romance, and commedia‑dell’arte flair, City Lit’s production captures the adventurous sweep of the story while showcasing the company’s signature literary focus. It’s a lively, sharply drawn staging that reintroduces a classic hero to modern audiences with style and verve.

Scaramouche tells the story of André‑Louis Moreau, a quick‑witted young lawyer in pre‑Revolutionary France whose life is shattered when his closest friend is killed in a duel by an untouchable aristocrat. Forced into hiding, André‑Louis slips into a traveling commedia dell’arte troupe as an out‑of‑work actor, where - thanks to the help of Pierre Binet, who immediately takes a liking to him - he quickly rises to lead the company. Donning the mask of Scaramouche, the nimble, sharp‑tongued clown whose satire cuts deeper than any blade, he begins crafting and performing daring political farces that transform him from fugitive to folk hero. His journey winds through romance, duels, disguises, and the rising tide of revolution, all while he uncovers long‑buried truths about his own identity.

Though the story is best known from Rafael Sabatini’s 1921 novel, its most significant early-stage incarnation came through Jean Sibelius’s ballet‑pantomime Scaramouche, written between 1912 and 1913. Sibelius’s adaptation brought the mischievous commedia figure to life through music and movement rather than spoken dialogue, emphasizing the character’s blend of humor, danger, and political bite. The work premiered on May 12, 1922, at the Royal Danish Theatre in Copenhagen, marking the first major performance of Scaramouche as a fully staged ensemble-shaped piece.

A century later, City Lit Theatre’s stage version captures the heart of the tale with clarity and affection, leaning into the story’s text‑centered expressiveness, wit, and emotional undercurrents rather than its spectacle. True to the company’s long‑standing mission of elevating literary works for the stage, City Lit approaches Scaramouche with a storyteller’s precision - honoring Sabatini’s narrative sweep while foregrounding the character‑driven humor and humanity that make the piece endure. Their production bridges the novel’s adventurous spirit and Sibelius’s expressive theatricality, reminding audiences why Scaramouche remains one of literature and theatre’s most enduring trickster heroes - “born with the gift of laughter and a sense that the world was mad,” and destined to turn both into his greatest weapons.

City Lit’s Scaramouche marks a genuine world premiere as a full musical, and what’s remarkable is just how naturally the saga takes to the form. Though Sabatini’s tale has lived for a century in novels, films, plays, and even Sibelius’s ballet pantomime, it has never before been realized as a traditional book musical with a sung score. City Lit recognized that the story’s imaginative DNA - its commedia dell’arte roots, its heightened characters, its blend of satire, romance, and political danger - was already begging for musical expression. That insight became the foundation for this adaptation, with music and lyrics by City Lit Artistic Associate Kingsley Day and book by Day and James Glossman, shaping André Louis’s journey with straightforwardness, wit, and story-forward verve. The result is a surprisingly seamless transformation, one that feels less like an experiment and more like the form the adventure had been waiting for.

What truly sells the concept is the sheer musical ambition of the production. With 30 musical numbers, the show fully commits to musical theatre, using songs to heighten character, hone satire, and propel André‑Louis from out‑of‑work actor to revolutionary folk hero. And the cast meets that challenge with uniformly excellent vocal performances. Ensemble members shift effortlessly between comedic patter, heartfelt ballads, and rousing ensemble pieces, giving the score a richness and variety that continually surprises. The vocal work is strong, expressive, character‑driven, and emotionally grounded, the kind of singing that makes the musical form feel not only justified but essential. City Lit’s gamble pays off: Scaramouche thrives as a musical.

Ethan Smith and Laura Michele Erle in CIty Lit Theatre's Scaramouche.

Ethan Smith anchors Scaramouche with a performance that is as nimble as it is commanding, capturing André‑Louis Moreau’s evolution from wounded idealist to razor‑sharp revolutionary with remarkable definition and charisma. Smith moves through the character’s many transformations - lawyer, fugitive, actor, firebrand - with an ease that makes the journey feel inevitable, even thrilling. His wit lands on point, his emotional beats resonate, and he carries the production with the kind of presence that makes it impossible to look anywhere else. It’s a standout turn that gives the tale its pulse.

Henry Michael Odum brings rich texture to each of the Manager/Gavrillac/Pierre Binet, shifting between roles with a grounded authority that deepens the world around André‑Louis. Laura Michele Erle offers a luminous, heartfelt Aline, playing her with a sincerity that makes her scenes glow. She balances innocence with quiet resolve, giving Aline a sense of inner life that elevates every moment she’s onstage. Conor Ripperger’s Phillipe (among other characters) is equally compelling - earnest, principled, and deeply sympathetic. His early scenes with Smith establish the emotional stakes of the structural arc, and Ripperger’s performance makes Phillipe’s fate feel genuinely affecting. Kent Joseph delivers a taut, formidable De La Tour, embodying the character’s aristocratic menace with razor precision and a chilling sense of entitlement.

The supporting ensemble adds color, humor, and texture throughout. Alicia Berneche brings elegance and sly intelligence to Madame de Sautron (and how she can sing!), shaping each moment with a knowing touch. Shea Lee’s Columbine sparkles with playful charm, her physicality and timing giving the commedia sequences real lift. Ed Rutherford makes Chapelier delightfully sharp‑edged, grounding the satire with controlled delivery. India Huy’s Climene is vibrant and expressive, adding a burst of stage-driven flair whenever she steps into the spotlight. Rushil Byatnal rounds out the troupe with a wonderfully nimble Pierrot, blending innocence and mischief in a way that feels perfectly tuned to the world of the play.

Together, this ensemble creates a dynamic, fully inhabited world - one where satire, romance, and revolution collide with irresistible spirit of invention.

Beth Wolf, a two‑time Jeff nominee, leads the production with a deft, imaginative hand, weaving together its comedy, romance, and revolutionary spirit with remarkable ease. Her direction gives the piece a vibrant pulse that carries through every scene.

City Lit Theatre has spent the past several seasons reaffirming its reputation as Chicago’s home for smart, text‑centered storytelling, offering audiences everything from tightly rendered literary adaptations to rediscovered gems that rarely see the stage. Their recent productions have leaned into that mission with renewed confidence, showcasing the company’s knack for transforming complex narratives into intimate, actor‑driven theatre. In that context, Scaramouche feels like an inspired and perfectly aligned choice - a swashbuckling tale rooted in literature, rich with political intrigue, theatricality, and character depth. It gives City Lit the chance to flex its strengths: crisp ensemble work, narrative coherence, and a love of stories that balance adventure with ideas. As part of their ongoing commitment to bringing literary worlds to life, Scaramouche fits not just well, but exceptionally well.

City Lit’s production is elevated by a design team working in striking harmony to evoke the texture and artistic boldness of late‑18th‑century France. Jennifer Mohr’s costumes - supported by her expertise as a commedia consultant - bring a vivid blend of historical detail and playful character expression, while Meg X. McGrath’s props add tactile richness to every corner of the stage. Jackson Mikkelsen’s lighting sculpts the world with warmth and shadow, shifting effortlessly between intimate moments and broader swashes of adventure. Scenic designer Trevor Dotson provides a flexible, purpose‑built environment that lets the action unfold with clarity and momentum, and Music Director Kevin Zhou does an impressive amount with a limited‑sized band. Maureen Yasko’s violence and intimacy design adds yet another essential layer, shaping moments of danger and vulnerability with precision, safety, and emotional truth. Together, they craft a world that feels cohesive, imaginative, and wonderfully alive.

City Lit’s Scaramouche is an easy production to recommend - a smart, spirited world‑premiere musical that embraces the adventure, satire, and dramatic flair of Sabatini’s plotline with real imagination. The company’s intimate Edgewater home adds to the charm, though audiences should know that parking in the neighborhood can be challenging, especially on weekend evenings. The theatre itself is located on the second floor of the Edgewater Presbyterian Church and is fully ADA accessible via elevator, making the space welcoming to all. For anyone who loves literary adaptations, new musicals, or simply a night of inventive storytelling, Scaramouche is absolutely worth the trip.

For tickets and/or more show information, click here.

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

Rogers & Hammerstein’s South Pacific has long been one of my favorite musicals, not just for its sweeping romance and unforgettable score, but for the way it tackles big ideas with such touching honesty. Set on a remote island during World War II, the show blends sunlit escapism with the very real tensions shaping its characters’ lives, creating a story that’s as heartfelt as it is enduring.

South Pacific follows two intertwined love stories set against the backdrop of World War II, each colored and strained by the racial prejudices of the era. The musical centers on Nellie Forbush, an American nurse from Arkansas, who falls for Emile de Becque, a French plantation owner living on a South Pacific island. Their romance is warm, hopeful, and immediate, but Nellie falters when she learns that Emile has mixed-race children, forcing her to confront the biases she didn’t realize she carried. Meanwhile, a young Marine lieutenant, Joseph Cable, falls in love with Liat, a Tonkinese woman, only to recoil from the social consequences of marrying her. These parallel stories expose the poignant cost of prejudice, a theme the musical tackles directly and candidly.

The show’s creators - Richard Rodgers (music), Oscar Hammerstein II (lyrics and co-book), and Joshua Logan (co-book) - adapted the musical from James A. Michener’s Pulitzer Prize-winning Tales of the South Pacific. Their adaptation blends romance, wartime tension, and social critique, using songs like “Some Enchanted Evening,” “Younger Than Springtime,” and the pointed “You’ve Got to Be Carefully Taught” to deepen the narrative’s resonant and political stakes. The hit 1958 film version, starring Mitzi Gaynor and Rossano Brazzi, helped cement South Pacific as a cultural landmark and carried its most iconic songs to an even wider audience. South Pacific debuted on Broadway in 1949, where it became an immediate hit and went on to win the Pulitzer Prize for Drama, and now the beloved musical has found a temporary home at Paramount Theatre’s massive stage in Aurora's thriving downtown theater district.

Paramount’s production is anchored by a cast that brings both freshness and passionate sharpness to this classic musical.

Strong pecs are de rigueur for a troop of World War II U.S. Navy seabees stationed on a tropical island in Rodgers and Hammerstein’s South Pacific, playing now through June 14 at downtown Aurora’s Paramount Theatre. For tickets, visit ParamountAurora.com or call (630) 896-6666.

Allsun O’Malley brings a bright, grounded sincerity to Nellie Forbush, making her Paramount debut with a turn that feels fully lived-in rather than broadly sketched. Her Nellie is warm, funny, and emotionally accessible, and she brings each of her songs to life with bright, expressive vocals - especially “A Wonderful Guy,” which she delivers with pure joy, and a buoyant optimism that never obscures the character’s underlying complexity. O’Malley also reveals Nellie’s internal contradictions with clear, intentional choices, letting the audience see the exact moments when her optimism collides with what she calls an inherited prejudice. Playing opposite, Devin Archer delivers a commanding and deeply felt Emile de Becque. Archer’s rich velvety voice has the kind of effortless power that makes “Some Enchanted Evening” land with full romantic weight. Also, the quiet, wounded dignity he brings to Emile’s past gives the role its human spine. The chemistry of the two is undeniable. Archer and O’Malley form a partnership that feels real, tender, and the kind of connection every couple hopes for.

Cindy Chang’s Bloody Mary is a standout from her first entrance, played with sharp wit and a knowing edge that never slips into stereotype. Chang gives the character agency and intelligence, making her both a shrewd survivor and a mother navigating impossible circumstances. Anthony Maggio, as Lt. Joseph Cable, delivers a performance that balances youthful idealism with the crushing weight of societal expectation. His later scenes - especially his deeply felt rendition of “You’ve Got to Be Carefully Taught,” the song that argues hate is learned, not innate - give Maggio’s work real force and heartfelt depth.

Matthew Michael Janisse is absolutely wonderful as Luther Billis, perfectly cast and firing off some of the evening’s sharpest comedic timing. He brings a mischievous ease to every entrance, shaping the humor with character-driven precision rather than broad antics, and his presence reliably lifts the energy of each scene he touches. Louisa Darr’s Liat offers a gentle, luminous counterbalance, shaping the role with quiet grace. Esteban Ortiz‑Villacorta (Professor) and Chris Khoshaba (Stewpot) add texture and humor to the ensemble, while Joshua L. Green’s Captain George Brackett and David Rossetti’s Commander William Harbison provide crisp, authoritative counterpoints. Young performers Evelyn Dorough and Elle Laroco (Ngana) and Bennet Angsurat and Vin Laroco (Jerome) bring charm and authenticity to their scenes, rounding out a talented cast that feels cohesive, committed, and fully engaged in the world of the production.

The ensemble is exceptional across the board, moving with a unified energy that enriches every scene. Their vocal blend, character detail, and fantastic dancing give this interpretation its heartbeat, making the world of the island feel alive with youthful energy.

Nellie Forbush (Allsun O'Malley) admits to her fellow nurses she’s in love with a wonderful guy in Rodgers and Hammerstein’s South Pacific, the 2025-26 Broadway Series finale at downtown Aurora’s Paramount Theatre. 

One of my favorite South Pacific moments comes when Cindy Chang steps into “Bali Ha’i,” singing with a hypnotic calm and quiet urgency that makes the number seem both inviting and faintly mysterious, as if she’s revealing a world only she can fully see. That spell is followed by the sailors’ showstopping “There Is Nothin’ Like a Dame,” a riot of comic bravado and tight choreography that electrifies the stage. And just when the energy peaks, the nurses answer with a gleeful, splashy rendition of “I’m Gonna Wash That Man Right Outa My Hair,” led by Allsun O’Malley and complete with real water cascading from onstage showers - a burst of theatrical fun the audience clearly loved.

Co-directors Devon Hayakawa and Trent Stork guide this Rodgers and Hammerstein masterpiece with a confident, contemporary touch, shaping a presentation that honors the show’s sweeping romance while sharpening its sincere and thematic edges. Their staging is purposeful and fluid, allowing humor, heart, and tension to coexist without competing. Choreographer Morgan DiFonzo adds another vital layer, crafting movement that feels organically rooted in character while giving the staging its rhythmic pulse. Together, the trio delivers a revival that respects the classic while infusing it with fresh perspective and simplicity.

The set and costumes are nothing short of breathtaking, with projections that expand the already majestic environment into a fully realized island in the South Pacific. Jeffrey D. Kmiec’s scenic design features towering, densely layered trees that rise beyond the height of the stage, using every inch of space with intention and beauty. Izumi Inaba’s costumes enrich the world with texture and authenticity, while Greg Hofmann’s magical lighting bathes the stage in shifting moods that deepen the sense of place. Adam Rosenthal’s sound design adds precision and atmosphere, and Mike Tutaj’s projections provide some of the production’s most magical touches - most memorably a stunning firefly-filled night scene that seems to shimmer in the air. As a unit, the design team created a world that feels immersive, transportive, and alive with the beauty of island nature. 

Under the baton of Music Director and Conductor Kory Danielson, the orchestra sounds vibrant, balanced, and enthusiastically attuned to the storytelling. Danielson shapes the score with clarity and warmth, giving the big ensemble numbers buoyant lift while letting the more intimate moments breathe. His leadership keeps the musical pulse steady and expressive, ensuring the show’s soulful arcs land with full impact.

This South Pacific is a richly imagined, beautifully performed revival that captures the sweep, humor, and emotional punch of the Rodgers and Hammerstein defining musical while giving it a revitalized, contemporary pulse. From the stunning design work to the standout performances and thoughtfully shaped direction, every element comes together with definition and heart. It’s a staging that invites you in, holds you close, and stays with you long after the final notes fade. Rogers & Hammerstein’s South Pacific runs through June 14th, and it’s absolutely worth catching before it sails away.

I highly recommend this breathtaking and deeply romantic beloved musical. 

For tickets and/or more show information, click here.

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

Over the years, I’ve seen a lot of theater and a lot of musical performances. And because of that, people regularly ask what the best show I’ve seen is. Without hesitation, I tell them it was the 2018 Jeff Award-winning production of The Buddy Holly Story at American Blues Theater.

So, when I took my seat for American Blues Theater’s current production of Always…Patsy Cline and opened my program, I was thrilled to see many of the same names I remembered from the Buddy Holly cast and orchestra. And when I looked to my right, I was even more thrilled to see Michael Mahler - the musical director of the Buddy Holly show - seated just down the row, as he’s filling the same role with this show. I knew right then I was in for a night of good music.

Scenic designer Tara A. Houston’s bandstand - this was my first time attending a show at the theater’s Lincoln Avenue digs, which I found to be a really inviting venue - seconded the promise of a good time with its upright piano, upright bass, and lone classic silver Shure microphone just waiting for words to be sung to it. I was so excited for the music that I hardly noticed the rest of Houston’s set - a quaint mid-century kitchen tucked off to the side.

Because that’s the thing… I got to Always…Patsy Cline thinking I was just going to see yet another jukebox musical, albeit one done really well. But with this show, the audience gets a whole lot more than a standard IRL biopic.

Yes, it begins with Liz Chidester waltzing up to that Shure mic and singing into it about being back in her baby’s arms, of going out walking after midnight, of falling to pieces, and of being crazy for feeling so blue. Chidester nails Cline’s look - thanks in no small part to gorgeous costume design by Lily Walls which transports us back to the middle of the 20^th century one chic outfit at a time. And Chidester’s got a wonderful voice that gets to the places Cline’s voice got to, while mimicking that magical warmth and sheen that recordings of that era lent a vocalist. Yes, she makes a fine Patsy Cline.

And yes, the band is killer. Ian Paul Custer conducts while also adding Floyd Cramer-esque flourishes on the piano. Lior Shragg provides more than twenty musical numbers with their steady beat (and his beat-keeping becomes a plot point), joined in the rhythm section by versatile bassist, Marc Edelstein. Lauren Vogel’s fiddle goes from heartbreak to hoedown. And guitarist Nilko Andreas’ Fender Stratocaster approximates the whines of a lap steel one moment before slipping into more stately countrypolitan accompaniment.

Yes, if you go see Always…Patsy Cline simply for an overly generous and expertly played evening of deep cuts (I’d forgotten all about “Three Cigarettes in an Ashtray,” but it was a highlight) and country classics (Chidester’s dreamy vocals carried me off as she harkened the Nile and “old Algiers”), you will get way more than your money’s worth.

But while all of this is going on - while Chidester and her band are transporting us with song after song - this show is also not just another jukebox musical. Instead, it looks at how those singular talents worthy of their own musical affect us, the audience.

That role - of fan, of the one experiencing the music and being transported by the artist - is played onstage by the second member of this two-woman cast. Molly Hernandez - who played Buddy Holly’s wife and muse Maria Elena in not just the 2018 production I so loved but in a more recent Marriott Theatre production of the same, and who’s graced many other stages around Chicago in the years since - plays Louise, a hilarious, hard-drinking, fast-talking, all-heart Texas gal who just loves the records by this Patsy Cline. She loves those records so much, in fact, it leads to a one-night friendship and a lifelong (not long enough, sadly) pen-pal relationship between the two women. While her character’s name isn’t on the marquee, Hernandez is the show’s MVP. She’s the narrator. She’s the heart. And she’s a real hoot - strutting and sassing and boot-scooting all over the place, giving the show a real-world grounding that even the best shows about famous people can’t provide.

What was so unexpected about Always…Patsy Cline is that it understands something most jukebox musicals miss entirely (even the one at the top of my list!): the songs aren’t really the story. The people carrying them around in their hearts are. Director Harmony France gives us the larger-than-life Patsy Cline we paid to see by looking at her through the eyes of one of the millions spinning her records on their turntable.

And that’s what’s still sticking with me… Yes, I’ll remember Chidester’s velvety vocals, Hernandez’s comic and dramatic talent, and again, a killer country-and-western band. But mostly I’ll remember Always…Patsy Cline as less of a biopic than a love letter: to fandom, to friendship, to old country songs, and to the artists whose voices keep reaching across decades to soundtrack our lives. American Blues Theater has done it again with Always…Patsy Cline, running now through June 21st.

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

A strong Chicago theatre weekend starts with choosing your flavor, and this one offers a full flight. Whether you’re in the mood for something scrappy and strange, bright and nostalgic, or mythic and mischievous, the city’s stages have you covered. Three wildly different productions are running right now, and each one makes a compelling case for your time.

Shattered Globe’s Eelpout at Theater Wit is the pick for anyone who wants a show that feels distinctly Chicago - intimate, odd, and quietly daring. It’s the kind of storefront piece that rewards audiences who like their theatre a little off-center, with sharp writing and performances that dig into the emotional grit beneath the humor. If you’re craving something unexpected and handcrafted, Eelpout is the weekend’s sleeper hit.

If your week has been long and you want pure joy, Metropolis Performing Arts Centre’s The Wedding Singer is the fizzy, feel-good option. It’s big-hearted, neon-soaked, and built for audiences who want to laugh, tap their feet, and leave humming. Metropolis knows how to deliver a crowd-pleasing musical, and this one leans all the way into its ‘80s nostalgia and goofy charm.

And for something bold, clever, and completely its own, Lifeline Theatre’s Loki - The End of the World Tour offers a mythological comedy with cosmic stakes and storefront ingenuity. It’s fast, funny, and packed with the ensemble-driven inventiveness Lifeline is known for. If you want a show that feels like nothing else onstage right now, Loki’s your ticket.

Three shows, three distinct worlds - quirky storefront storytelling, musical escapism, and mythic mayhem. Whichever direction you choose, you’re in for a memorable night out.

Marriott Theatre’s Heartbreak Hotel takes on the tricky task of charting Elvis Presley’s early ascent, walking the line between the mythic figure we think we know and the unpolished young man still figuring out who he was becoming. What emerges is a brisk, music‑driven portrait that leans into the volatility of those formative years - the industry pressures that boxed him in, the personal crossroads that pushed him forward, and the creative sparks that hinted at the cultural earthquake to come. It’s a show less interested in polishing the legend than in capturing the restless drive of a talent on the verge of rewriting American music.

Heartbreak Hotel traces Elvis Presley’s early rise with a pace that stays brisk without ever feeling hurried, using a clever device: a ’68 Comeback‑era Elvis looking back on his younger selves. At times the man, the teen, and the 11‑year‑old boy share the stage simultaneously - singing, reminiscing, harmonizing - embodying a life moving faster than any one version of him can fully grasp. The musical follows Elvis from the tentative spark of his Sun Studio sessions into the glare of national attention, tracing how each new opportunity brings both momentum and complication. Producers, handlers, and well‑meaning advisors orbit him constantly, each with a different vision of who he should become, and the show uses those interactions to underline just how precarious his initial ascent really was.

As the demands of fame tighten around him, the story frames Elvis’s evolution as a series of choices - some instinctive, some imposed, all shaping the performer he’s still learning to be. Rather than digging for psychological depth, the plot focuses on the push‑and‑pull between artistic hunger and commercial pressure, capturing the uneasy transition from raw talent to cultural commodity. It’s a portrait of a young man standing at the edge of a seismic career, long before the iconography calcifies and the legend overtakes the life.

At the center of Heartbreak Hotel is Tyler Hanes playing Elvis Presley, who carries the show with a mix of youthful swagger and genuine vulnerability. His performance hinges not just on vocal accuracy but on capturing the restless, slightly bewildered energy of a young man being swept into stardom. His renditions of “Blue Suede Shoes” and “Heartbreak Hotel” land with the right mix of polish and rawness, and his quieter moments - particularly the early Sun Studio sequences and those paired with Priscilla - give the production its emotional grounding.

The show’s Colonel Tom Parker, portrayed by Rob Lindley, is the necessary counterweight: charming, calculating, and always two steps ahead. Lindley brings a slick, almost Vaudevillian charisma that keeps the character from slipping into caricature (although Parker may have been a caricature of himself anyway). His scenes pop with tension, especially in numbers where he orchestrates Elvis’s next move with a smile that never quite reaches his eyes.

Tyler Hanes as Elvis Presley (center) with ensemble in Heartbreak Hotel at Marriott Theatre.

The Sun Studio ensemble - the musicians, producers, and collaborators - provide some of the production’s most engaging textures. Jackson Evans, as Sam Phillips, is heavily featured in the first act and delivers one of the show’s standout performances, offering a steady, clear‑eyed presence that anchors the opening chapters with real artistic purpose. The play digs into Phillips’s instinct for raw talent - his uncanny ability to spot greatness beforehand - and makes clear that his relentless championing of Elvis is what first carried the young singer’s sound across Memphis and into the broader South. His work with the band digs deep and gives us an idea of Phillips’s impact in shaping a new kind of rock ‘n’ roll sound. Their group numbers in the studio, including “That’s All Right,” have an infectious looseness that contrasts sharply with the more commercialized performances later in the show.

The supporting cast adds essential color. Colton Sims offers a sharp, unaffected turn as Teen Elvis, capturing the raw spark before the polish sets in, and Charles Adler Bischoof, as young Elvis, brings a bright, unguarded innocence that reminds the audience just how early the legend began.

Elizabeth Telford lends Gladys Presley a quiet emotional weight, centering the story whenever she’s onstage. Anna Louise Bramlett brings an earnest warmth to Dixie, while Amanda Walker gives Priscilla a steady, grounded presence that subtly deepens the story.

In one of Heartbreak’s most exciting moments, Alexandra Palkovic takes control of the stage delivering a sleek, charismatic jolt as Ann-Margret, hinting at the whirlwind to come. Palkovic dances with real fire, echoing Ann‑Margret’s signature style with crisp precision and an infectious burst of energy. Palkovic later joins Hanes in one of the most touching moments when the two perform a beautiful rendition together of “You’re the Boss.” The addition of a full Ann‑Margret song‑and‑dance number feels especially meaningful, since her on‑screen chemistry with Elvis has always struck me as one of the high points of his physical and emotional vitality.  

Tyler Hanes as Elvis Presley and Alexandra Palkovic as Ann-Margret.

Karl Hamilton gives Vernon Presley a quiet, understated presence, and Naiqui Macabroad stands out in his multi‑role track - Johnny Bragg, Chuck, Jackie Brenston, and the producer for both Steve Allen and Ed Sullivan - slipping between characters with crisp versatility and welcome bursts of personality. Fredrick Webb Jr. also makes a strong impression in multiple roles, notably as Roy Brown, Otis Redding, Fats Domino, and throughout the ensemble.

Going back to the musicians, the live band is one of the show’s more memorable assets. With Jake Busse as Bill Black, Zac Richey as Scotty Moore, and Trevor Lindley Craft as Ronnie (pre-DJ Fontana days) forming the tight onstage trio, the musicians anchor the production with a sound that feels both authentic and freshly charged. Lindley Craft doubles as Frank Sinatra. He and Hanes deliver one of the evening’s highlights as they recreate the famous duet from Elvis’s post‑Army appearance on The Frank Sinatra Show - a stylish medley of “Love Me Tender” and “Witchcraft” that lands with effortless charm.

Melanie Brezil also brings a radiant spark to Sister Rosetta Tharpe, delivering her featured moment with bright, joyful command on both vocals and guitar.  

Together, the band’s instrumental work and the ensemble’s rich harmonies elevate the musical landscape. A mid‑show gospel sequence of “Peace in the Valley” – another one of this staging’s big moments - showcases the ensemble’s vocal power and reminds the audience of the musical traditions that shaped Presley long before fame did.

Marriott’s in‑the‑round setup gives Heartbreak Hotel an expansive energy, with action unfolding on all sides. The cast’s aisle work draws the audience in, creating a surprisingly immersive sense of scale, and the smart use of media and projections amplifies that impact even further. A staging in this intimate space gives the storytelling room to gather real thrust. That quality becomes especially clear as the sequences build toward the emotional high point, when Elvis finally sheds the cookie‑cutter movie image he’d long outgrown and reclaims his artistry in the ’68 Comeback Special, reestablishing his place as the King of Rock ’n’ Roll. 

I’ve always been drawn to stories orbiting Elvis Presley, and Heartbreak Hotel earns its place among them by honoring the legend without embalming him in nostalgia. Elvis wasn’t just a chart‑topper; he was a cultural accelerant, the artist who fused gospel, blues, country, and rhythm‑and‑blues into a sound that detonated across America and permanently rewired its musical DNA. His influence stretched far beyond the stage - reshaping fashion, performance style, youth identity, and the very idea of what a pop star could be. Productions like this one matter because they keep that seismic legacy in motion, passing it from one generation to the next not as a museum relic, but as a living, breathing force that still shapes the music we hear today.

When referring to rock 'n' roll, John Lennon said it himself, “Before Elvis, there was nothing.” Heartbreak Hotel echoes that sentiment.

Directed and choreographed by Deidre Goodwin, this musical bears the imprint of an artist who understands how to propel a story without letting the spectacle swallow it. Her direction shapes the evening with a steady, purposeful rhythm, keeping the focus tight even as the musical numbers expand outward. Goodwin’s fantastic choreography blends period flavor with a clean, contemporary precision, giving the show a kinetic pulse that feels both rooted in its era and alive in the present. It’s her sense of balance - between nostalgia and freshness, between narrative drive and musical release - that ultimately gives the production its lift.

Elvis devotees will find plenty to appreciate in Heartbreak Hotel, which treats the King’s formative years and artistic rebirth with genuine affection and a clear understanding of his musical legacy. But the show’s appeal stretches well beyond Presley fandom; anyone who loves American music - from gospel and blues to early rock and soul - will recognize the joy in hearing these sounds brought to life by a superbly talented cast and band. Heartbreak Hotel runs through June 2nd at Marriott Theatre and is an exciting musical experience well worth attending. 

For tickets and/or more show information, click here. 

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