Court Theatre has opened its 2025/26 season with a thunderclap: Theodore Ward’s Big White Fog directed with remarkable sensitivity and vigor by Resident Artist Ron OJ Parson. This is not only a revival of a classic work from the Federal Theatre Project era—it is also a reminder of how eerily contemporary Ward’s questions of ideology, disillusionment, and power struggles remain nearly ninety years after the play first startled audiences at Chicago’s Great Northern Theatre in 1938.

At its center, Big White Fog dramatizes the life of the Mason family, a striving Black household in Depression-era Chicago. Ward places the Mason living room at the intersection of history’s most turbulent crosscurrents: the false promise of the American Dream, the fiery appeal of Marcus Garvey’s “back to Africa” movement, and the revolutionary fervor of Communism. The fog of the title is both literal and metaphorical—a veil of economic despair, racial injustice, and ideological confusion that threatens to swallow the family whole.

Ron OJ Parson, long admired for his deft handling of Black classics, stages the play with clarity and urgency. Parson respects the density of Ward’s text but never lets the ideological debates bog down the human drama. Instead, he finds the beating heart in the Mason family’s conflicts—the stubborn pride of the patriarch, the sacrifices of the women, the fragile dreams of their children. Parson’s direction makes clear this is not an artifact of theatre history; it is a living work, pulsating with relevance for an America once again convulsed by inequality, polarization, and disillusionment.

The cast assembled for this production is outstanding. Joshua L. Green brings charisma and conviction to Victor Mason, the father whose fierce commitment to Garveyism and economic uplift sets him on a collision course with his family. Green embodies Victor’s unbending pride, making his devotion to a nationalist vision both inspiring and tragic. As Ella Mason, Sharriese Hamilton gives the play its moral core: her performance glows with quiet dignity, balancing love for her family with the weary pragmatism of a woman trying to hold a household together as history presses in from all sides.

Patrick Newson Jr. is superb as Lester Mason, the eldest son, a man who has had to stifle his own dreams, his every ambition weighed down by the crushing realities of family duty and economic hardship. Newson brings a heartbreaking openness to the role, embodying the innocence crushed under the weight of adult failures and historical forces. Greta Oglesby, as matriarch Martha Brooks, is simply unforgettable. Oglesby’s performance is steeped in humor, wisdom, and resilience; she grounds the play in generational memory. Her presence on stage is nothing short of magnetic.

The production’s design team gives Big White Fog a visual richness that matches its thematic weight. Jack Magaw’s scenic design transforms the Court stage into a lived-in Mason household, layered with details that evoke aspiration. Yvonne L. Miranda’s eye-popping 1920s costumes dazzle while grounding each character in their social and ideological context, making the clash of visions as visible as it is spoken. Lee Keenan’s lighting design shifts the mood with precision. Adding another layer of atmosphere, Christopher Kriz’s original compositions during scene changes, underscores the emotional undercurrents of the play and keeps the audience tethered to its restless rhythm.

The ideological clash within the Mason household is the play’s dramatic engine. Victor’s belief in Garvey’s call for Black economic independence and a return to Africa is met with resistance from his family, who seek other paths—through Communism, through assimilation, or through personal ambition. Ward refuses to let any single vision emerge as the sole solution, instead dramatizing the painful divisions that ideological fervor can create within a family. In the end, no ideology rescues them from the crushing realities of poverty, racism, and systemic neglect. This tragic irony is what makes Big White Fog so haunting.

Ward’s writing is radical for its time. To depict a Black family grappling openly with competing ideologies and the hypocrisy of the American Dream in 1938 was nothing short of revolutionary. It’s no wonder Big White Fog had a fraught reception in its original run. Yet the very qualities that unsettled audiences then—its candor, its ideological clashes, its refusal to reduce Black life to stereotype—are what make it feel so piercingly contemporary now.

The play’s questions echo loudly: What system, if any, can deliver justice and dignity to Black Americans? What price must be paid for loyalty to one’s ideals? And can a family survive when its members are torn apart by competing visions of liberation? In today’s America, as the nation debates racial justice, economic inequity, and the limits of free speech, these questions resonate with uncanny force. The Mason family’s divisions mirror our own: parents and children, neighbors and colleagues, citizens and leaders locked in ideological combat while the fog of inequality thickens around us.

Theodore Ward dared to write the truth. At a time when most mainstream depictions of Black life trafficked in stereotype or sentimental uplift (think “Cabin in The Sky”), Ward insisted on portraying the complexity, dignity, and contradictions of ordinary people. His plays carved out space for honest exploration of the Black experience—politically charged, socially grounded, unflinchingly real. Ward’s commitment cost him: his leftist sympathies drew the scrutiny of the FBI, and he was effectively blacklisted during the McCarthy era. Yet his legacy endures, shaping the lineage of Black theatre from Lorraine Hansberry to August Wilson and beyond.

Court Theatre’s revival is more than an act of cultural memory. It is an act of cultural urgency. To stage Big White Fog now is to recognize that the struggles Ward captured in 1938—the tensions between faith and politics, survival and principle, hope and despair—are still the struggles being faced in 2025. Parson and his cast honor Ward’s achievement while challenging us to confront the fog we still inhabit.

In the end, the play offers no easy answers. Ward was too honest for that. But what he gives us—through his words and through this luminous production—is the reminder that theatre can be a forum for grappling with the hardest questions of human existence. Big White Fog demands that we listen, that we argue, that we reckon with the past and the present alike.

Court Theatre has given Chicago audiences a gift in reviving Theodore Ward’s masterpiece. And with Parson’s masterful direction and this ensemble’s unforgettable performances, the fog clears just enough for us to see the truth: Ward’s voice still matters, perhaps now more than ever.

HIGHLY RECOMMENDED

When: Through Oct 11th

Where: Court Theatre, 5535 S. Ellis Ave.

Running !me: 2 hours, 15 minutes  - 15 minute intermission

Tickets: $27 - $94 Student, Group and military discounts available

773-753-4472

https://www.courttheatre.org

*This review is also shared on https://www.theatreinchicago.com/!  

Kimberly Dixon-Mays’ debut play Rabbits In Their Pockets, developed in the Lifeline BIPOC 2024 Workshop and now receiving a world premiere under the direction of Christopher Wayland, is a bold but uneven first effort. The play aspires to braid together family drama, Black folklore, and speculative Afrofuturism, but its script often buckles under its own ambition. Fortunately, Wayland’s staging and the committed, charismatic performances of his cast keep the production afloat, offering the audience enough vitality and resonance to stay engaged.

At the heart of the play are two sisters facing grief and legacy. Ash (Lakecia Harris), the elder, is a methodical aerospace engineer who believes joy can be engineered, even embedded into the walls of their late father’s home. Harley (Simmery Branch), younger, mercurial, and endlessly playful, sees improv as a distinctly Black technology—an art of survival through adaptability and wit. Together they clash over what to do with the family house: sell it, reinvent it, or transform it into something larger than themselves. Along the way, they are joined by Jasper (Marcus D. Moore), a friend and aspiring performer, and Inola (Felisha McNeal), an enigmatic elder who oscillates between investor, trickster, and perhaps even ancestor.

The script brims with ideas—sometimes too many for its own good. Dixon-Mays clearly has a fertile imagination and a keen sense of cultural inheritance. Br’er Rabbit folktales and the language of improvisation surface as recurring motifs, meant to show how Black families survive through cunning, resilience, and creativity. But rather than letting these motifs emerge organically, the dialogue often pauses to explain them at length. Ash’s “joy technology” speeches are dense with jargon, and Harley repeats her philosophy of improv as survival until the point is belabored. What should be vibrant metaphors instead risk feeling like lectures.

The dramatic stakes are also uneven. The decision to sell or keep the house is meant to stand in for deeper questions of legacy, cultural continuity, and grief. Yet too often the debate feels abstract, more a clash of ideas than a struggle rooted in palpable necessity. What happens if they don’t sell? If Ash’s joy system fails? If Harley’s dream fizzles? The play gestures toward these consequences without fully realizing them, softening the urgency.

Some characters suffer from this imbalance. Jasper, despite Marcus D. Moore’s affable performance, fades into the background as the sisters’ conflict escalates. Inola, wonderfully embodied by Felisha McNeal, is fascinating but underdefined: sometimes elder, sometimes ancestor, sometimes entrepreneur. This ambiguity could be powerful if sharpened, but as written, it feels more inconsistent than intentional.

Where Dixon-Mays overreaches, Christopher Wayland’s direction provides clarity. He keeps the pacing brisk, shapes the tonal shifts with care, and leans into the play’s improvisational spirit without letting it sprawl.

The performances are this production’s saving grace. Lakecia Harris gives Ash a flinty discipline that gradually reveals a woman undone by grief. Simmery Branch lights up the stage as Harley, balancing mischievous humor with aching vulnerability. Marcus D. Moore mines Jasper for humor and pathos, especially in his monologue about being both celebrated and consumed as a “rabbit.” And McNeal, magnetic and sly, grounds the play’s slipperiest role with commanding presence.

Rabbits In Their Pockets is not yet a fully realized play—it is a workshop bursting with possibility, weighed down by over-explanation and underdeveloped stakes. Yet as a debut, it reveals Dixon-Mays as a writer unafraid to ask large questions about joy, memory, and cultural survival. Thanks to Wayland’s sharp direction and the cast’s deeply felt performances, audiences can glimpse the vibrant play struggling to emerge.

Recommended

When: Through October 5

Where: Lifeline Theatre,  6912 N. Glenwood

Running time: 90 minutes

Tickets: $25 - $45 at

773-761-4477 and www.lifelinetheatre.com

In the Goodman Theatre’s stirring new production of The Color Purple, director Lili-Anne Brown delivers a version of Alice Walker’s landmark novel that feels both stripped down and soulfully expansive. Forgoing spectacle in favor of raw emotional clarity, Brown places the story’s heart—female resilience and love—center stage, and the result is a deeply moving, musically rich, and spiritually resonant experience.

Performed on a minimalist wooden set, this production doesn’t rely on lush visuals or elaborate scenery. Instead, it trusts in the power of storytelling, character, and song to carry the audience through Celie’s journey. And Brittney Mack, as Celie, is a revelation. Her performance is layered and honest, tracing Celie’s transformation from a silenced, abused girl to a self-possessed, radiant woman with astonishing depth and grace. Mack’s voice, vulnerable and strong in equal measure, anchors the production emotionally and thematically.

What sets this Color Purple apart is Brown’s unflinching loyalty to the spirit of Walker’s novel. Where some adaptations have diluted or sidelined the central theme of same-sex love, this one centers it. Celie and Shug’s relationship is not a footnote—it’s the story’s spiritual awakening. Aerie Williams as Shug Avery brings magnetic charm and fierce tenderness to the role, particularly in the aching duet “What About Love,” which becomes a quiet act of liberation for Celie. In this production, purple is not just a color—it’s a symbol of the love between women, of beauty that exists even in suffering, and of a life finally chosen on one's own terms.

Nicole Michelle Haskins brings fierce humor and unbreakable will to Sofia, commanding the stage with her booming presence and crystal-clear purpose. Her scenes with Gilbert Domally’s affable and conflicted Harpo pulse with humor and tension. Evan Tyrone Martin as Mister and Sean Blake as Ol’ Mister embody the failure of patriarchy to extinguish women’s light. The men here, barely even named, are forces to resist rather than understand—an intentional move that mirrors Walker’s narrative framing.

Musically, the show is a triumph. Jermaine Hill’s musical direction allows the score—by Brenda Russell, Allee Willis, and Stephen Bray—to soar. From the quiet yearning of “Somebody’s Gonna Love You” to the exuberant defiance of “Push the Button” and “Big Dog,” every number drives the story forward with emotional precision. Breon Arzell’s choreography adds joy to even the darkest moments, reminding us that Black joy, even amidst oppression, is a radical act.

By centering the relationships between women—mothers, sisters, lovers—and embracing the spiritual and sexual awakenings that shape Celie’s story, this Color Purple finds new life and renewed purpose. Brown doesn’t simply direct this musical; she honors it, restores it, and reminds us why this story still matters. It’s not just about surviving trauma—it’s about reclaiming beauty, pleasure, and love on your own terms.

In a world that often asks Black women to be strong for others, this Color Purple says: be soft, be bold, be free. And be seen—in all your brilliance.

Top of Form

Highly Recommended

When: Through Aug. 3
Where: Goodman Theatre, 170 N. Dearborn St.
Tickets: $33-$143
Run time: 2 hours, 50 minutes
Info: goodmantheatre.org

*This review is also featured on https://www.theatreinchicago.com/! 

New York City in the 1980s—marked by Reagan-era conservatism and the devastating effects of the AIDS epidemic—was in decline. This is the backdrop for Tony Kushner’s Angels in America, a sweeping two-part epic that earned the Pulitzer Prize, multiple Tony Awards, and a lasting place as one of the most influential works in modern theatre. Invictus Theatre Company, known for fearless storytelling and bold, intimate productions, meets the challenge with conviction. Their staging not only honors Kushner’s towering vision but also transforms it into something urgent and immediate. The result: an experience that speaks powerfully to our present moment.

Directed with striking clarity by Charles Askenaizer and assisted by Kevin Rolfs—who also designed the production’s remarkable set—this version of Angels doesn’t merely revisit America’s past; it interrogates it. Rolfs’ design, echoing the collapse of once-sacred institutions, transforms hospitals, apartments, courtrooms, and Central Park into ghostly battlegrounds for justice, truth, and redemption. Brandon Wardell’s extraordinary lighting heightens the effect—especially one cue so immersive and thunderous, you might think the ceiling is about to cave in. (Seriously—OMG.)

The cast of eight delivers fearless, multidimensional performances, with each actor covering several of the play’s 28-plus roles. Joe Bushell (Joseph Pitt), Grant Carriker (Louis Ironson), Michael D. Graham (Roy Cohn), Ryan Hake (Prior Walter), Miguel Long (Belize), Nicki Rossi (The Angel), Renae Stone (Hannah Pitt), and Anne Trodden (Harper Pitt) all impress. Ryan Hake brings heartbreaking vulnerability and wit to Prior Walter—a bold, beautiful performance—while Miguel Long’s Belize is grounded, magnetic, and gloriously biting. Michael D. Graham’s Roy Cohn is monstrous and mesmerizing, a chilling embodiment of American power and denial. Nicki Rossi’s Angel is both ethereal and commanding—an apocalyptic herald with real presence.

That presence feels especially relevant in 2025. In many ways, we are living Roy Cohn’s dream—a world where power is prized above truth, image eclipses integrity, and accountability is reserved for the powerless. In Angels in America, Cohn embodies a ruthless, transactional politics that weaponizes fear, denies reality, and elevates self-interest at all costs. Today, those tactics are no longer confined to courtrooms—they dominate headlines, social media feeds, and entire political ideologies. The erosion of public trust, the glamorization of cruelty, and the refusal to reckon with systemic failure all echo the legacy he helped forge. Roy Cohn may be long dead, but his playbook is alive and thriving.

Jessie Gowens’ costume design dazzles—otherworldly when needed, sharply evocative when grounded—capturing the period while fully embracing the show’s surreal, metaphysical edge. Every design element contributes to a visual world that is both haunting and theatrical, elevated by bold creative choices and performances that are deeply cohesive.

From PART ONE: MILLENNIUM APPROACHES. Michael D. Graham (left) as Roy Cohn, Joe Bushell (right) as Joe Pitt.

Invictus Theatre remains one of the true treasures of Chicago’s storefront theatre scene. Known for consistently punching above their weight, they once again surpass expectations. With Angels in America, they reach an artistic pinnacle—ambitious, fearless, and heartfelt. This production is a testament to what’s possible when daring meets discipline and vision is matched by talent.

There’s something truly transcendent about experiencing both parts of Angels in America—Millennium Approaches and Perestroika—on the same day. The emotional arc deepens, the themes resonate more fully, and the epic sweep of Kushner’s vision unfolds without interruption. It becomes not just a play, but a full-day journey through love, loss, politics, and prophecy. Invictus Theatre offers this rare opportunity only on Saturdays during the run, and it’s absolutely worth carving out the time. That said, each part stands powerfully on its own. Whether you see them together or separately, the momentum and emotional impact remain firmly intact.

A final word of thanks to the front-of-house team. The warm, welcoming experience begins the moment you walk through the door. Theatre doesn’t start onstage—it starts in the lobby. And Invictus gets it absolutely right.

A triumph.

Highly Recommended
When: Through September 6
Where:  Invictus Theatre @ Windy City Playhouse, 3014 W Irving Park Rd, Chicago
Tickets: $25 - $38
Info: Invictustheatreco.com

PART ONE: MILLENNIUM APPROACHES will play Fridays at 7 p.m., Saturdays at 12 p.m., and alternate Mondays at 7 p.m., starting Monday June 30.
Additional performances of PART ONE will be presented Sunday, July 6 at 12 p.m., and Thursday August 28 and September 4 at 7 p.m.
Final performance Saturday, September 6 at 12 p.m.

PART TWO: PERESTROIKA will play Saturdays at 7 p.m., Sundays at 12 p.m., alternate Mondays at 7 p.m. starting Monday, July 7.
Additional performances of PART TWO will be presented Thursday, July 3 and Friday, August 29 at 7 p.m.; and Friday, September 5 at 7 p.m. Final performance Sunday, September 7 at 12 p.m.

Each part has two intermissions.

There are no performances on June 29, July 4 or 5, or on August 30, 31 or September 1.

*Extended through September 21st

*This review is also featured on https://www.theatreinchicago.com/! 

Stories that explore the emotional lives of men—especially Black men—are still far too rare on the American stage. Outside the monumental works of August Wilson, narratives that center male vulnerability, intimacy, and connection remain the exception. Lolita Chakrabarti’s Hymn, now playing at Chicago Shakespeare Theater, is a welcome and moving addition to that limited canon.

Originally written for a London audience, Hymn has been thoughtfully reworked by Chakrabarti for an American setting, shifting the story from Bristol, England to Chicago. The transition is seamless—perhaps even revelatory. Under the deft direction of Ron O.J. Parson, the play feels deeply rooted in the cultural and emotional rhythms of its new home.

At the heart of Hymn is the evolving relationship between two middle-aged Black men: Benny, played with warmth and quiet power by Chiké Johnson, and Gil, brought to life with nuance and restraint by James Vincent Meredith. The story begins with a funeral and slowly unfolds into something akin to a spiritual duet. Benny introduces the idea of “sympathetic resonance,” a musical concept describing how sound vibrations can cause another object to vibrate in harmony. It becomes a poetic metaphor for the emotional bond that grows between the two half-brothers as they become a whole.

Though the story is driven by dialogue, it's punctuated by music and movement—moments that feel less like breaks in the action and more like expressions of unspoken truths. As Benny and Gil dance, sing, and joke their way through scenes from their shared and separate pasts, their connection strengthens in ways that are more felt than seen. It’s only as the final notes settle that we fully understand what we’ve witnessed.

The production design roots the story firmly in the present while pulsing with the energy of the hip-hop era that shaped the characters. Rasean Davonte Johnson’s scenic and projection design is sleek, versatile, and evocative, transforming the minimalist set from a church to a boxing ring, a spare bedroom, and even a local eatery effortlessly. Yvonne Miranda’s costume design subtly tracks the characters’ emotional evolution, using clothing as quiet storytelling. Willow James’ sound and composition design doesn’t just support the action—it lives within it, amplifying the emotional beats with a soundscape drawn from the golden age of hip-hop and rap, pulling the audience into the same rhythm that moves the characters.

Hymn is a quiet triumph. It doesn’t shout its themes or offer easy catharsis. Instead, it hums, vibrates, and resonates—an invitation to witness male vulnerability not as spectacle, but as something sacred and human.

Highly Recommended

When: Through May 25
Where: Chicago Shakespeare Theatre 800 East Grand Avenue in Chicago.
Tickets: $52 - $95
Info:  www.chicagoshakespeare.com

*This review is also featured on https://www.theatreinchicago.com/!

Something extraordinary happens on a street in Huntsville, Alabama. Mr. Woods (Keith Randolph Smith), a hard-working Black man in the community, is involved in a traffic stop with two cops (Mark Bedard and Jorge Luna) - a scene witnessed far too many times in America. But this time something strange occurs. As his neighbors, Retta (Caroline Stefanie Clay), Reggie (Ray Anthony Thomas), and their grandson, Trent (Cecil Blutcher), watch from their balcony perch, Mr. Woods's anger transforms into something... unexpected. Something that changes everything.

That's where Zora Howard's "BUST: AN AFROCURRENTIST PLAY" begins, and to say more would spoil its interesting revelations. "Bust," written by Zora Howard and directed by Lileana Blain-Cruz, is produced by Goodman Theatre in association with Alliance Theatre.

What makes this play remarkable is how it reimagines Black rage not as a liability, but as a source of protection - a force that might finally shield from, instead of exposing to, danger. Howard asks us to consider: What if the very emotion that so often puts Black lives at risk could become their shield?

Zora Howard's dialogue—especially in its most naturalistic scenes—crackles with authentic humor. Retta and Reggie's interactions sparkle, their shared past adding layers of meaning to every exchange. Their long history together makes even the smallest moments between them feel like inside jokes waiting to be told. The classroom sequences, where students push back against repressive authority, each other, and the invisible weight of a broken system, are electric. But as the narrative slips into more surreal terrain, cracks begin to show.

Unlike the magical realism of Gabriel García Márquez—where supernatural moments are seamlessly embedded in the everyday, unquestioned and mythic—"Bust" dwells too long in the confusion of its own metaphors. The characters' prolonged reactions to the inexplicable events ("What just happened?", "Where is…?", "How can…?") pull us out of the flow and render the surreal sequences more like detours than revelations. The unnamed, non-descript space—perhaps intended as a psychic or spiritual refuge from racial trauma—feels underdeveloped and too divorced from the world around it. Rather than expanding the emotional scope of the play, this abstraction creates a frustrating disconnect.

There's a clear metaphor at work: rage forces retreat; grief bends reality. But in "Bust," that retreat never fully reconciles with the lived world of the characters. The liminal realm they enter—be it dream, myth, or madness—never roots itself in the logic of the story. It becomes less a mystical integration and more an escape hatch, leaving the audience unsure how to interpret it, or why the play is split in two.

A seasoned dramaturg might have helped stitch the play's dual impulses—realism and abstraction—into a more cohesive fabric. As it stands, "Bust" is a piece with two distinct voices: one that speaks in the language of humor, pain, and communal survival, and another that whispers through metaphor, without always being heard.

Still, even in its fragmentation, "Bust" pulses with urgency and vision. Blain-Cruz's direction keeps the energy taut and the stakes high. The ensemble, including Bernard Gilbert as Zeke, Victoria Omoregie as Paige, Ivan Cecil Walks as Boobie, Renika Williams-Blutcher as Krystal, and Caitlin Hargraves as Ms. Pinto, bring unvarnished honesty to their performances.

In the end, "Bust" isn't a bust—it's an eruption. It's bold, funny, and full of potential. But in aiming for the transcendent, it sometimes loses sight of the real—and the real, here, is already more than enough.

SOMEWHAT RECOMMENDED
When: Through March 18
Where: Goodman Theatre, 170 N. Dearborn St.
Tickets: $25-$85
Info: www.goodmantheatre.org

*This review is also featured on https://www.theatreinchicago.com/!

Court Theatre’s world premiere of Berlin, adapted by Mickle Maher from Jason Lutes’ monumental graphic novel, is a breathtaking achievement. Directed with precision and deep sensitivity by Charles Newell, Berlin brings the chaos and beauty of Weimar-era Germany to stunning life on stage, rendered in an unforgettable 1930s noir style.

Lutes spent two decades crafting his sprawling graphic epic, and it’s clear Maher and Newell approached this adaptation with profound respect. The production’s black, white, and grey palette—designed by scenic designer John Culbert, lighting designer Keith Parham, and costume designer Jacqueline Firkins—immerses the audience in a city teetering on the edge of catastrophe. Every shadow and seam speak volumes, creating a world that feels both immediate and mythic.

Raven Whitley leads the ensemble as Marthe Muller, capturing a young woman’s vulnerability and fierce independence with magnetic grace. Tim Decker’s Kurt Severing carries the weary idealism of a journalist witnessing democracy’s slow death, while Ellie Duffey delivers a moving performance as the idealistic Silvia Braun. Elizabeth Laidlaw is harrowing as both Gudrun Braun and Adolf Hitler, offering a brutal glimpse into rising fascism.

Special mention must be made of Julia Rhoads’ fluid, expressive movement direction, which underscores the sense of a city swirling with ideas, danger, and desire. Sammi Grant’s expert vocal and dialect coaching ensures every character’s voice feels authentic—from Joseph Goebbels’ oily charisma (a chilling performance by Terry Bell) to the many Berliners struggling to survive an unraveling world.

Kate Collins, Mo Shipley, Jack Doherty, Guy Van Swearingen, Christopher Meister, Molly Hernandez, and Brandon Ruiter round out the exceptional ensemble, each carving out vivid portraits of citizens caught in history’s gears.

Watching Berlin today mirrors America’s turbulent political landscape with haunting clarity. From surging extremism to collapsing civil discourse, from journalism under siege to widening economic divides—these echoes ring too close to home. Berlin is more than historical; it is an urgent warning, a desperate plea, and a piercing call for vigilance.

Newell’s production reminds us that civilizations don’t collapse with a bang—they decay slowly, invisibly. Each small compromise, each overlooked lie, each quiet injustice piles up until the ground gives way beneath us. By then, we’ve sealed our fate, having watched our undoing unfold in slow motion.

Court Theatre hasn’t merely adapted a graphic novel—they’ve unleashed a theatrical thunderbolt. Under Newell’s visionary direction, Berlin transforms into something rare and electric: a defining moment of Chicago theatre that will be talked about for years to come. In a time when we desperately need art that matters, Berlin delivers with a punch that leaves you breathless.

HIGHLY RECOMMENDED                                                                                                                                                              

When: Extended through MAY 18TH

Where: Court Theatre, 5535 S. Ellis Ave.

Running time: 2 hours, 30 minutes 15-minute intermission

*This review is also featured on https://www.theatreinchicago.com/!

In a masterful stroke of programming, Steppenwolf Theatre Company presents the Chicago premiere of "The Book of Grace," Suzan-Lori Parks' incendiary companion piece to her Pulitzer Prize-winning "Topdog/Underdog." Director Steve H. Broadnax III has crafted a searing production that peels back the layers of American family dysfunction with surgical precision.

Set in a small Texas border town, the play centers on an explosive triangle: Grace, played with luminous warmth by Zainab Jah, a waitress who fills her notebook with life's quiet moments of beauty, collecting them like precious stones to ward off darker thoughts.; her husband Vet (Brian Marable), a soon-to-be-honored border patrol agent, maintains order with an iron grip that hints at something more dangerous beneath the surface, and Vet's estranged son Buddy (ensemble member Namir Smallwood), whose arrival ignites a powder keg of long-suppressed trauma.

Parks, who won a Pulitzer for "Topdog/Underdog," has crafted something remarkable here - a play that feels both intimately personal and sweepingly political. She uses this family's dysfunction as a lens to examine larger American wounds: the violence we inherit, the borders we create, the ways we fail to protect what we claim to love.

Zainab Jah, bearing an uncanny resemblance to a young Cicely Tyson, delivers a tour de force performance as Grace. Her portrayal is pure magic embodied, infusing the character with an effervescent optimism that makes her eventual disillusionment all the more devastating. As the rigid patriarch Vet, Brian Marable brings a chilling authority to the role, while Namir Smallwood's Buddy simmers with contained rage, his every gesture a loaded gun waiting to go off.

Parks' script continues her exploration of fractured American identity and familial bonds. Where "Topdog" examined the relationship between brothers through the lens of historical reenactment, "Grace" turns its gaze to the combustible dynamics between fathers and sons, set against the backdrop of America's ongoing border crisis.

The circular stage becomes a cage in Broadnax III's hands. With audience members boxing in the action from all sides, the performers have nowhere to hide – much like the fractured family they portray. It's claustrophobic and intense, exactly as it should be. As the drama unfolds in Steppenwolf's intimate arena, you can feel the tension building like a pot about to boil over. The production strips away theatrical artifice to expose the raw nerves of a family—and by extension, a nation—at war with itself.

What emerges is a gothic horror story dressed in kitchen-sink realism, where the monsters aren't supernatural beings but the ghosts of American history itself: racism, violence, and the cyclical nature of trauma. Parks continues to prove herself one of American theater's most vital voices, crafting work that refuses easy answers while demanding we confront our most uncomfortable truths.

"The Book of Grace" may be a companion to "Topdog/Underdog," but it stands as its own testament to Parks' genius—a play that grabs you by the throat and doesn't let go until its devastating final moments. In the hands of this exceptional ensemble, it's not just theater; it's an exorcism of American demons that feels more relevant now than ever.

Some plays entertain. Others leave scars. Suzan-Lori Parks' "The Book of Grace" belongs firmly in the second category, delivering a gut-punch of a production that lingers long after the house lights come up.

Highly Recommended

When: Through May 18

Where: Steppenwolf Theatre 1650 N. Halsted

Running time: 1 hour, 35 minutes

Tickets: $20 - $110 ($15.00 student tickets)

www.steppenwolf.org/tickets--events/

*This review is also featured on https://www.theatreinchicago.com/!

In Definition Theatre's production of "Splash Hatch on the E Going Down," Kia Corthron's 1997 work feels unnervingly relevant in 2025. Under Cheryl Lynn Bruce's incisive direction, this story of environmental racism and maternal health transforms from a Clinton-era critique into a mirror reflecting our ongoing, unresolved struggles with environmental justice—struggles that have only become more pronounced in the wake of the Flint water crisis, Hurricane Katrina, and the toxic train derailment in East Palestine, Ohio.

The play revolves around Thyme (Jada Jackson), a pregnant teenager whose self-taught passion for environmental science serves as both her armor and her cross to bear. Jackson infuses raw authenticity into Thyme's arc, as we watch her transform from an idealistic eco-warrior into a young woman confronting harsh realities. Her scenes with Jabari Khaliq, who embodies the role of her 18-year-old husband Erry, are particularly memorable. Khaliq brings a delicate balance of youth and forced maturity to his performance. His natural, unaffected style meshes perfectly with Jackson's intensity, creating moments that pulse with teenage vitality while tackling grown-up challenges. When they share the stage, their connection feels genuine rather than performed – two kids trying to navigate an adult world with nothing but determination and each other. This chemistry transforms what could have been preachy material into something deeply human and affecting.

Bruce, known for her work in Chicago theater, skillfully balances intellectual and emotional elements in Corthron's complex play. Rather than getting lost in scientific data about lead poisoning and environmental racism, she reveals the human story underneath. Through subtle directing choices—a mother's nervous touch, children's fading laughter, Thyme's increasingly desperate monologues, Bruce transforms statistics into lived experiences. This approach feels especially relevant in our post-Flint era, where lead poisoning's effects are no longer theoretical but real tragedies affecting American communities. The production reminds us that every statistic represents actual people, children, mothers, and communities—whose stories demand our response.

The supporting cast transforms this environmental drama into a richly layered exploration of community and health disparities. As Ollie, Stetson Pierre brings nuance to the role of Thyme's truck-driving father, portraying a man caught between providing for his family and confronting the environmental hazards he's learned to accept. Quenna Lené Barrett, a seasoned Chicago performer and educator, infuses Marjorie with quiet strength, while Rita Wicks delivers an outstanding performance as Shaneequa, Thyme's equally pregnant best friend with an usual condition. Together, these characters weave a powerful narrative about Black maternal health that extends far beyond one family's story, reflecting stark realities about healthcare access in America. Their interwoven experiences echo through recent headlines about water crises and pandemic outcomes, making the play's message devastatingly timely.

Brian Sidney Bembridge's set design, though technically impressive, failed to capture the cramped intimacy of a Harlem apartment. The oversized space worked unexpectedly well as a neutral backdrop, allowing Willow James's sound design to truly shine. James created an immersive urban atmosphere through layered audio: subway rumbles, hospital monitors, and children's distant laughter. These sounds, more than the set itself, anchored the production in its Harlem setting.

The play’s educational aspects, which could feel like public service announcements in less skilled hands, become integral to character development here. Thyme’s knowledge isn’t just information dumping; it’s her way of trying to control an increasingly uncontrollable situation. Her scientific facts become a form of incantation, as if understanding the problem thoroughly enough might somehow solve it. But as history has shown—from Flint to East Palestine—knowledge alone is not enough.

"Splash Hatch on the E Going Down" at Definition Theatre is a reckoning. It challenges us to consider how many of the environmental and healthcare issues Corthron identified in the ‘90s remain unresolved. Under Bruce’s direction, this production transforms a historically significant play into an urgent contemporary conversation, proving that sometimes the most powerful way to look forward is to look back with clear eyes. It’s about TIME!

Recommended

When: Through April 13

Where: Definition @ 55th, 1160 E. 55th St.

Running time: 1 hour, 45 minutes

Tickets: $25 - $35

definitiontheatre.org

*This review is also featured on https://www.theatreinchicago.com/!

Like the dream deferred in Langston Hughes' poem that inspired its title, Court Theatre's latest production of "A Raisin in the Sun" simmers, sags, and occasionally explodes with raw intensity. Director Gabrielle Randel-Bent's contemporary vision crackles with urgency, even as it wrestles with the delicate balance between modern resonance and historical authenticity.

Andrew Boyce's masterful set design emerges as the production's crowning achievement. His deconstructed Chicago kitchenette apartment becomes a character itself – a cramped urban cage where privacy is as scarce as hope. The shared bathroom, visible just beyond the family's domain, serves as a constant reminder of the Youngers' station in life. Outside the city of Chicago pushing its way in threatening to devour the inhabitants in grit and grime.

The stellar ensemble breathes fierce life into Hansberry's beloved characters. Shanesia Davis anchors the production as family matriarch Lena Younger, while Brian Keys brings explosive energy to Walter Lee – though his visible tattoos create an unfortunate distraction that pulls us from the 1950s setting. Martasia Jones commands the stage as Beneatha, imbuing the aspiring doctor with a perfect blend of youthful idealism and sharp intellect. Her scenes of intellectual sparring sizzle with wit and passion, though the choice to smoke cigarettes in Mama's apartment strikes an implausible note in an otherwise masterful performance.

Kierra Bunch brings a quiet strength to Ruth Younger, crafting a deeply nuanced portrait of a woman stretched to her breaking point. Her scenes with Walter Lee pulse with complicated history – love and resentment, hope and exhaustion all tangled together. When she finally breaks down over her pregnancy, the moment is devastating in its restraint. Her joy is unbridled when she learns of the family's plan to buy a home.

Charles Andrew Gardner brings the perfect presence to George Murchison, making the most of his limited stage time. His polished demeanor and cutting wit provide the perfect foil for Beneatha's revolutionary spirit, while hints of vulnerability beneath his assured exterior add welcome complexity to what could have been a one-note character.

J. Nicole Brooks steals her scene as the nosy neighbor Mrs. Johnson, delivering gossip and judgment with such gleeful spite that you can't help but love to hate her. Her brief appearance provides crucial comic relief while underlining the community's complicated relationship with social mobility.

Julian Parker's Bobo's locs hairstyle is out of place for the time. It's distracting and makes it hard to believe Walter Lee would trust him with his dream of business ownership.

While the performances ground the production in emotional truth, Randel-Bent's modernizing choices create an intriguing tension between past and present, sometimes to the detriment of Hansberry's carefully crafted world.

Raquel Adorna's costume choices prove particularly puzzling: Joseph Asagai (Eliott Johnson) appears more Wall Street than West Africa when we first meet him in his Brooks Brothers-esque suit. At the same time, Karl Lindner (Vincent Teninty) inexplicably dons plumber's attire instead of the more historically and dramatically appropriate business suit of a "welcoming committee" representative. Young Travis (Jeremias Darville) sports an out-of-place cowboy ensemble, making him seem too old for both the outfit and the role as well as being an unlikely splurge for a family counting pennies.

Willow James' sound design walks a delicate tightrope between past and present, largely succeeding until a jarringly anachronistic moment when Walter Lee and Ruth dance to Chaka Khan's "Sweet Thing" – a choice that catapults us decades ahead of the play's setting.

“A Raisin in the Sun" hits different today than it did in 1959, but its truths cut just as deep. Sure, the Younger family's dream of owning a home in a white neighborhood might look different in 2025, but their story - fighting against systemic barriers, sacrificing for family, and refusing to let hope die - that's as real now as ever. The play nails something timeless about the American Dream: how it promises everything but keeps moving the goalposts for some folks. When Mama tends to that struggling plant, she's not just growing a flower. She's showing us how Black families keep pushing forward, generation after generation, despite the odds. Whether it's redlining in the '50s or today's housing discrimination Hansberry's message rings true: dreams don't come easy, but they're worth fighting for. That's why this play still packs theaters - it's not just history, it's tomorrow's headlines.

RECOMMENDED

When: Through March 9   *Extended through March 23rd

Where: Court Theatre, 5535 S. Ellis Ave.

Running time: 2 hours, 50 minutes

Tickets: $58 - $100.00 Student, Group and military discounts available

773-753-4472

www.Courttheatre.org