I’m very familiar with the Enron narrative, since I actually lived through it:  in 2001 and 2002, I was working at the consulting division of one of the Big 5 accounting firms, and as a direct result of the Enron and Arthur Andersen shenanigans, the division was sold off to a global technology consultancy (all the accounting firms were required to divest themselves of their business advisory services to protect against “another Enron” happening with all its accompanying conflicts of interests).  My co-workers and I all closely followed the events as they unfolded and read everything written on Ken Lay, Jeffrey Skilling, and Andrew Fastow, so Prebble’s script really doesn’t offer me any new information.  To her credit, however, she tells the story briskly and entertainingly. There is inspired theatricality at times (Fastow’s dummy companies, the Raptors, portrayed as carnivorous dinosaurs and Lehman Brothers depicted as conjoined twins speaking in perfect synchronicity, are both marvelously watchable), yet tired obviousness at other times (really, Enron’s board of directors as blind mice?  That theatrical hat-trick is older than Barbara Bush).  Also, except for Fastow, depicted as a needy, eager-to-impress math jock with a borderline homoerotic admiration for Skilling, all the other characters are broad archetypes (Lay as the clueless, paternalistic CEO; Claudia Roe, Skilling’s business rival, as an ambitious Texas broad with big hair) with little nuance or backstory.  Which may be fine if Prebble is shooting for a fairy-tale painted with broad strokes- stock characters, however, don’t make for a dramatically compelling and provocative play.  Sometimes Enron feels like a dramatization of newspaper accounts rather than a reflective show that offers lessons learned.

The cast is terrific, with huge kudos to the superb, scene-stealing Amy Matheny as the brassy Claudia and Sean Fortunato as the socially awkward Fastow. Bret Tuomi, as a megalomaniac Skilling, carries the play, and he gives a technically well-crafted performance.  However, because Prebble never provides the audience with any insight as to why Skilling became megalomaniacal in the first place, and what he actually wanted to accomplish to justify the immense personal and business risks he took (the character is outlined, rather than vividly colored), Tuomi comes off as quite distant.  Rachel Rockwell’s fluid direction complements the tone of the piece and Mike Tutaj’s excellent, eye-catching video projections richly evoke both the Texas setting and the early-naughts time period. It’s a worthwhile night at the theater; I just wished it was more of a thoughtful one.

Enron is playing at Timeline Theatre, 615 W. Wellington, until April 15.

1. Festen (Steep Theatre) – Even those people I know whose idea of Chicago theater is traipsing through the Cadillac or the Ford Oriental for Broadway in Chicago touring productions were clamoring to get tickets for this sold-out production in the spring at Steep’s intimate storefront off the Berwyn Red Line station.  Jonathan Berry’s layered, atmospheric, and ultimately gut-wrenching Chicago premiere of the stage adaptation of the Danish film about the unraveling of family secrets and lies was breathtaking, with an unsurpassable performance (even better than Ulrich Thomsen’s in the film, in my opinion) by Kevin Stark as eldest son Christian, both catalyst and host of the filial Armageddon.  Read my original post.

2. Follies (Chicago Shakespeare Theatre) – Stephen Sondheim’s masterpiece about a reunion of aging showgirls is my favorite musical of all time and Gary Griffin’s revival is one of my favorite musical productions of the past couple of years.  Unlike the Broadway productions, full of distracting, well, Broadway-ness, this Chicago Shakespeare mounting was emotionally raw, discomfiting, unapologetically dark and pessimistic.  And boy did I love it! It also contained several surprising, unforgettable re-interpretations of classic Sondheim roles: Caroline O’Connor’s mesmerizing, battle-scarred Phyliss; Marilyn Bogetich’s unwaveringly furious Hattie belting out “Broadway Baby” as an anti-showstopper (which stopped the show anyway); and, most especially, the brilliant Hollis Resnick whose multi-layered, intricately characterized Carlotta encapsulated the profound themes of survival and tenacity of human nature that Sondheim wrote about.  Read my original post.

3. en route  (one time at a step like this at the Chicago Shakespeare Theatre) –  Chicago Shakespeare was the theater scene’s MVP this year, not only bringing us local gems like Follies, but also invaluable international productions such as a World’s Stage offering from the Australian theater company one time at a step like this.  Chicago theater lovers were so lucky to have participated in this immersive experience, an indescribable hybrid of theater, performance art, books on tape, and walking tour that took them all over the Loop, since the group would be putting on a similar production for the prestigious 2012 London Cultural Olympiad.  It was an exhilarating experience, truly breaking down the barrier between audience member and theatrical content. Read my original post.

4. The Big Meal (American Theater Company) – On paper, Dan LeFranc’s searing, thought-provoking drama about the changes in American family life, values, and priorities through the years sounded like a Showtime TV movie.  But I loved going to the theater and having my preconceptions smashed.  This was theater of unrelenting honesty and poignancy, the best new work that premiered in the city this year, complemented by the stunningly fluid, cinematic direction from the excellent Dexter Bullard and the most pitch-perfect acting ensemble of the year, anchored by the too-scarce Lia Mortenson.  Read my original post.

5. Clybourne Park (Steppenwolf Theatre Company) – As my blog readers know, I am the President of Steppenwolf’s young professionals board, so I try not to comment on its shows too much to avoid being accused of partisanship.  But Steppenwolf’s production of Bruce Norris’ Pulitzer Prize winner would make partisans of everyone – great playwriting, both impressively cerebral and emotionally gut-punching, with a vivid, pointed look at American society’s racial tensions; masterful, even keeled direction from ensemble member Amy Morton; and top-of-their-A-game performances from some of the city’s acting royalty – John Judd, Cliff Chamberlain, Karen Aldridge, and Kirsten Fitzgerald.

6. Black Watch (National Theatre of Scotland at the Chicago Shakespeare Theatre) –  This fiercely unflinching drama about Scottish soldiers in Iraq already took jaded, cynical New York City by storm several years ago, and I could see why. Gregory Burke’s writing was insightful and fearless, and as riveting as it already was, director John Tiffany’s stylized production that beautifully blended song, dance, video, marching, and theatrical flourishes took it out to the dramatic stratosphere. I’m sure the been-there seen-that New York theatergoers would have been smitten as well by the site-specific production that Black Watch received at the Broadway Armory, for years the site of Illinois National Guard training exercises, which gave the show additional, intangible heft.  Read my original post.

7. Sophocles:  Seven  Sickness (The Hypocrites) – My BFFs, so used to my wacky theatrical thrill-seeking, thought Sean Graney’s four hour adaptation of all of Sophocles’ existing dramas was totally up my alley.  But it was also up the alley of anyone who loved great storytelling, outsized performances, and directorial bungee-jumping.  This was truly one of the most thrilling shows of the year – challenges around the material and the running length overcame by a director and a sterling cast who treated their audience as smart, curious, and embracing of exceptional work.  Read my original post.

8. El Nogalar (Goodman Theatre and Teatro Vista) – I was perplexed by the tepid reaction received by Tanya Saracho’s resonant, contemporary play about immigrants returning to their hometown in Mexico now ruled with an iron hand by the drug cartels.  This was the kind of conversation-starting theater that dealt with important themes around identity, social violence, cross-border migration, and class structures that I felt people should be seeing (instead of, say, reading up on Kim Kardashian and Kris Humphries). Cecilie Keenan’s unassuming direction let her terrific ensemble give some of the best performances of the year (with special mention to Yunuen Pardo as the pragmatic, survival-minded maid, Dunia).  Read my original post.

9. Pornography (Steep Theatre) – Steep followed-up Festen with another exceptional show, Simon Stephen’s series of monologues ostensibly about the 2005 London subway bombing, but which tackled broader questions around how safe a world could be when daily life was full of racism, sexual brutality, deception and moral ambivalence. Robin Witt’s simple staging gave Stephen’s words the space they needed to envelop the audience, and her bold cast, especially Kendra Thulin as a bitter corporate saboteur and Michael Salinas as a conniving job-seeker, gave them the unforgettable impact and immediacy they intended.  Read my original post.

10. Heddatron (Sideshow Theatre Company) – Entrancing, astounding, sometimes maddeningly flawed, Elizabeth Meriweather’s play about an Ypsalanti, Michigan housewife kidnapped by robots to perform Hedda Gabler in the middle of the Amazon jungle was the most idiosyncratic show of the year.  Sideshow’s production used robots, videos, and a rousingly jaw-dropping musical set-piece of “Total Eclipse of the Heart” performed by both mechanized and human beings alike to demonstrate the endless inventiveness and big-heart of Chicago’s storefront theater scene.  Read my original post.

 And the next five:

 Being Harold Pinter (Belarus Free Theatre at the Goodman Theater) – read my original post

A Twist of Water (Route 66 Theatre Company) – read my original post

Middletown (Steppenwolf Theater Company)

Passing Strange (Bailiwick Chicago) – read my original post

Mary (Goodman Theatre) – read my original post

In 2011, I was fortunate to have dined in Chicago, New York City, Hong Kong, Manila, Sao Paulo, Rio de Janeiro, Mexico City, Toronto, Washington DC, St. Louis, Boston, Phoenix, and Milwaukee.  In every part of the world I was at this year, the culinary scene was thriving, generous, and diverse, with chefs not just innovating and extending boundaries, but more importantly honoring the history and traditions of sourcing, cooking, and serving food in their respective cultures- preserving techniques, reinterpreting them for the 21st century palate, using them as a compass for the future of dining.  Here then are my top ten dining experiences of 2011, not just in Chicago, but around the world (and at right, the bountiful too-beautiful-to-eat appetizer plate at Yin Yang, #1 on my list):

1. Yin Yang (Hong Kong) – In the middle of Hong Kong, the most determinedly futuristic city in the world, amidst the intimidating jumble of Wanchai, one of it’s busiest districts, is a thoughtful testament to the genius of Cantonese cuisine.  In an antique-filled room that could easily have been used as the set for a Wong Kar-Wai period film, Chef Margaret Xu Yuan, in her “private kitchen” Yin Yang, produces beautiful, exacting, delicious food that is both of the here and now (organically-sourced, cross-cultural) yet evocative of Hong Kong’s fast-fading past (she roasts chicken and pork in a traditional terra cotta urn giving the meats a hearty, indelible flavor).  In May, I joined ex-Chicagoans Lauren in the Lion City and her significant other Louis in a lovely, painstakingly-prepared dinner full of reverbations of the past (the roast chicken and roast pork dishes were two of the best versions I’ve had anywhere) yet unassumingly and confidently 2011 (the sensuous, effeminate egg custard with truffle and sea urchin would easily be in my top ten best dishes list of the past several years).  I wasn’t alone in my rave since the New York Times was beside itself with wonder as well after dining at Yin Yang. 

2. Restaurante Pujol (Mexico City) – Mexico City is touted by the global food culturati as one of the up-and-coming culinary cities.  And I wholeheartedly agree.  The week I spent in Mexico City earlier this year for business found me leapfrogging from one bold, exciting restaurant to another after client work for the day was done.  First among equals is Restaurante Pujol, a recent addition (at #49) to the prestigious 50 Best Restaurants in the World list.  Chef Enrique Olvera (who trained for six months under Jean Joho at our very own Everest after he graduated from the Culinary Institute of America in the early 2000s) is widely-acclaimed as the leader of nouveau Mexican cuisine, and his food at Pujol is deliriously good: at times brazenly theatrical (an astounding amuse bouche of corn roasted in a pre-Hispanic Yucatan flower pot and drizzled with flying ant powder, yep, you heard that right), sometimes delicately minimalist (a delightful, diaphanous avocado flauta stuffed with shrimp and served with a cilantro emulsion), always a mesmerizing, thoughtful, sophisticated translation of Mexican culinary tradition to today. 

3.  Next Restaurant (Chicago) – I think there was no new restaurant more talked about this year in the United States than Next, Chef Grant Achatz’s follow-up to Alinea.  Before it opened, the eco-system of critics, food writers, bloggers, and Twitterers were all about its innovative business model: a menu that changed every three months to portray a specific period in food history; and a pre-purchased ticketing system more similar to those used in theaters, concerts, and sporting events.  When it opened in April, frustrated would-be diners were all about the website crashes, ticket scalping, and the general scarcity of opportunities to dine at the restaurant.  But for those who were able to go to the inaugural menu, a homage to August Escoffier called Paris 1906 (and yes, after much hand-wringing and belly-aching, I was able to secure a spot in a table purchased by someone else), we were all about the stunning dishes that Achatz and Chef de Cuisine Dave Beran created in the Escoffier tradition:  an insanely decadent Hors d’Oeuvre of foie gras with marmalade on toast; a beautifully poached sole filet floating on top of an outrageously luxurious sauce normande, served with an over-the-top crawfish head stuffed with mousseline; and a perfect, transporting whole duck with duck jus and cognac gravy made from an antique duck press (below).

4.  Maude’s Liquor Bar (Chicago) – Yes Virginia, there were a lot of other restaurants that opened in Chicago in 2011 other than Next. And although I liked many of them, I didn’t really love any of them except for Maude’s Liquor Bar, which Chicago magazine initially reported as specializing in “dirty French barbecue”.  Well, I didn’t find anything dirty or any barbecue, but I did find a whole lot of French, with a whole lot of innovative surprises, thanks to Chef Jeff Pikus (whose mind-blowing collaboration dinner with X-Marx I wrote about a couple of years ago).  In a bitterly cold winter night in early 2011 with power couple Henry and Joe and the lovely Happy, I had a brilliantly enveloping cassoulet, and an in-your-face Salad Lyonnais with generous portions of pork belly instead of lardons; during a rainy fall night with BFF Chef Mako and her husband Kevin, a perfectly calibrated house-made blood sausage.  These were the perfect dishes to be savored in the company of great friends.

5. Fook Lam Moon (Hong Kong) – In my book, if you want to call yourself a “foodie”, then you probably should have eaten your way through Hong Kong, truly one of the world’s great food capitals.  The city has 63 Michelin stars; flagship restaurants from Joel Robuchon, Alain Ducasse, and Nobu Matsuhisa; the leading Asian molecular gastronomy restaurant, Bo Innovation; and a dizzying diversity of dining options from street stalls called dai pai dong to teahouses with the best dimsum you can have in the world.  And thanks to the suggestion of my favorite Hong Kong food blogger, Diary of a Growing Boy, I did have some of the best dimsum I’ve ever had in my life at 1 Michelin star Fook Lam Moon, where everything was fresh and fabulous (and directly out of the kitchen and not on carts). I’ve eaten a lot of dimsum in my life, but I’ve never had siumai as ethereal as the ones I had at Fook Lam Moon topped with subtly salty crab roe, or earthy taro puffs as incongrously transcendent, or steamed buns with lotus paste and egg yolk as perfectly balanced in its salty-sweetness, or roast pork as unapologetically burnt-crispy and fatty-meaty (below).  It was dimsum that could not be had anywhere in North America (or in the world, for that matter).

6. Niche (St. Louis) – I’ve been on a project straight out of Dante’s fevered imagination the past several months in the city of the Gateway Arch, but a saving grace of this experience is the opportunity to go to to James Beard-nominated Niche whenever I want to.  Chef Gerard Craft’s unassuming restaurant in the Soulard district serves some of the best food on any side of the Mississippi River: it’s imaginative, but not precious, contemporary but not trend-conscious, beautiful but not self-involved. On one visit, I had the single best dish I’ve had all year: a delightfully deconstructed “corned beef” salad made of the freshest, sweetest beets, “corned” like beef, mixed with vigorous fennel cooked like pastrami, pumpernickel dust, and a sour cream dip (see below). On another visit, I had a dessert special that night of pastry chef Elise Menning – marvelous acorn squash bread pudding with maple butternut squash ice cream, which provided an indelible autumnal solace.

7. Aroy Thai (Chicago) – When I first moved to Ravenswood in the late 2000s, I wandered into Aroy Thai a block away from my house and became instantly smitten.  It has been my neighborhood Thai joint ever since, and this year, it seemed like much of Chicago’s dining community made it their neighborhood Thai joint as well.  From mentions in TimeOut Chicago to selection as one of “foodie” forum LTHforum.com’s “Great Neighborhood Restaurant” awardees, the tiny Thai storefront I ate at regularly was golden.  But all that attention didn’t diminish the quality and authenticity of the food- dishes like my favorite off-menu item kai-gieuw mu sap, a deliciously messy minced pork omelette; or a wonderfully creamy and briny special of stir fried squid with salted egg yolk; or a refreshingly elegant pandan noodle dessert with coconut cream, continued to transport me to Bangkok, one of my favorite cities in the world.

8. Brasileirinho (Rio de Janeiro) – I was initially disappointed when Chicago lost to Rio de Janeiro as host of the 2016 Olympics, but when I visited this year with all-time BFF Andrew, I instantly realized that, despite my great love for Chicago, the International Olympic Committee made the right decision.  Rio de Janeiro is a city like no other I have been to in the world, with it’s co-mingling of colonial history, beaches, mountains, forests, and cosmopolitan sprawl in one singular urban mix. And it’s culinary scene is as proud, as colorful, and as informed by its history as the city itself.  One mild Brazilian summer night, BFF Andrew and I wandered into Brasileirinho, along the most famous beach in the world, Copacabana beach, and enjoyed traditional Brazilian cuisine:  a surprisingly airy pasteis, fried polenta stuffed with ground beef; a luscious, spirited moqueca, Bahian bass and shrimp stew, served with its traditional accompaniments, farofa (toasted manioc flour), rice, and the uniquely Brazilian pirao (fish head gravy); an excellent goiabada (also known as guava “sweet” which is more like a hybrid paste and jelly) with cheese ice cream, the most traditional of all Brazilian deserts. Below is the moqueca prior to serving.

9. Jaso (Mexico City) – Pujol wasn’t the only highlight of my Mexico City eating adventures.  I was also very much impressed by Jaso, where married Chefs Jared Reardon and Sonia Arias cook fantastic food that meld their global backgrounds and interests (he is American, she is Mexican, and they travel all over the world).  The dinner was spectacular, but two things were gravity-stopping: a delirious,magnificent squid dumpling stuffed with crab and shrimp and ensconced in an intricately layered parmigiano and squid ink sauce, and a flawless moist chocolate cake topped with a gallette and served with semifreddos and Ecuadorian coffee bits (below), both dishes truly continents-spanning in sensibility and execution.

10. Food on the Dole Salons (Chicago) – One may be blessed to have had many memorable meals in different parts of the world as I did this year, but sometimes the most fulfilling dining experiences can be the ones you share with old friends and interesting new ones in the city you call home.  Chef Hugh Amano runs intermittent supper clubs that are truly different from other supper clubs (or underground dinners or speakeasies or whatever you want to call them) in this food-mad town: six people prepare a four course dinner with him in a combo dinner party-cooking class. Sometimes the salons have a theme (brunch or seafood or pasta), sometimes they don’t.  But they are always about learning and sharing and thoughtful conversation, whether over juicy, freshly-shucked oysters and a marvelous herb-stuffed oven-roasted sea bass that BFF Debra and Dash of Stash helped prepare, or over blazing duck confit and chili flatbreads which BFF Camela helped roll.  And Chef Hugh is always the perfect host – patient, informative, and inspiring in his love of food and cooking.

OVERWEIGHT, directed by Steppenwolf ensemble member Yasen Peyankov, is a typical mix tape of Euro-trashy artsy-fartsyness and condescending incomprehensibility.  Ok, I get it, Austrian playwright Schwab is smarter than me, but he doesn’t have to make the point every five minutes through dense dialogue and puzzling (non) narrative. A group of misfits are sitting around in their corner bar knocking each other senseless with insults and belligerence while observing, jeering, and ultimately collectively doing several unspeakable things to a beautiful and wealthy young couple, who unfortunately wandered in to get a sense of the life of the underclass.  I guess there’s a whole point about European social inequalities and injustice, but this point is marred by both the obnoxious playwriting and the sensationalistic end of the first act. Peyankov assuredly creates a thoughtful air of decrepitude throughout the play, an interesting evocation of the problems of a supposedly socialist Europe which has incongruously massive social inequalities.  The cast is first rate, with special mentions to the wonderful, always riveting Nicole Weisner as an abused girlfriend who displays the sole moral backbone among the characters, conveying the haunting yet earthy qualities of Hannah Schygulla; Carolyn Hoerdemann, whose fine comic timing is mixed with a palpable wistfulness as the neighborhood hooker, so nicknamed because she will show the referred-to body part in exchange for coins for the jukebox; and Andy Hager who is creepy-funny as a pedophilic schoolteacher.  The cast is game and no-holds-barred, as is typical of a Trapdoor production, and I salute them for it.  I just wish they have better material to work with, and less bloody skeletons to gnaw on.

Sideshow’s The Ugly One is slight and wispy, though more palatable than OVERWEIGHT.  German playwright Mayenburg creates an intriguing fairy-tale about a really, really ugly man who gets some radical plastic surgery and turns into the most good looking man in the world. He’s so good looking, every guy starts getting the same surgery to look like him.  Mayenburg cleverly explores themes about our obsession with physical beauty, themes that have already been explored with more confidence, depth, and thoughtfulness, and less whimsy in films and TV shows like Nip/Tuck.  Mayenburg doesn’t really say anything new or insightful, and with an hour running time, I’m not sure he intended to.  Director Seth Bockley interestingly stages the fluff as a semi-farce to give it a little bit more gravitas, I presume, and he is ably abetted by the terrific Nina O’Keefe, who was also the fabulous heart of Sideshow’s previous show, Heddatron.  O’Keefe is hilarious, warm, and emotionally engaging in the dual roles of the guy’s wife and a lusty investor in his company who tries to bed him, and truly steals the show. Fred Wellisch and Nate Whelden playing multiple roles are a fine supporting cast.  Although Robert L. Oakes is watchable as Lette, the ugly one who becomes the really hot one (and looks the same before and after, a conceit of the show that implies we are always going to be the same person regardless of how we change physically), I think he is a little too passive for the farce-like approach to the material that Bockley adopts.  I wish Oakes’ Lette plays a little bit broader, with more boil and heat, than simmer.

OVERWEIGHT, unimportant: MISSHAPE – A European Supper has been extended until November 13 at Trapdoor Theatre, 1655 W. Cortland Ave.  The Ugly One is running until November 20 at Oracle Theater, 3809 N. Broadway.

Griffin’s achievement begins with staging the show on the thrust stage of Chicago Shakespeare instead of behind the proscenium arch, with the actors’ right smack in the audience’s face. This staging gives the play an immediacy and discomfiting voyeurism that are more similar to seeing, say, a Tracy Letts play in a storefront than seeing a musical in a big Broadway house.  Griffin’s vision is stunning – he gives the large Courtyard theater an intimacy that for me it has never had.  The staging lends itself to a more devastating effect for the already ache-filled “Losing My Mind”, but admittedly it poses some problems for the larger-scale ambitions of “Who’s That Woman” in which the energetic choreography of Alex Sanchez for the showgirls and the ghosts of their younger selves is drowned in clunky, crowded blocking.

Griffin’s brilliance, though, is most apparent in the unexpected interpretations of Sondheim’s characters and songs by a terrific, unforgettable cast.  Susan Moniz’s Sally, the unhappy housewife from Phoenix, is indelible: sad but grasping, sympathetic yet delusional, and truly believable as someone sinking into manic depression in which she will not be able to recover from.  And I love, love the way she performs “Losing My Mind”, a perfect song about unbearable loneliness: quiet and soft yet with layers that, if you pay attention closely enough, are frightening.  It’s an amazingly nuanced performance.

Australian actress Caroline O’Connor has the most difficult, complicated role – Phyliss, the showgirl turned socialite who finds out that a life of wealth and luxury is a life full of trade-offs and betrayals. And O’Connor is stunning – ferocious, wounded, acerbic, heartbroken.  Her sharp corners and hard edges sometimes peak underneath her couture dress, but so does her resignation and world-weariness (ably complemented by a smoke-and-whiskey-scarred throaty voice).  It’s a surprising interpretation since Phyliss is often played by patrician, otherworldly actors (Lee Remick, Blythe Danner, Donna Murphy, and Jan Maxwell in the current Broadway revival) whose innate delicacy underscores all the hurt and humiliation.  O’Connor isn’t delicate at all- and she’s taking prisoners, but that doesn’t diminish the heartache of her loveless marriage. She performs “Could I Leave You”, truly one of the “best of the best” Sondheim songs, imho, not as a complicated mix of recriminations against and pleading with her husband Ben, as other Phylisses do, but as a cool, calculated accounting of what she is owed. And she is owed bigtime. O’Connor nails this point down with a loud, jaw-dropping bang.  Even more jaw-dropping for me is her passionate, demanding take on “The Story of Lucy and Jessie”, with Sanchez’s choreography sexy-angry in the best way possible.  It’s a song I’m not particularly enamored of, but in O’Connor’s unforgettable rendition, I just can’t get the song, and the whole scene, out of my mind.

I can rapturously go on and on about O’Connor’s astounding, profoundly moving Phyliss but Griffin’s cast deliver unexpected interpretations of the other famous Sondheim songs.  The exceptional Marilyn Bogetich performs “Broadway Baby” not as some warm, nostalgic ode to hard work and ambition, as it’s usually performed, but rather as an angry, hostile, furiously regretful aria about failure and not being good enough.  Then there’s Hollis Resnick, as Carlotta, the showgirl who ended up with a career in movies and television.  She is dazzling beyond superlatives.  Her big number is “I’m Still Here”, that most famous anthem of survival and longevity, usually performed in a blowsy, jaded, bombastically diva-esque manner (check out Polly Bergen’s and Elaine Paige’s versions in the 2001 and 2011 Broadway revivals respectively on YouTube).  Resnick performs it in a riveting, unexpected way – slowly building on the tension, performing portions of the song as if she’s in self-assured conversation with the audience, and ending with confidence and bravado. Resnick’s Carlotta survived, is still here, because she knows how to adapt and move on, shrug off the failures and obstacles, pick herself up by the bootstraps and dust herself off, qualities that none of the other Follies girls seem to have.  This gal is battle-scarred, but she ain’t showing it to anyone.  And that’s why she sticks around.  Resnick creates a fascinating character study.  She is, to put it plainly, just brilliant.

I have some minor quibbles with the production:  Ben Stone’s second act number “Live, Laugh, Love” is staged, choreographed, and performed (by the otherwise excellent Brent Barrett) too similarly to Chicago’s “Razzle Dazzle”, which is distracting.  I also do not think Young Phyliss (Rachel Cantor) and Young Sally (L.R. Davidson) are fully-fleshed out and differentiated enough in performance (I keep on trying to figure out who’s who by height since Davidson is shorter than Cantor).  But these are minor quibbles indeed in a production that is fresh, insightful, and dare I say it, close to being definitive.

This Follies is unmissable.  It runs till November 8 at Chicago Shakespeare Theater, 800 E. Grand Ave.

Elling (Redtwist Theatre) –  Now I know why this play ran for only nine regular performances and 22 previews when it premiered on Broadway last year, despite a cast headlined by Brendan Fraser and True Blood’s Denis O’Hare.  Axel Hellstenius’ and Petter Naess’ theatrical adaptation of the 1996 novel and 2001 movie, which was a surprise Oscar nominee for best foreign-language film is, simply put, quite awful. I haven’t read the book nor seen the film, so I’m not really sure whether the problems lie in the source material or in the dramatic adaptation.  Two men are released from the Norwegian state mental institution to prove that they can live a “normal” life under the auspices of the government.  I’m not Norwegian, nor have I ever lived in Norway, so the whole set-up is quite perplexing to me –What drives these patients release from the mental institution? What’s in it for the government?  Seems like some kind of European social experiment that isn’t really clearly articulated in the text.  How are Elling and his best friend  Kjell Bjarne making a living?  They have subsidized housing but don’t seem to have any jobs.  What does living a “normal” life mean and what conditions will send them back to the institution they were released from?  Both seem to still be quirky and eccentric, and their government handler, Frank, pops in and out of scenes, but seems to have quite a vague relationship with the two.  The play’s tone also seems to flirt between sitcom naturalism and low-rent Sarah Ruhl whimsy, without really any apparent reason.  Steve Scott’s uneven direction doesn’t help clarify things – some scenes are played as farce with pratfalls and all, while others as sweet-silly bromantic comedy.   The main reason to see the show is the appealing stage presence and undeniable chemistry of Andrew Jessop as Elling (hilariously manic) and Peter Oyloe’s Kjell (good-naturedly boorish) the stars of Redtwist’s much superior The Pillowman from a couple of years back.   Jessop also serves as set designer and impressively configures the intimate black box theater for beds to become fireplaces and refrigerators to transform into urinals. I just wish these actors, two of the bright lights of the city’s storefront theater scene, had more worthy material to showcase their mettle. Elling runs until October 30 at 1044 W. Bryn Mawr.

Violet (Bailiwick Chicago) – Based on Doris Betts’ short story “The Ugliest Pilgrim”, this musical is about Violet, a young North Carolina woman with a huge scar on her face from a childhood accident, who is traveling to Tulsa, Oklahoma to see a preacher who she believes will heal her disfigurement.  And the story occurs during the early 60s in the midst of the initial rumblings of the Civil Rights movement. Caroline, or Change’s composer Jeanine Tesori has put together an intricate score, beautifully mixing rousing, gospel-like numbers with melancholy ballads that reflect the characters’ inner lives.  The cast, led by the extremely watchable duo of Harmony France as Violet and Courtney Crouse as the soldier she initially falls for, sings gorgeously and passionately, ably supported by a five person band. Some of the melodies are reminiscent of the musical theater masterpiece that is Caroline, and the performers tackle the complex songs with verve.  However, like Elling, the main problem I have with this show is Brian Crawley’s uninvolving, meandering book.  What seems to be on the surface an emotionally and politically-charged narrative is flat and unsatisfying.  The parallels between Violet’s self-discovery and the nation’s awakening to civil rights are not fully or vividly explored.  Her deepening attraction to the African-American soldier Flick isn’t consistently portrayed so the climax of the show feels rushed and dishonest.  I’m also very perplexed as well by director Elizabeth Margolius’ decision to have characters that appear in flashback scenes onstage all the time crumpled in the background, and for staging many of the musical numbers in static, Glee-like formations. For subject matter this potent, a listless production is a disservice.  Violet is at the Mercury Theater, 3745 N. Southport, until October 16.

Becky Shaw (A Red Orchid Theatre) – Although she doesn’t appear until the second scene of Gina Gionfriddo’s puzzling comedy about contemporary mores, and shows up pretty late in the last scene, thanks to the layered, carefully calibrated performance of Mierka Gierten-a riveting mix of menace, neediness, and heartbreak- the titular character dominates this show. Becky Shaw doesn’t get the showiest scenes or the spiciest, wittiest lines – those belong to Max, an emotional bully of a financial adviser, who is set up on the blind date from the ninth circle of Dante’s hell with Becky.  Gionfriddo has a great hand with dialogue, and pokes wicked fun at the prevalence of dishonesty and emotional and psychological blackmail in relationships of our 21^st century life.  However, I’m not really sure I totally get the points she makes about our contemporary First World culture’s values and emotional responses.  Maybe because I don’t think she makes them clearly or articulately. Damon Kiely’s direction, despite some really awkward scene transitions, is solid, but it’s the cast that makes this show a worthwhile night out, despite the weakness of the writing.  Gierten’s excellent portrayal is wonderfully matched by a quartet of terrific performances:  Lance Baker as a caustic, emotionally-fraught Max; Jen Engstrom as Max’s neurotic, self-involved half sister Susanna (another one of the divine Ms. Engstrom’s vividly outsized portraits); Dan Granata as Susanna’s amiable husband Andrew; and Susan Monts-Bologna as Susanna’s Southern dowager of a mother, a fascinating mix of venom and world-wearyness.  I am an ardent supporter of A Red Orchid Theater so I’m a little surprised that for a theater known for their outrageous, balls-out, audience-provoking play selection (uhmm, Blasted, anyone?), they’re opening this season with a play that’s innocuous and unassuming, the theatrical equivalent of filed and buffed manicured nails.  Becky Shaw is playing at 1531 N. Wells until November 6.

Nate and Margot reveal to their close friends Darcy and Leigh over dinner one night that they are planning to have a baby via donor sperm with Margot as the biological mother.  The donor, it turns out, is Nate and Leigh’s college buddy Jacob, who has remained single and has travelled the world as a Fulbright scholar and a peace-broker.  This piece of news creates a single-minded focus in Leigh to have a baby of her own with Jacob as the donor too, which of course creates all sorts of complications with Darcy, who doesn’t share the passion to bring a child into the world that Leigh has.  Gubbins intricately, provocatively frames the dilemmas of these couples:  the role and responsibility of the donor in parenting, the emotional and intellectual complexities of having a shared donor between the two couples, the emotional and psychic impact of child-rearing on the partner who isn’t  the biological mother, the logistics of who gets to be called “Mama” and “Mommy”- issues that heterosexual couples do not ever have to think about, much less resolve.  Gubbins adds an additional layer to the discourse which I feel requires a play of its own:  both couples have a more masculine partner (Darcy and Nate) and a more feminine partner (Leigh and Margot, both of whom are to be the biological mothers), and the play begins to, but doesn’t really fully explore, the way the “butch lesbian” persona is received by the 21st century world we live in.  I think this is an important issue that calls for a lot more discussion of, maybe in a longer play, especially since it forms the crux of one of the crucial monologues in the piece.  I also feel that the role of Jacob (appealingly played by Steve O’Connell) is a little hazy, and serves more as a conflict provider rather than a fully-fleshed out and integral character in the production, unlike that of Mark Ruffalo’s similar donor role in the film The Kids Are All Right, which tackles some of the same concerns but from different angles.  But it is a really exceptional script, and I’d take this play over the gazillion re-hashes of dead white men plays on other Chicago stages.

The ensemble is formidable:  Halena Kays’ easygoing Nate who is sincerely excited to be a parent is warm, funny, poignant; Park Krausen’s somewhat dippy Leigh who gains laser-sharp focus when it comes to becoming a mother is meticulously-shaded; and, especially, Rebekah Ward-Hays’ beautiful, sharp, aloof  Margot is riveting to watch – she makes you skeptical as to whether Margot is really into this motherhood thing, and if she isn’t, what’s her agenda (to keep her relationship with Nate on solid ground, despite the fact that she seems to be in control of it?  I don’t know, and I would have loved to see more stage time for the character and Hays).  I’ve seen Kelly Simpkins in several productions over the past few years and think she’s a terrific actress but I initially thought her Darcy was unsympathetic and grating.  Having thought about the play over the past week since I saw it, though, I think the cleverness and compassion of Simpkins performance and Gubbins writing is that Darcy really is the mirror to the conscience of the gays in the audience like me, who have always thought that having kids in a same-sex relationship is a no-no – Darcy reflects our defiance, our deep-seated ambivalence, our risk-aversion, our inadvertent cruelty, our, shall I say it?, loneliness.  It’s a terrific role and a sharply-thought out performance.

Joannie Schultz’s direction is solid and unfussy, letting the conflict and the dialogue draw the audiences in.  I love Chelsea Warren’s scenic design which realistically captures the affluent, unemcumbered lifestyle of that segment of upwardly-mobile Chicago gays.  But, ultimately, The Kid Thing is notable for bringing forward a very contemporary issue that has no easy answers, and that’s what I consider a truly meaningful night at the theater.

The Kid Thing is at Chicago Dramatists, 1105 W. Chicago Avenue, until October 16.

Graney’s brazen imagination and cultural savviness is on full display at Sophocles:  Seven Sicknesses.  Since these plays are full of people killing each other and mutilating themselves, why not set the entire show in a stark hospital with two wise-cracking, fashion-magazine-reading nurses (delightfully played by Sarah Jackson and Shannon Matesky) as the Greek chorus? Brilliant.  Because Sophocles’ tragedies come about mostly due to a singular flaw of human nature (Antigone’s pride, Elektra’s vengefulness, Oedipus’ incredulity), why not have the actors sing excerpts from Bruce Springsteen’s acclaimed early-80s album about the tragi-comic nature of day-to-day life, The River, newly-arranged by Music Director Kevin O’Donnell, to annotate and expand on the original text?  Inspired.  Why not include dialogue that is modern, colloquial, and plainspoken to bridge the audience-distancing effect of these ancient plays?  Terrific.  Why not embrace the outre in the material by having Jocasta commit suicide by drinking bleaching liquid or staging Ajax’s dream of killing his competitors as a sort of bloody, wacky Animal Farm?  Absolutely.  But I think Graney’s greatest achievement as writer-adapter-director is his ability to clearly, painstakingly highlight the significant, recurring themes of these plays over these four hours, some of them unique to the Greeks (the physical body as symbol and source of power, fatalism as a cultural world-view), others universal and relevant to us, the 21^st century citizens of a complex, chaotic, conflict-ridden world: the continuing definition and re-definition of homeland, the basis for exercising state power within and outside its borders, our inability to learn from our mistakes which allows, well, history to repeat itself.  The bloody and blind Oedipus who is willing to once again put his trust in Creon, the man who banished him, in order to come back to his beloved Thebes demonstrates the same inherently fatal flaw of human nature that many 21^st century US voters seem to possess in making another self-interested, zealous Texan a presidential front-runner.

Graney’s marvelous, brave, resilient cast, many of them playing multiple roles, is up to Graney’s game, displaying impressive range.  Hypocrites’ ensemble member Geoff Button, truly one of my all-time favorite performers in Chicago, is poignant as the compassionate Neoptolemus asked to trick Philoktetes to give up his powerful bow and quietly menacing as the vengeful Orestes.  Erin Barlow is heart-breakingly headstrong as Antigone and impeccably comedic as a Reese Witherspoon-like Chrysothemis.  The always spectacular Tien Doman gives a quite-over-the-top take on Dejanira, giving her the bitchy claws of a Bravo Real Housewife and the lonely anger of a Lars von Trier heroine.  Jeff Trainor is just plain terrific as Oedipus, thrillingly mixing naivete, young CEO bluster, and delusion.

In our age of Politico.com soundbytes, Twitter headlines, and general restlessness and instantaneous gratification, it’s hard to recommend a night out in the theater that will involve more than two and a half hours (including an intermission).  Well, I don’t really care, and at the risk of being pilloried by some of my attention-deficient blog readers, I am heartily, enthusiastically, unreservedly recommending Sophocles:  Seven Sicknesses.  It’s a play that a theater-loving city such as Chicago should embrace unconditionally.

I’m ready to call a plague down on your condo building if you don’t rush out to see Sophocles:  Seven Sicknesses at the Chopin basement theater, 1543 W. Division St.  Ok, so if that threat isn’t enough, well remember there is a complimentary, and very yummy, vegan dinner courtesy of Sultan’s Market during the first intermission!

Putting It Together, devised by Sondheim and the show’s original director, Julia McKenzie, has a plot as flimsy as a linen summer dress at the Hamptons in the middle of August – two couples, one older and married, the other younger and un-, plus a ambiguous male observer, are at a cocktail party that slowly, tensely goes awry as the romantic entanglements of the protagonists unfold.  But who cares about plot in a revue which includes some of the most deliriously perfect Sondheim songs that talk about love and relationships from Company, A Little Night Music, Merrily We Roll Along, Follies, and his Academy Award winning work on the film Dick Tracy?  Director Brenda Didier wisely showcases the glorious songs through unfussy stage blocking and fast-moving scene transitions.  She is ably abetted by Musical Director Austin Cook and his three person band (ingeniously seated onstage and acting as if they are guests at the cocktail party as well), playing Sondheim’s incomparable melodies with clear-eyed understanding and minimal flourish (and with lots of gusto for the Act II opener “Back in Business” from Dick Tracy). 

Since this is a revue, it’s the musical performances that should necessarily shine, and Didier’s five person cast is, in a word, dazzling.  Chicago musical theater veterans McKinley Carter and Adam Pelty as the older couple are empathetic, mature, credible as battle-scarred spouses, and sing gorgeously, wondrously.  Carter’s rendition of the cruel, bitter, agonizing “Could I Leave You?” from Follies which closes the first act is particularly outstanding – a multi-faceted musical theater aria from a woman scorned, but who still loves her unworthy husband deeply and unconditionally. You can see the rollercoaster of emotions on Carter’s face as she gets through this particularly tough song.  Aja Goes as one half of the younger couple makes a pretty impressive Chicago theater debut – sexy, smoldering, seductive, manipulative, but also a little confounding in her performance of “Sooner or Later”, which evokes too closely Madonna’s performance of the song during the 1991 Academy Awards.  I think Goes’ “Not Getting Married Today”, the most difficult among Sondheim’s compositions, imho, is technically impressive, so kudos to her, but I kinda missed some of the riveting blend of neurosis and real anxiety in the best performances of this song I’ve seen in the past (for example, Alice Ripley’s incomparable version in the 2003 Kennedy Center production of Company).

The most astounding member of the cast though for me is Michael Reckling who gives a fresh, charismatic performance as Goes’ boyfriend.  I have never seen him in a show before, but, boy, does he have buckets of stage presence and an emotionally complex singing voice.  I love his performance of “Marry Me A Little” from Company which is both captivating and somewhat untrustworthy- that this good-looking boy, despite what he professes to you right now, will, at some point, break your heart.  I think that intellectual shading, that ability to create a fully-fleshed character in a three-minute Sondheim song is the quality that differentiates the best Sondheim interpreters (Ripley, Barbara Cook, Bernadette Peters, Michael Cerveris, John Barrowman) from, well, the rest of the people who attempt to sing Sondheim and do him justice (Hmm…Catherine Zeta-Jones? Some performances in recent, unnamed Sondheim productions in Chicago?).  And then there is Alex Weisman, a true rising superstar of Chicago theater.  After bowling me over in his Jeff-winning turn in The History Boys and his most recent role in the divisive Mary, Weisman conquers musical theater with a vigorous, infectious, showy turn as the ambivalent and ambiguous Observer (who seems to have a little crush on Reckling’s character – or does he?), sort of a combination The Glee Project contestant, All About Eve-like ingénue, and a musical Truman Capote. He is terrific in “Invocations and Instructions to the Audience” (from The Frogs) which opens the show, and Sidetrack Showtunes campy (and I mean that as a compliment) in “Everybody Ought to Have a Maid” (from A Funny Thing Happened on My Way to the Forum).

I think if you come to Putting It Together to enjoy Sondheim songs performed lushly and passionately, you’d have a grand, gay, old night out on the theater town.  The show contains the pitfalls of a revue – the context in which the song was originally sung has somewhat changed (for example, Company’s “Being Alive” is an internal hymn to embracing your need for someone to love, not a song of reconciliation; “Unworthy of Your Love” is the obsessive-stalker song in Assassins, not a song to get engaged by), and some songs feel they’re out of place (“It’s Hot Up Here” from Sunday in the Park with George isn’t really a song of romance, although I’m sure it fits the revue’s conceit in which the loft has become quite a hothouse of romantic complications).  But this is top-notch entertainment, a show to enthusiastically recommend to your discerning friends and neighbors.

Stephen Sondheim’s Putting It Together is at Theatre Wit, 1229 W. Belmont, until October 16.  It’s a wonderful start to the Chicago fall theater season.

So this Porgy and Bess doesn’t feel, move, dance, talk, or sing like an opera, the medium it’s been traditionally performed in since it’s seminal revival in 1976 as a Houston Grand Opera production that eventually transferred to Broadway. Paulus has cut the running time to slightly more than two hours from over three; co-adapters Parks and Diedre Murray have transformed some of the recitatives into spoken dialogue and interpolated new ones to bridge scenes and give a little bit more color to the characters and the Catfish Row milieu; set designer Riccardo Hernandez’s Catfish Row is more evocative and representational than grandiosely authentic; choreographer Ronald K. Brown has created some dance numbers that is more Alvin Ailey than Busby Berkeley (including a rousing “Oh, I Can’t Sit Down”); William David Brohn’s and Christopher Jahnke’s orchestrations demonstrate a dazzling, impressive gamut of musical styles (from a haunting contemporary jazz rendition of “There’s a Boat That’s Leaving Soon” to the inclusion of slightly jarring pop music-ish chords that seem to be channeling Glee and Stephen Schwartz in “I Loves You, Porgy”).  So what if this Porgy and Bess is closer in sensibility and performance to Les Miserables than to Tosca? Who cares? It’s accessible, riveting, engaging, thrilling, resonant, contemporary – Paulus’ and Parks’ admirable objectives in the updating of the libretto as can be inferred from the interview that set off Sondheim’s curdmudgeonly ranting.  It also showcases the Gershwins’ unmatchable score beautifully and perfectly, the seventeen person orchestra under the baton of conductor Sheilah Walker playing with heartfelt emotion and clear-eyed understanding.

This Porgy and Bess also has two impeccable performances:  Norm Lewis’ dignified and heart-wrenching Porgy and, most especially, Audra McDonald’s pitch-perfect, iconic, breathtakingly multi-faceted Bess. I love Lewis’ performance – it’s very restrained and tender, gorgeously sung, especially in an energetic, vivacious “I Got Plenty of Nothing”, which I think in this production is more apparently a love song to life infused with finally meeting a soul mate than an anthem to carefree living as its normally performed in other productions.  But it’ is really McDonald who is unforgettable.  Her entrance, doped-up in a sexy red dress and heels, is jaw-dropping.  She sings spectaculary.  More importantly, McDonald gives Bess a vivid inner life, with every gesture, every facial expression, every inflection reflective of a child-woman who has been scarred and abused all her life, who finally finds a person who loves her and takes her for what she is, and not because of what she can give.  It is a great actress’ performance, not an opera singer’s (when she finally puts down her defenses and embraces Porgy’s love in “Bess, You Is My Woman Now”, the transition from brittle hurt to joyousness is a whole narrative in itself), and this is what, ultimately, differentiates this production from any other production of the show.

The supporting cast is excellent as well, with props to David Alan Grier’s watchably slimy Sporting Life and Bryonha Marie Parnham’s strong-willed, unsentimental, earthy Serena. If I have a quibble with this production, it is that I really expected to see (or hear) more of the “back stories” in the characters that Parks and Paulus talked about in that infamous interview.  I still don’t understand completely Crown’s power over the denizens of Catfish Row and over Bess in particular (why is he cock of the walk of this community?), or the reason for Sporting Life’s reputation (what shenanigans is he up to in New York when that boat sails and how did he become that way?).  Also, with the seemingly greater emphasis on Bess, both due to the libretto updates and McDonald’s brilliance, the show ending with Porgy singing “I’m on My Way” to run after Bess in New York City is somewhat out-of-place (hey if Paulus and Parks are updating the show anyway, an ending with Bess front and center would have been more appropriate, imho).

Paulus and the producers issued a muted non-response to Sondheim’s criticism; McDonald tweeted after the “controversy” broke that “Here’s what I think…to quote the greatest musical theater composer of our time… “Art isn’t easy”.  And it isn’t, and Sondheim should know that perfectly well.  Art also should be judged on its own merit, after it is viewed and experienced, not on innuendoes, inferences, predispositions, grapevine-mongering.  And Sondheim should know that perfectly well too.  By criticizing The Gershwins’ Porgy and Bess in such a public way before anyone has seen it, before it was even performed, Sondheim acted less like the “greatest musical theater composer of our time”, and more like, uhmm, Perez Hilton.  And that’s disappointing.

The Gershwins’ Porgy and Bess plays at the Loeb Drama Center, American Repertory Theater, 64 Brattle Street, Cambridge, MA until October 2.  It is still supposed to be on-track for a Broadway transfer in December, despite a tepid review from The New York Times’ Ben Brantley.