Sovereign

Stephen Heskett, Hanna Cheek
Photo: Deborah Alexander

With Sovereign, playwright Mac Rogers and director Jordana Williams bring home the wonderful Honeycomb Trilogy with verve, humor, and a bit of campiness. Amidst the entertainment, you find yourself pondering politics, loss, tribal allegiances, and leadership. (In case this sounds dry, let me point out that one test of leadership here is whether to kill the giant bug queen before she gives birth to thousands of bug children.) With propulsive, enthralling story-telling, Rogers shows how good people can do bad things, how one person's self-defense is another person's (or bug's) genocide, and how hard it is to maintain a soft spot when life forces you to be hard.

Plot-wise, the play focuses mostly on a showdown between siblings Ronnie, a resistance leader, and Abbie, who persists in seeing the invaders as liberators.

The mostly strong cast includes Hanna Cheek as Ronnie and Stephen Heskett as Abbie. Cheek has a slight tendency toward mugging, but can be heart-breaking. Heskett yells a bit too loud for the small theatre, and he seems too robust to have ever needed Ronnie's protection, but he catches all the complexities of his character. Matt Golden is excellent as the official who wants to prove his toughness; Neimah Djourabchi is charming as Ronnie's comic relief lover; the beautiful Medina Senghore needs a bit more gravitas as the defense attorney who goes against Ronnie, but has good moments; Daryl Lathon is effective but often too soft-spoken to be heard; and Sara Thigpen projects amazing amounts of strength and intelligence in a small role.

Sandy Yaklin's effective set does its part depicting the changing fortunes of Ronnie and Abbie and the passing of time. Fight choreographer Joe Mathers has staged some impressively convincing fighting.  

Sovereign is not as polished as its predecessors, and the speed of the dialogue, while theatrically effective, sometimes makes it difficult to keep track of what is going on (particularly for people who didn't see the first two parts). But its faults disappear in comparison with its excellence.

For years, critics have debated about whether science fiction can be literature. There is among many a conviction that once you add alien invaders, human subtleties go out the window. Once again, Mac Rogers has proved them wrong.

(first row; press ticket)

Les Miserables

Les Miserables - favorite of professional traveling companies and high schools - has been the holy grail of community theatre shows. Those waiting for the full version to be released outside of the professional realm knew it would happen eventually, but consistently feared they would be too old to be Javert or Fantine by the time it happened. 

It was with this reverence that Eastlight Theatre in East Peoria, IL became the first community theatre in central Illinois to receive the rights to the full version of Les Miserables. The cream of the crop auditioned for this momentous occasion, and 52 were chosen for the regional premier. I heard about it during callbacks from a good friend who was being considered for the part of Thedinaire. By the time he had been cast as Bamatabois (the creepy and violent gentleman who assaults Fantine), I was already on Eastlight’s website tracking down tickets. 

Of course, when a school attacks the high school edition, the audience enters the theatre with the assumption that what they’re about to see will be a smaller scale and possibly a B-version of the show due to the editing and inexperienced talent. 

But what about a community theatre? Can actors who hale from everywhere between Lincoln, IL to the tiny farm town of Henry, IL, and spend their days in non-acting pursuits, really do justice to this seminal classic?

The answer, it turns out, is a resounding yes. 

Regular attenders of Peoria-area theatre know there is some great talent in the area, but even the veterans won’t be prepared for the professional quality set, the astounding lighting system and design, and the anomaly of 52 solid voices without the typical community theatre problem player (you know....‘that person’....the one you dig through the program to figure out how they’re related to the director or the board to explain how they made it into the cast). 

Stand out performances are difficult to pick in such a cast, but definitely include Jason Morris as Javert. His rendition of ‘Stars’ is breathtaking, and when he and Roger Roemer combine on ‘The Confrontation’ with perfect rhythm and timing, it is a thing of beauty. Don’t get me wrong, Roemer’s Jean Valjean is good, but he takes time to get into the character whereas Morris comes out swinging. Mary Kate Smith’s ‘I Dreamed a Dream’ as Fantine is similarly awe-inspiring, which makes her attack by the most terrifying Bamatabois imaginable (played by George Maxedon) even more tragic. 

Stephanie Myre and Adam Sitton also give performances worth paying attention to as Eponine and Enjolras respectively. Myre’s voice during ‘On My Own’ and ‘A Little Fall of Rain’ is phenomenal, and her spunkiness makes Eponine come alive. Sitton’s Enjolras is hypnotic and his voice has all the strength, beauty, and vigor that the leader of a revolution should. There’s something about the first few words of ‘Do You Hear the People Sing?’ that always brings tears to my eyes when sung well, and Sitton’s performance is no exception.

A surprisingly standout performance comes from Stephen Peterson as Grantaire. Grantaire isn’t a character that’s talked about a lot, but Peterson’s anger and power makes him an actor hard to look away from. He is the dark part of the revolution - the serious (yet often drunk), realistic balance to Enjolras’s optimism, and Peterson plays this depth perfectly.

Back to Roemer as Valjean - he definitely holds his own and serves well as the story’s foundation. His voice is both solid and beautiful, but his emotions and actions don’t always match up in the first act, and there are points where it feels like he’s moving from one side of the stage to the other solely because he’s been directed to do so. But, that is all but forgotten as he starts singing ‘Bring Him Home’ in the second act. This is where Roemer really comes into his own with the combination of perfect tone and emotion. The night I attended, the audience began their loud and long applause before the final note was complete, and continued long after the orchestra started the next bit of transition music.

At heart, the power of Les Miserables comes from the strength of its ensemble. Although every voice onstage is impressive, there are times during some of the ensemble pieces in the first act that seem like the arrangements could be preparing to fall apart. Yet, the last note of ‘One Day More’ as the first act ends is so incredible, so perfect, so powerful and potent that there is no doubt these musicians have everything under control. 

It might be obvious that I’m avoiding talking about two of the main characters. Honestly, it’s no fault of the actors that I don’t jump to talk about Jarod Hazzard’s Marius and Rebecca Meyer as Cosette. Hazzard and Meyer are solid in their roles and have lovely voices. Personally, though, Marius and Cosette have always bothered me. Perhaps it’s because I adore Eponine so think Marius is a fool for ignoring her. Perhaps it’s because they fall in love so fast after seeing each other for two minutes. Perhaps it’s because Cosette’s part is really high and I’ve always enjoyed alto parts more. Regardless, the whole love story kind of annoys me, so I never get caught up in ‘A Heart Full of Love’ until Eponine starts singing, and I have little emotion during the wedding. 

That to say, Hazzard’s rendition of ‘Empty Chairs at Empty Tables,’ complete with Robin Hunts’s blocking and Steve Cordle’s lighting, is astounding. So much so that my notes, which tend to be decently extensive and detailed, simply say ‘Empty Chairs!!!! Holy freaking crap.’ Eloquent, I know (then again, my note about ‘Bring Him Home’ simply said ‘Yes. That. Yes.’ So, maybe eloquence isn’t my strong suit). In a show with too many highlights to talk about, Hazzard’s haunting and emotion-filled vocals make ‘Empty Chairs’ a moment that’s hard to forget. 

Director Robin Hunt definitely had her work cut out for her and she delivered. The talent on stage, high quality technical aspects, and a functional and beautiful set show she is definitely worthy of the challenge. The talent of musical director Mitch Colgan also shines from the breathtaking orchestrations of the keyboardists and percussionists, to the outstanding vocals.

The technical aspects of this show are stars in their own right. The lighting design and set, specifically, are hard to look away from. The set includes the classic Les Miserables elements - giant turn table, constant haze, the flying bridge and backdrop, etc. Yet, the most incredible part of the set, by far, is the barricade. It’s made of 3 different parts, turns 360 degrees, and both sides are climbable. It’s the kind of barricade that’s an impressive feat for any theatre, but put it in the scope of a community theatre and it is particularly outstanding.

The lighting system and design is another feature that is incredibly extensive for a community theatre. Without going into all the nerdy details, the lights are very cool, emphasize dramatic and emotional moments very well, and add a backdrop of professionalism to the experience. Amazingly, Eastlight’s production has one man who is responsible for both of these areas and more. Steve Cordle claims the titles of executive director, technical director, set design, lighting design, sound design, and sound operator. One of these positions is a big deal. To tackle all of them in a production this large and momentous is unheard of. 

However, there were some technical problems the night I attended - some that were probably one-time things (like a stage hand getting caught in the light a couple times while putting  the barricade in place), and others that were choices (such as some lighting cues that were programmed to come on or off suddenly when a fade would have suited the mood of the scene better). The sound was the biggest program of the night, though, with a couple bouts of feedback from the mics, some levels that made it hard to hear over the amazing orchestra, and an instance where an actor’s mic didn’t get shut off once he was backstage. 

Yet, part of the charm of this particular rendition is that it is still community theatre. There are times where transitions are awkward, lapel microphones are grabbed when a fight breaks out, and actors look slightly startled when the turn table stops moving at least once. Instead of this ruining the ambience of the story, however, it adds to the awe of what these incredibly talented locals are pulling off. If I can sit in a high school auditorium and be astounded by the likes of Jason Morris and Mary Kate Smith to the same degree I’ve been astounded by the voices of professionals singing the same complicated music, there’s something very special happening. The audience seemed to agree as they were already on their feet before the cast even began their bows.

All that to say, it’s more than worth your time and $19. There’s an old adage that if something can play in Peoria, it can survive elsewhere. Les Miserables at Eastlight Theatre definitely plays in Peoria.

The show runs nightly Wednesday, June 27-Saturday, June 30 at 7:30 p.m. at 1401 E. Washington St., East Peoria, IL.

And if you’re no where near Illinois, here’s a funny video made by the cast to ‘One Day More.’

(4th row, center - $19 ticket)

This Is Fiction

The InViolet Rep is presenting a little gem of a play down at the Cherry Lane. It's called This Is Fiction, and it's written by Megan Hart and directed by Shelley Butler. It's not a perfect gem; it could use a little polishing. But it's a damn good play in a damn good production.

Aubyn Philabaum, Michelle David
Photo: Jason White

The plot echos two recent shows. A grown daughter comes home with the announcement that she has written/is writing a piece about the family. In the still-running Miracle on South Division Street, it's a one-woman show. In the recently shuttered Other Desert Cities, it's a memoir. In This If Fiction, it's a novel, an important difference. As Amy (the excellent, quietly intense Aubyn Philabaum) points out, and as the title of the play reiterates, her version is fiction. (The choice to name the play itself This Is Fiction is intriguing. Is that a message to some of Hart's own family members?)

Another difference is that the story she's writing is nothing out of the ordinary--no big reveals, no shocking secrets, just her version of growing up in a flawed family with moments of love, neglect, and high drama. But her father (the touching Richard Masur), who is ill, and her sister Celia, who takes care of him, don't want their story shared with the entire world--even a fictionalized version.

Hart offers us a quietly realistic depiction of real people struggling with real people's problems. Her play is full of recognizable moments, as when the family's response to the lack of "dumpling sauce" with take-out dumplings offers a glance at simmering resentments and long-established allegiances. And she chooses no favorites; each daughter has a legitimate ax to grind, and the father's refusal to grind axes is also legitimate.

Hart's dialogue is a nice mix of lyrical and natural, with the lyrical moments never going beyond the language each character would know and use. (Example: "But did you really have to use me as your buffer? Or--not even a buffer--more like one of those blow-up bumpers that line the gutters at a bowling alley--yeah. You know--just the thing you bounce off of on your way to wherever you're trying to get.) Much of her writing is funny, though always with an underlying poignancy. In one exchange that stands out for me, Amy says to Celia, "I hate you." And Celia responds, "That’s not true. And the feeling's mutual."

The show loses its way a bit in some of the sisters' discussions, which occasionally get a little repetitive. And the breaks between scenes take too long. (This seems to be a new theatrical style, and it's consistently annoying. One director explained to me that she wanted to give the audience time to think, but all we're thinking is, get back to the play!) The bookstore could be suggested with far less scenery, and the passage of time could be shown much more efficiently. Also, it's not always clear which parts of the scene changes are and aren't meant to reflect the reality of the play. (If Amy and the father really left the cleaning up of dinner for Celia, Celia would have every right to murder them both--and would be let off by a jury of her peers.)

Michele David does full justice to Celia's anger and complexity. Bernardo Cubría is charming as Amy's potential boyfriend. Leon Rothenberg's original music is nice, but scene changes shouldn't be extended to match its length. Ashley Gardner's costumes add much to our understanding of the characters.

This Is Fiction is small and sensitive and true and ultimately more affecting than most of the plays that have made it to Broadway in the past few years.

(press ticket; second row on the aisle)

4000 Miles

Photo: Erin Baiano

Amy Herzog's 4000 Miles is a quiet, warm, delicate little play, inhabited by very real characters. It is also seamless, in the way that not very many plays are: there is no big, stagy moment near the end when a character turns to the light and reveals a big secret. Emotional healing does not clearly begin as the final curtain comes down. There is no carefully-paced lead-up to a stunning, shocking conclusion. No one learns about themselves or others in a way that is particularly big, or profound. Vera is old, but she does not die at the end; Leo is young, but he does not die--in an ironic twist!--either. There is, in short, no big catharsis; despite the largeness that the play's title implies, not a whole lot of big happens as 4000 Miles runs its course. What makes up the most of 4000 Miles is, instead, a whole mess of subtle, graceful, carefully understated realizations and confusions, emotional gains and setbacks, triumphs and disappointments. They make for a particularly satisfying visit to the Mitzi Newhouse Theater.

Amy Herzog is too interested in keeping it real to force anything on her characters except the general ebbs and flows of daily life, even during slightly trying or confusing times. Thus, her characters interact, bicker, make up, connect, disconnect, reconnect, and help or hurt each other in tiny, lingering ways as a few days--maybe a few weeks--go by. The fact that spending time with them is moving and interesting, that they are so complicated and flawed and likeable, and that the intermissionless show moves along so quickly despite the many silences, mundane conversations, and unanswered questions is a testament to Herzog and the fine, fine cast.

Most of the conversations--as well as the halting, heavy silences--take place between Leo (a wiry, tightly-wound, excellent Gabriel Ebert) and his grandmother, Vera Joseph (Mary Louise Wilson, as close to perfect as is possible). Leo, a particularly lost 20-something, has just completed a cross-country bike-ride that he began with a close friend and completed alone. He shows up unannounced at Vera's Manhattan apartment at 3:00 AM, filthy, exhausted, and just a little too upbeat and enthusiastic, given the circumstances. Vera, whose occasional memory lapses and inability to remember certain words has in no way deprived her of whip-smart insight, takes pains not to push Leo to talk, but merely sends him to take a shower and then to get some sleep.

As the two settle in, we learn about them both through conversation and silence. They have plenty in common, despite the obvious generational differences: both are politically leftist and socially very liberal; both struggle with Jane, who is Leo's mom and Vera's stepdaughter. Both are enormously self-centered and small-minded in some ways, and just as enormously sympathetic, kindhearted, and open to the world in others. And, most importantly, both are in mourning: Vera for most of the people she knows, who seem to die on her daily, and Leo for the friend he began his cross-country bike-ride with.

They're both in mourning for the past, too. Vera has long ago realized that life doesn't quite work out the way one is convinced it will when one is idealistic and young; Leo is only just beginning to struggle with the ways that his ideologies--and the friendships he's formed around them--have begun to crumble, to betray him, to die. Leo's girlfriend, Bec (Zoe Winters, rock-solid), who lives in Brooklyn, has begun to think more seriously about college, and to ponder a future that doesn't necessarily include him. Leo, stung by the rejection, is nevertheless far more perturbed by the realization that he, too, is eventually going to need to put away childish things and begin the painful, hugely daunting process of becoming a grownup. Scenes near the end of the play involving a particularly ditzy, drunk artist (Greta Lee, dead-on) and Vera's unseen, elderly neighbor strongly imply that Leo is already on his way to becoming a perfectly fine grownup; while this might reassure the audience--I was certainly happy to know it--it does nothing for Leo, who hasn't arrived at adulthood yet, and whose growing pains haven't abated by the final curtain.

Herzog refuses to tidy everything up for us by the end of her play, which leaves her characters more or less the same as they were when we found them: a little damaged, a little sad, but no more or less so than anyone else. It's no spoiler to note that Vera and Leo are ultimately going to move on, too: Leo will not be crashing at his grandmother's place forever, and while this makes Vera very sad, it also pleases her. Neither she nor Leo is happy about the act of letting go, even though they both know and accept that ultimately, life is just as much about embracing as it is about releasing the embrace.

Kaye Ballard at Feinstein's

If you are a Kaye Ballard fan and didn't get to see her Sunday, now is the time to bug her and Feinstein's about her coming back for a week or two. Because, really, you have to see her.

From the second she enters the room--to tumultuous applause--to the second she leaves, Ballard is entertainment personified, old school. First, she is funny. Very very very funny. Her material isn't exactly new, but it doesn't matter. Even the oldest, hoariest bits sparkle again when presented with her wry smile, twinkling eye, and master timing.

Her singing voice is pretty much shot, but she manages to do well by a number of songs anyway. (I could have done with less singing.) Her Mabel Mercer impression is spot on according to my friend who saw Mercer many times--and completely delightful even to those of us who never did.

Ballard has an array of beguiling show biz anecdotes. I had no idea that "Maybe This Time" was written for her (although as "Maybe Next Time"). I had no idea that Ballard was one of the originators of "Lazy Afternoon" from The Golden Apple. And her story about Sophie Tucker's response to Ballard's imitation of her is everything you'd want it to be.

The pertinent point is this: overall, Kaye Ballard remains the energetic, entertaining, delightful performer she has always been.


(press ticket; by the door)

Love Goes to Press

Imagine that someone told you that you were about to see a play about female war correspondents in World War II, written by Martha Gellhorn and Virginia Cowles, who had actually been female war correspondents in WWII. What would you expect?

Chances are that you wouldn't expect Love Goes to Press (a title not chosen by the authors and described by Gellhorn as "odious"), a three-act play that combines, not always successfully, war, romance, comedy, and farce.

Heidi Armbruster (top), Angela Pierce
Photo: Richard Termine

The play, which was a hit in London just after the war, was a flop in New York soon after. When Gellhorn read the reviews, she wrote, "I must say I agree with them that it was a very minor piece of work, but what I can't quite understand is why they seemed so angry about it." Years later, she wrote "Everyone in those London audiences knew about real war; they had lived through it, either in uniform or as embattled civilians. Knowing the real thing, they were free to laugh at this comic, unreal version of war. . . . Laughter was lifesaving escape. Theater tickets were inexpensive, and a theater was warm because of all the bodies in it. New York was something else."

Some 65 years after its premiere, how does the play hold up? In The Mint's strong but uneven production, Love Goes to Press is a pleasant evening in the theatre,  perhaps more rewarding historically than theatrically. And although I know it is my role to evaluate what Gellhorn and Cowles actually wrote, instead of what I wish they had written, I still wish they had given us a less "minor piece of work." It turns out that they didn't pen this play to express themselves in any real way--they wrote it to make money. Which they didn't. Oh well.

The plot, such as it is, is simple: Annabelle Jones and Jane Mason are war correspondents who have been friends for years. Currently they are in Italy, trying to cover the Allies' attempt to break through the German line at "Mount Sorrello," a fictional version of Monte Cassino. In contrast to many of the male correspondents, who seem happy to stay at the press camp, the women want to go where the action is and provide actual first-hand reporting. They utilize a combination of smarts, wiliness, and manipulation to try to achieve their aims. However, each is bothered by a man who gets in her way (Mason's is head of the press camp; Jones's is her ex-husband) . . .

. . . and, despite the men's intrusiveness, disrespect, and general annoyingness, the women love them.

This is played for laughs, and it is often funny--but it's also kind of bizarre. Even by the mores of the day and the setup of the play, these women are much too smart to be that stupid--particularly the one whose love interest has the bad habit of stealing her stories.

It doesn't help that director Jerry Ruiz's direction fails to set a consistent tone. The storyline is challenging, granted, with its combination of "those boys are so brave," and "I'm a giggling actress visiting the front lines," and "I want to make a difference in the world but I love you," and "I love you but I want you to be a completely different person," and so on. But, for example, the addition of sudden sappy music every time two particular characters meet is distracting, and I wish Ruiz had not allowed (or asked) Rob Breckenridge to play his role as a cartoon (it's a legit interpretation but doesn't mesh with the other performances). On the other hand, the love scene while bombs are exploding nearby is nicely done, and Ruiz's pacing keeps the show energetic and interesting.

The cast has a lot to offer--in particular, Angela Pierce and Heidi Armbruster as the two leads. Steven C. Kemp's set manages to be quite attractive while also being realistically raw and rundown. Andrea Varga's costumes are just right for the people and time period--and becoming as well--and Christian DeAngelis's lighting is appropriately evocative.

To learn about the realities of being a female war correspondent from the 1930s on, your best bet would be to read Cowles's and Gellhorn's reporting and books. For a fun and silly riff on the same topic, you could do worse than Love Goes to Press.

(fifth row center; press ticket)