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Inherit the Wind – Goodman Theatre – September 28, 2024

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Not being a Blacklist viewer, the last time I may have seen Harry Lennix he was giving Superman a hard time when all the poor guy was trying to do was save the world from General Zod.

In Goodman Theatre’s Inherit the Wind, it is Lennix, as Henry Drummond, who is trying to save the world, from the followers of the close-minded honorary Colonel Matthew Harrison Brady, in a play that is as forceful and timely today as it was when it debuted in 1955, especially when one considers the reports that came out this past week (Banned Books Week) from the American Library Association and Pen America concerning the enormous amount of book censorship taking place across the country.

I was particularly struck by the following exchange – Brady: “I do not think about things I do not think about.” Drummond: “Do you ever think about things that you DO think about?” It reminded me of the famous 2002 Rumsfeld quote – “There are known knowns. These are things we know that we know. There are known unknowns. That is to say, there are things that we know we don’t know. But there are also unknown unknowns. There are things we don’t know we don’t know.”

The other thing that struck me was how much Brady, when addressing the town, came across as a much scarier version of Professor Harold Hill. I could almost hear him saying “We got trouble, right here in Hillsboro, and that starts with T and that rhymes with D and that stands for Darwin.”

That said, the problem with the opposite side of the argument is exemplified by people like the clearly unevolved guy sitting behind me, whose 18.5 minutes of high decibel, bag rustling, open-mouth chewing at the beginning of the show made me yearn for a Rose Mary Woods to turn off his sound.

Chicago Live – Navy Pier – September 21, 2024

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I heard that they moved the Sunday performances indoors because of the rain. I wished they had done that on Saturday because of the heat – 90 degrees and blazing sun less than 24 hours before the autumnal equinox. Don’t wait, buy your new winter getaway home in Chicago while they last.

Last year I saw a dozen different acts and planned to do much the same this time around. I wanted to see Black Ensemble Theater and Dee Alexander again and catch Second City, which I haven’t gone to in years, even though I can tell you, from personal experience, that comedy is hard and outdoor comedy in front of mobile audiences, near impossible.   

After enjoying the Porchlight Music Theatre presentation that highlighted their forthcoming 2024-25 season, I began my quest for shade, to reenergize, before my next selection. (Unlike Superman, I don’t get my strength from the sun, just my Vitamin D, and I’d already gotten my required dosage for the day, based upon the new portable body monitor I’m envisioning but haven’t yet invented.)  

Unfortunately, going inside the building that once upon a time (1945-1965) housed the University of Illinois Chicago campus (or as it was known at the time, no joke, Harvard on the rocks) brought no relief, as I was now subjected to overexposure, not to the sun, but rather to children, suburbanites and toxic aromas from fast food restaurants, more burden than anyone should have to bear. 

Same time next year.    

Porchlight Music Theatre’s ICONS Gala – Ritz Carlton – September 22, 2024

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If you get invited to a brunch event at the Ritz, go. The food is great.

This was my 5th in-person Porchlight ICONS Gala (plus one online during the height of Covid), but only the second one that was a Sunday brunch. As honoree Raúl Esparza might have heard said when he played Fagin in last year’s New York City Center Encores! production of Oliver! (please excuse all the exclamation marks – they’re not mine), “please . . . , I want some more.

And, as usual, I can say the same about the entertainment Porchlight provided, a dozen songs from shows in which Esparza has appeared, flawlessly performed, if you ignore, as everyone chose to except those of us required to faithfully journal the event, the problems with a microphone that plagued one of the artists throughout, despite repeated attempts by hotel staff to replace the offending device. Rest assured, the problems didn’t detract from the audience’s enjoyment, as the performers efficiently dealt with the issues.

While all four singers brought talent and joy to the stage, I want single (double?) out two of them. First, Adrian Aguilar, whom I last saw as Tommy DeVito in Jersey Boys, for not taking even a moment off, displaying his showmanship at all times, in every little movement and facial expression, whether he was singing or reacting to others.

Second, Ava Stovall, for her rendition of Maybe This Time (Cabaret), which, justifiably, brought the biggest round of applause from the audience.

My only complaint is that I would have liked to have seen a full-out dance version of Let’s Do the Time Warp Again (Rocky Horror Picture Show), because the song is just not the same without the choreography.

During his interview by Paul Lisnek, Esparza was down-to-earth, engaging and humorous, treating us to his voice and mannerism impressions of Stephen Sondheim; his memories of starting out in Chicago in the worst production he’s ever been in; and his opinion about the movie Evita (not a high one) and what he went through in the context of playing Che (Evita) in the national tour his own way.

 

Printers Row Lit Fest – September 7, 2024

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I started with the Sisters in Crime, represented by four women mystery writers, including Sara Paretsky. As there had been when I saw her there in 2018, a minute mystery competition was promoted. But I was so bored after listening to the first writer read from her forthcoming book, that it was no mystery that I left after 10 minutes to wander around, thereby missing the contest.

At last year’s Lit Fest I recorded a 10-second sound bite for the Get Lit Podcast, As I still haven’t received my imaginary royalties from that appearance, I decided to forego treating them to further words of wisdom this year.

I came across a tent selling t-shirts with messages like “The book was better” and “I’ll stop when I finish this page, chapter, book.” Tempting, but no sale.

For all you Wordle addicts, I came across a book of Wordle limericks, written by a retired oncologist from Fresno (please note, not a single five-letter word in that sentence, or this one).

Deciding to actually listen to a speaker, I dropped in on Thomas Maier, who thoroughly engaged the audience with stories about his career in journalism; his book and later Showtime series Masters of Sex; the recently-released Paramount+ docuseries entitled Mafia Spies: The Inside Story of the CIA, Gangsters, JFK and Castro, based on his 2019 book of the same name; and his newest book, Montauk to Manhattan: An American Novel.

I forgive him for the self-important addition of “An American Novel,” as it was undoubtedly the publisher’s idea.

3 . . . 2 . . . 1 . . . Blastoff – September 6, 2024

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SpaceX, move over. Stranded astronauts, here I come. It only took me 10 days to build the Artemis rocket and its gantry, even with work stoppages for snacks, naps and the occasional glimpse of the funniest show on television – the Chicago White Sox.

I’ve built a Lego piano, radio, typewriter (all three with moving parts), globe, Atlas rocket, space shuttle and bouquet of roses that I watered the other day; they look that good.

But nothing prepared me for the massive effort required to construct the Artemis set of 3601 pieces, counting a few, not even noticeable, that fell off from somewhere, but the absence of which will not affect functionality, unlike say, door plugs that fall off or propulsion systems that fail.

The 370-page instruction manual ought to be of more help. I’m sure it would be if it were written by Ambrose Monk.

And the online construction video wherein some guy in Australia puts the whole thing together in 32 minutes and 58 seconds just doesn’t fly.

Nevertheless, my personal air and space museum doesn’t look too bad, unless your device doesn’t allow you to see the photo I’ve attached, then never mind.

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Network – Invictus Theatre Company at Windy City Playhouse – September 1, 2024

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I really liked this new theatrical adaptation of Paddy Chayefsky’s movie Network, and not just because a friend of mine was in it.

They tell you to come early to add to your enjoyment of the immersive process, and, sure enough, the bulk of the excellent cast is on and around the stage, in character, doing their business as if really preparing for a tv show that is getting ready to go on air.

I learned a new word, adamantine, a description that, I admit, may occasionally have personal relevance.

Even though the film came out in 1976, the script, the gist of which I’m certain remains unchanged, remains eerily current.

An exception would be the way people were watching Howard Beale back then, the reference being to 21-inch televisions. That seems archaic in the age of size matters.

Speaking of TV sets, the play’s use of screens was well-conceived and executed, a far cry from the use of the screen I criticized in my review of The Band’s Visit.

And speaking of size mattering, the sex scene, normally a boring or uncomfortable, or both, moment in a play for me, was short, cleverly imagined, useful to the story line and funny.

Clown Torture and Spectrum Colors Arranged by Chance – Art Institute of Chicago – August 30, 2024

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I’ve never been scared of clowns, as some people are. I’ve always liked them, until I saw Bruce Nauman’s Clown Torture.

The exhibit, at the museum until November, is described as “utter cacophony, an aural and visual assault.” Is that a good thing? Not to me.

The “artist’s” suggested viewing time of the four films is an hour. A minute is more than enough. The only one that I found at all interesting was of a clown sitting on an accessible toilet reading a magazine (that should tell you something), but the awful racket from the other films, playing simultaneously, drove me from the theater before I could fully appreciate the profundity of the bathroom’s mise-en-scène.

Fortunately, I thought, I could salvage my visit with the soon-to-close Elizabeth Kelly 10-piece exhibit of Spectrum Colors Arranged by Chance. Swing and a miss.

Using papier gommette, which is, we are told, commonly used by French schoolchildren, Kelly’s work fits right into that mode.

She is described as one of the 20th century’s defining artists, creating collages using the “modified random technique.” If it’s random, what skill is she bringing to the table? I’m guessing this is one instance where no one would be able to tell the difference between Kelly’s work and one produced by artificial intelligence, except perhaps by the price tags.

Death, Let Me Do My Show – Steppenwolf Theatre – August 24, 2024

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If you were a fan of Crazy Ex-Girlfriend, which I was, it was impossible to resist the temptation to see Rachel Bloom’s current theatrical production.

That said, I didn’t know what to expect from the show, but whatever it was, it certainly wasn’t what I got, which was part stand-up comedy about life, death and Bloom’s last few years, and part therapy session for her, with a few typically dirty and/or irreverent Bloom songs mixed in, the last of which, my favorite, may or may not have been titled I Am My Daughter’s Well-Intentioned Dog.

What was promoted as a one-woman show turned out to also include the embodiment of death, as played by David Hull, who played White Josh on Crazy Ex. In retrospect I guess the title of the show should have been my first clue in that regard.

Spoiler alert (not really as the show closes today), Hull, wearing a Covid mask, first inserted himself into the show as a heckler in the audience. Before he did his reveal, Bloom ripped into him in humorously startling fashion.

From there, things got serious, then they got funny, then rinse and repeat for the full 90 minutes.

Through Ella’s Eyes – Logan Center for the Arts – August 17, 2024

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In celebration of Ella Fitzgerald’s 107th birthday, the Chicago Jazz Philharmonic put on a show.

I didn’t know that number was one of the big ones, like 50, 75, 100, as this was my first time at someone’s 107th birthday party.

At that, I almost didn’t make it in time, what with all the street closures for the DNC, which apparently stands for Drive No Cars.

After arriving, I wish I had been late enough to miss the opening “aren’t we all wonderful” speeches.

I could have used those extra minutes, en route, to further gaze in awe at the in-progress Obama Presidential Center, perhaps the ugliest building I’ve ever seen.

But, since it isn’t yet completed, there’s still hope. I would suggest that they hire some graffiti artists to work on the outer walls, like the city did a few days ago to paint murals on the CTA trains.

The highlight of the first half of the concert was the opening number, A Lost Panorama. It was followed by Tributary, which I wish had flowed in a different direction. For me, the three featured woodwind players lacked sax appeal.

After intermission, the second half started with a “lively discussion” between conductor/arranger Orbert Davis and long-time jazz critic Howard Reich about Fitzgerald. Though I came for music, not talk, I enjoyed the conversation.

That said, my biggest disappointment about the program was the insertion of too much banter throughout, so much so that the finale, which I was highly anticipating, It Don’t Mean a Thing (If It Ain’t Got that Swing), ironically got cut.

The other interruption to my enjoyment of the wonderful orchestra was the constant encouragement by Davis, and vocalists Bobbi Wilson and Margaret Murphy-Webb, to applaud. Jazz musicians are so needy.

I like to show my appreciation, but really, is there a need to applaud after every five second solo? I had to soak my hands in Epsom salts when I got home.

I will, nevertheless, single out three people from the orchestra – John Moulder on guitar, Leandro Lopez Vary on piano, and Zara Zaharieva, who is now officially my all-time favorite female Bulgarian violinist, not just for her skills, but also for the enthusiasm she evidenced throughout the evening.

The Last Wide Open – American Blues Theater – August 16, 2024

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Thank you to the American Blues Theater for using the American spelling of theater in its name and on the building it moved into last year, which I visited for the first time for this show. Noah Webster would be proud.

Now that I’ve experienced their flexible studio space, dressed up as a diner, with the audience at tables, in this immersive experience, I’ll have to go back some time for a different production in their larger space, perhaps their annual production of It’s a Wonderful Life.

To augment the diner experience, each member of the audience even got served cheese and sausage (presumably Polish, given the show we were seeing), but only one piece per customer, so I’m glad I stopped first at BryAnna’s down the block, my first time at this nice restaurant, to have some Salvadoran and Guatemalan cuisine, though I found their pollo amarillo rather bland for my taste buds. I don’t know what sensation “Guatemalan spices” are supposed to elicit, but it just tasted like chicken to me. I only saw one item on the menu that used the word “spicy”. Next time.

In any event, the show was excellent. Real life husband and wife Michael Mahler and Dara Cameron play two people who may or may not be destined for each other in a multiverse that, fortunately, merely asks for acceptance rather than trying to explain itself in 80 minutes, for as much as I enjoy listening to Max Tegmark and Brian Greene, they make my head spin, at least in this incarnation.