Author: christophersoden@sbcglobal.net

It’s the night before Alicia’s wedding and her fiance keeps calling Jason (her brother) trying to track her down. Alicia’s visiting Jason’s hotel room (hers is on the same floor) to get some quality time before the big event. Jason (Mathieu Myrick) and Alicia (Stepanie Oustalet) are close, and she confides that she’s having second thoughts about her bridegroom. Jason keeps his sense of humor. Perhaps his younger sister is suffering from 11^th hour jitters. Alicia presents him with a taped message from their mother. Their mom committed suicide, so it’s understandable that he’d rather wait for such an ominous portent.

In this frantic, chaotic life of ours, there are many kinds of intimacy. Wife to husband, parent to child, brother to brother, aunt to niece, buddy to buddy, cousin to cousin. They are all different, but one’s no better than another. Siblings share a special bond. They can be frank in ways others can’t, because they will always be connected. Come what may. Alicia and Jason have suffered numerous ordeals: missing father, mother they lost too soon, pieces of their history that are sketchy. They’ve carried one another through difficult times, and seem to be reasonably intact. The two start raiding the stock of matrimonial wine and getting up to mischief. They play truth or dare. A customary trope of the theatre is to provide the characters with alcohol, making it easier to face painful secrets. In this case, the fact they’re in love with one another.

The subject of incest has been the subject of numerous plays. Tis pity she’s a whore, House of yes, Mourning becomes Electra, Fool for love. Franky Gonzalez’s Before you get married bears some resemblance to Sam Shepard’s enigmatic drama. Like May and Eddie, Alicia and Jayson don’t have the whole story. There are details they haven’t got. In both, the sister’s beau is a buffoon. In both, brother and sister have been subjected to trauma, and adult catastrophes, long before any child should. Even the titles, Fool for love and Before you get married, suggest a romantic comedy, until the curtain rises. It might be different if Jason and Alicia were iconoclasts. If what others think didn’t matter. But maybe it does. And, in any case, they believe that what they want is wrong.

In Before you get married, Gonzalez explores what most of us believe is the pinnacle of human attachment. That the intensity of wedlock is far stronger. Which (again) is not to say that Platonic relationships are not as meaningful, or poor substitutes, or even a given. As a culture we assume so much. There are lousy marriages and deeply caring friendships. Jason and Alicia are faced with a dilemma. However they find themselves now, they were raised as brother and sister. No rationalizing can change that. And so the two are left to muddle through an impossible situation. One way or another they must forfeit a relationship they cherish.

Franky Gonzalez has created a phenomenal work of theatre, here, navigating a profoundly disturbing topic with reflection and sober reasoning. There are so many opportunities here to miscalculate or back off or equivocate. He took on a devastating subject and forged a powerful, unflinching narrative, of two people who find themselves shaken to the core, through no fault of their own. By making the show an immersive experience, we are asked to be braver than we might want. Gonzalez is a masterful, intelligent artisan.

It’s hard to do justice to Myrick and Oustalet’s performance in this emotionally charged show. Needless to say, tone here is everything, and both bring nuance and meticulous presence to a drama that’s 90% visceral. With the audience being so close, it’s amazing they’re able to keep focused, engaging us in every syllable, inflection, layer of meaning.

Bishop Arts Theatre Center presented: Before you get married (an immersive experience) by Franky Gonzalez. 215 South Tyler Street, Dallas, Texas 75208-4934. 214-948-0716. bishopartstheatrecenter.org

 

An enduring detail of Dallas Cultural History, the Good Latimer tunnel once connected Deep Ellum to the rest of Dallas. Back in the day, Deep Ellum was the hub of frantic nightlife, with jazz and blues, pool halls, dominoes, The Cotton Club, weed and nose candy among its distractions. In the 1920’s it comprised the largest gathering of African Americans in the South, where you could find gambling, dancing, drinking and (seriously) religion. All in one night. Sadly the day came, when the Good Latimer was sealed off, though not necessarily the glory days of that district.

Ravinia Whitfield and Good Latimer have been a couple, living together for more than 30 years. It takes awhile, before we realize they’re not married. They fold laundry, sweep, relax, read, and eat at the table. When they play cards, it’s blackjack, which feels like an odd choice. Seems they both worked at a casino before they met. When Ravinia has an accident, it’s Good who rushes to her aid, and waits by her hospital bed, till she wakes up. They go home together, as if this is how it’s meant to be.

As she describes it, one day, Ravinia realizes she is no longer in love with Good. She doesn’t offer this information freely, and takes no pleasure in disclosing it. Naturally, Good finds this news alarming, and it doesn’t help to know she hasn’t fallen for another, nor was there one, triggering event. Ravinia is nothing if not practical. She doesn’t scream, or get dramatic, or tell him to leave or weep. Since they’re not married, there’s nothing forcing them to stay together. But then, there never was. Nobody lied, or held anyone hostage, or faked pregnancy, and so forth. Ravinia was never motivated by some salient imperative, so her next step isn’t obvious.

Playwright Angela Hanks has concocted a very cunning and subtle conceit that elucidates Ravinia’s dilemma, and the reasons why human beings choose to cohabitate. Why do people choose to live together, to look past the other’s exasperating habits and inexplicable blindspots, whatever the pretext? Good Latimer is Ravinia’s spouse and a tunnel that took African Americans to the part of town that was theirs. A place where they were free to kick up their heels and mingle, and celebrate life. But that tunnel was filled in years ago. Deep Ellum still exists as a fairly high-spirited bohemian district, but there’s no going back to the way it was.

Ravinia must ask herself the timeless (Talking Heads) question: “How did I get here? Is any any marriage perfect? Do I want someone to take care of me? None of these are easily answered, and Hanks takes no refuge in gimmicks (though she includes some oracles) or disrespecting Ravinia’s solemn quandary. In love or not, she obviously cares deeply for Good, and owes him the truth. Good Latimer is an unsettling, sometimes melancholy piece, suffused with warmth and humanity.

Kitchen Dog Theater presented The World Premiere of Good Latimer, by Angela Hanks. It played (and streamed) October 7th-24th, 2021. 4774 Algiers Street Dallas, TX 75207. 214-953-1055. www.kitchendogtheater.org

 

Political satire is all the rage right now. Desperate times call for merciless punditry, all the better to ease the chaos that rises like Noah’s flood. Terms like: “partisanship”, “tribalism”, “unruly” and “insurrection” barely seem to cover it. If it all. To the rescue comes Lauren Gunderson with The Taming, a cunningly constructed fable. Three women find themselves somehow in a rather wild dialectic on the foundations of democracy and constitutional government. Gunderson has written a smart, glib allegory on how practical, decent, too often polarized folks can coexist. The Taming is entertaining, if not altogether substantive.

Patricia and Bianca find themselves held prisoner in an upscale hotel room, with no idea how they got there. Patricia works for a carnivorous, ultraconservative senator. Bianca is a left-wing progressive liberal, who writes a very successful blog. Both have the fierce courage of their convictions, and once the other is identified as an arch-nemesis, the litany of name-calling ensues. The two square off, while trying to ascertain how they’ve found themselves in this posh prison, nursing brutal hangovers. Enter Katherine, Georgia’s contestant for the Miss America Contest. Not only is she a devoted, articulate patriot (as are the other two) she is on a crusade, to salvage our sinking society. Gracious and respectful though she may be, she refuses to parole Bianca and Patricia until they work out a manifesto to restore America to its former integrity. Such as it was. The three embark on an excursion to colonial times, when the forefathers were hammering out the details of the Constitution.

The program notes explain The Taming is Gunderson’s spin on Shakespeare’s Taming of the Shrew, which struck me as odd. Shakespeare’s comedy considers male versus female dynamic; dominance and capitulation to the alpha. While Gunderson’s comedy is nothing if not feminist. If Katherine has the upper hand it’s nothing to do with her gender or sexual orientation. If anything The Taming mocks these stereotypes, which is fine, because, it is a spoof.

Director Cheryl Denson has juggled the elements of bickering, optimism and subversiveness with great skill, using the considerable strengths of Kimberly Michelle Thomas, Leslie Marie Colins and Jenna Caire to best advantage. The actors evolve as the narrative does, skillfully avoiding the appearance of contrivance. Denson handles the improbable premise with a light, yet firm touch, sailing through without missing a note.

WaterTower Theatre presented: The Taming: October 13th-24th, 2021. 15650 Addison Rd, Addison, TX 75001. 972-450-6232 Boxoffice@Watertowertheatre.org

Classics Theatre Project’s The Hairy Ape opens with spectacular moment: jarring electric guitars, pounding, foreboding drumbeat, muscular, sweaty, grimy guys in the boiler room of a luxury liner. Our focus is drawn to a man (later identified as “Bob”) crouching at center stage, his body tough but somewhat rounded. No fat. We hear the men grousing and growling, sneering and guffawing. They sing and drink from bottles and flasks. They joke and mock each other good-naturedly. An older guy, experienced enough to share wisdom, often lapses into the fanciful, perhaps something to nourish the famished souls of his fellows. But Bob waves it all away, he doesn’t need nobody, no respite, no kindness. He says, “I gotta keep moving. Moving” Like a force of nature.

Then, an attractive young heiress asks to tour, against the warnings of the staff. She wanders into the boiler room, just as Bob is having a meltdown, screaming he’s gonna kill another guy, beat him down, this sort of thing. The girl, obviously unacquainted with this kind of venting and bluster, is stricken. When goes to comfort her, she pulls away convulsively, calling him a “horrible, horrible man.” Unexpectedly, this wounds him deeply. This incident sends him on a journey. He comes to New York City, stoked by a buddy’s pitch for the Communist Party. It makes sense, considering their rhetoric of the wealthy exploiting the working class. He encounters the effete hoi polloi, a political men’s club, the company of other guys in jail, even the zoo.

At the outset, Bob seems like a clown, a caricature. It’s fair to say male paradigms have evolved since the 1920’s. But males as creatures far closer to the visceral, the unvarnished, the enraged, goes back to ancient Greece. I imagine most men get this. We all fall prey to cultural expectations. Bob gets along in the milieu he knows best, where reason is scorned and courtesy pretentious. Meeting the young lady makes him feel inadequate. He’s not wrong when he says he’s as good as anybody. His life is formidable and valuable. He’s just never learned to watch and imitate. So bent on proving himself, it’s against his nature to fit in.

Joey Folsom has conceived an overwhelming, cunning adaptation of Eugene O’Neill’s The Hairy Ape. A darkly sardonic exploration of manhood and man’s purpose as King of the Mammals. Folsom has amplified and exponentially distilled, O’Neill’s implacable pathos. Our profound ache to subsist in a world of chaos.

The Classics Theatre Project presents Eugene O’Neill’s The Hairy Ape, playing October 13^th through November 6^th, 2021. The Core Theater:518 West Arapaho Road, Richardson, Texas 75080. 214-930-5338. www.thecoretheatre.org

 

The “fourth wall” is a theatrical convention that goes back to ancient times. Like other illusions, it amounts to an agreement between audience and players: a wall between that (for all intents and purposes) functions as a window to the characters’ lives. I couldn’t tell you who first speculated that being observed changes the behavior of those being observed. Only that A. R. Gurney has taken this trope and run with it. No stranger to innovation, one of Gurney’s most noteworthy pieces (The Dining Room) features characters that change with the evolving milieu of a dining room in the same home that changes with shifting cultural mores, over time.

At the beginning of The Fourth Wall,  Roger has solicited Julia (a family friend) to offer an opinion on his wife Peggy’s unorthodox design choices. In their otherwise posh living room, she has left one wall completely bare. No paintings, no decor, no furniture, no shelves. To make matters worse, everything focuses attention on this blank wall. To what end? Has Peggy lost her mind? Julia vehemently agrees that a serious problem exists. When confronted, Peggy nonchalantly acknowledges that yes, it was intentional. In the current vernacular, this admission is the triggering event.

I don’t mean to sound so grim, though the characters certainly make quite an issue over poorly conceived aesthetic. Now Peggy begins to toy with the conjecture that a theoretical audience exists, watching (and therefore tacitly) and participating in their lives. Upheaval ensues. The characters (performers?) consider decisions in the abstract. Peggy’s dialogue takes on a rhetorical tone. Her marriage to Roger is in jeopardy. Julia connives to exploit this by seducing Roger. Are these turn of events happening because they might, or they must? Are they shaped by a strategy of the playwright, or contemporary standards? A Professor of Dramatic Theory (as I recall?) is enlisted to clarify and hopefully, resolve this quandary that threatens their very existence.

Under the sharp and intuitive direction of Eddy Herring: Kenneth Fulenwider (Roger) Sheila Rose (Julia) Janette Oswald (Peggy) and Kelton Neals (Floyd) navigate this delightfully absurd premise with flexibility and panache. Are they acting on the playwright’s imperative or his whims? Oswald’s very satisfying as the pioneer, who embraces the intrepid with relaxed eclat. Rose is charming and amusing, mixing sophistication with thirsty cunning. Fulenwider is hilarious as the beleaguered, flustered husband, torn between integrity and infidelity. Neals brings zany erudition to Floyd, who juggles between the conceptual and practical. Should he venture into the abstract or the comfortable familiar?

Allen’s Community Theatre presents: The Fourth Wall, playing from September 17^th through October 9^th, 2021. 1210 East Main Street # 300, Allen, Texas, 75002. 844-822-8849. www.AllensCommunityTheatre.net

 

Kylie and Esther are Mike’s patients, a gifted physical therapist. He is assisted by Randy, who wants to be a P.T. himself. Mike mentors Randy, and they’re friends. Kylie is an extraordinary ballet dancer. Her career is jeopardized when a last minute substitute fails to catch her. She is looking to Mike to achieve miracles. Esther is receiving rehabilitation from knee surgery. She is a Holocaust survivor. Hoping the two will have a healing effect on each other, Mike schedules their sessions at the same time. Perhaps Esther’s fortitude and gratitude, in the face of adversity, might inspire Kylie?

The title of Marilyn Millstone’s drama: Proprioception, means the way your body moves through the world. Millstone tacitly asks, is our mien, our demeanor, a response to internal struggles or in spite of them? Each character has a hidden side, and unresolved issues lurking deeper than personality would suggest. Each character has been deprived of something cherished. Something precious to any of us. Through no fault of their own. Proprioception addresses anti-semitism, racism, the arrogance of privilege, though not in ways we might expect. Millstone reveals painful details of Mike, Esther and Kylie’s lives. Aspects that have kept them from moving forward.

Director Carol Rice has brought a sure hand to this complex narrative. The pacing is spot on and the tone, pitch perfect. Ms. Rice never avoids complicated plays, or involved projects. Show after show exhibits her subtle, bravura expertise. Mike (Jason R. Davis) Esther (Sue Doty-Goodner) Randy (Bennett Frohock) Kylie (Jill Lightfoot) deliver nuanced, heartfelt performances, that are touching and entertaining. This is a demanding script, but you’d never guess from the confidence and precision of these gifted actors. Davis is self-assured, but down-to-earth and accessible. Doty-Goodner carries her burdens with humor and dignity. Lightfoot gradually moves from ahubris, to warmth and vulnerability. Brohock brings an avid congeniality yet pensive undercurrent to the story.

Rover Dramawerks presents the world premiere of Marilyn Millstone’s Proprioception: winner of the 2020 AACT NewPlayFest Award. Playing September 9th-18th, 2021. Cox Playhouse: 1517 H Avenue, Plano, Texas 75074. 972-849-0358. www.roverdramawerks.com

Kylie and Esther are Mike’s patients, a gifted physical therapist. He is assisted by Randy, who wants to be a P.T. himself. Mike mentors Randy, and they’re friends. Kylie is an extraordinary ballet dancer. Her career is jeopardized when a last minute substitute fails to catch her. She is looking to Mike to achieve miracles. Esther is receiving rehabilitation from knee surgery. She is a Holocaust survivor. Hoping the two will have a healing effect on each other, Mike schedules their sessions at the same time. Perhaps Esther’s fortitude and gratitude, in the face of adversity, might inspire Kylie?

The title of Marilyn Millstone’s drama: Proprioception, means the way your body moves through the world. Millstone tacitly asks, is our mien, our demeanor, a response to internal struggles or in spite of them? Each character has a hidden side, and unresolved issues lurking deeper than personality would suggest. Each character has been deprived of something cherished. Something precious to any of us. Through no fault of their own. Proprioception addresses anti-semitism, racism, the arrogance of privilege, though not in ways we might expect. Millstone reveals painful details of Mike, Esther and Kylie’s lives. Aspects that have kept them from moving forward.

Director Carol Rice has brought a sure hand to this complex narrative. The pacing is spot on and the tone, pitch perfect. Ms. Rice never avoids complicated plays, or involved projects. Show after show exhibits her subtle, bravura expertise. Mike (Jason R. Davis) Esther (Sue Doty-Goodner) Randy (Bennet Frohock) Kylie (Jill Lightfoot) deliver nuanced, heartfelt performances, that are touching and entertaining. This is a demanding script, but you’d never guess from the confidence and precision of these gifted actors. Davis is self-assured, but down-to-earth and accessible. Doty-Goodner carries her burdens with humor and dignity. Lightfoot gradually moves from hubris, to warmth and vulnerability. Brohock brings an avid congeniality yet pensive undercurrent to the story.

Rover Dramawerks presents the world premiere of Marilyn Millstone’s Proprioception: winner of the 2020 AACT NewPlayFest Award. Playing September 9th-18th, 2021. Cox Playhouse: 1517 H Avenue, Plano, Texas 75074. 972-849-0358. www.roverdramawerks.com

Kylie and Esther are Mike’s patients, a gifted physical therapist. He is assisted by Randy, who wants to be a P.T. himself. Mike mentors Randy, and they’re friends. Kylie is an extraordinary ballet dancer. Her career is jeopardized when a last minute substitute fails to catch her. She is looking to Mike to achieve miracles. Esther is receiving rehabilitation from knee surgery. She is a Holocaust survivor. Hoping the two will have a healing effect on each other, Mike schedules their sessions at the same time. Perhaps Esther’s fortitude and gratitude, in the face of adversity, might inspire Kylie?

The title of Marilyn Millstone’s drama: Proprioception, means the way your body moves through the world. Millstone tacitly asks, is our mien, our demeanor, a response to internal struggles or in spite of them? Each character has a hidden side, and unresolved issues lurking deeper than personality would suggest. Each character has been deprived of something cherished. Something precious to any of us. Through no fault of their own. Proprioception addresses anti-semitism, racism, the arrogance of privilege, though not in ways we might expect. Millstone reveals painful details of Mike, Esther and Kylie’s lives. Aspects that have kept them from moving forward.

Director Carol Rice has brought a sure hand to this complex narrative. The pacing is spot on and the tone, pitch perfect. Ms. Rice never avoids complicated plays, or involved projects. Show after show exhibits her subtle, bravura expertise. Mike (Jason R. Davis) Esther (Sue Doty-Goodner) Randy (Bennett Frohock) Kylie (Jill Lightfoot) deliver nuanced, heartfelt performances, that are touching and entertaining. This is a demanding script, but you’d never guess from the confidence and precision of these gifted actors. Davis is self-assured, but down-to-earth and accessible. Doty-Goodner carries her burdens with humor and dignity. Lightfoot gradually moves from ahubris, to warmth and vulnerability. Brohock brings an avid congeniality yet pensive undercurrent to the story.

Rover Dramawerks presents the world premiere of Marilyn Millstone’s Proprioception: winner of the 2020 AACT NewPlayFest Award. Playing September 9th-18th, 2021. Cox Playhouse: 1517 H Avenue, Plano, Texas 75074. 972-849-0358. www.roverdramawerks.com

In 1929 Christopher Isherwood was sent down from University, and as a result, decided to visit Berlin, to seek his destiny as a writer. This was during the Nazi Occupation. There he discovered The Kit Kat Klub, and became friends with the British chanteuse, Sally Bowles. From this intrepid expedition to the underbelly of Germany came Isherwood’s famous novel: Goodbye To Berlin. Next came the play, I Am A Camera, by John Van Druten, and after that, Masteroff, Kander and Ebb’s Cabaret, in the early 1960’s.

Cabaret was a watershed in the American Theatre Canon. Nothing that came after would ever be the same. No one knew what to make of it. Here was a musical that addressed the creeping, sinister triumph of the Nazi Regime, and subsequently genocide, antisemitism, and the “banality of evil”. The premise: a crumby nightclub where people come to ignore their troubles, is deceptively simple. On its face, Cabaret suggests something harmless. We all have troubles, what problem could there be with escapism? How could otherwise caring souls turn a blind eye to the systematic persecution of the Jews living in Berlin? And Sally Bowles (the mediocre nightclub singer) becomes the metaphor for fatuous hedonism. For all her loopy energy, she’s quite likable. Which is what makes her curiously defiant performance of “Cabaret”, all the more disturbing. It comes off as a rebuke to Clifford, who’s disgusted with her unconscionable choices.

Clifford spends his first night in Berlin at The Kit Kat Club. He rents a room in a boarding house from Fraulein Schneider, a sweet elderly woman, who has experienced much disappointment. The club is a dive, hosted by the Emcee, a caricature of grotesque, salacious degeneracy. There he meets Sally, all frantic charm and hopped up chatter. She shows up at his tiny apartment, more or less inviting herself to move in. She introduces him to the wicked nightlife she knows quite well, much to Clifford’s delight. He neglects his aspirations as an author, spending most of his time kicking up his heels. Then he starts noticing the rise of Fascism and escalating persecution of the Jews. Cabaret culminates when Clifford confronts Sally with her appalling, shallow apathy. Sally refuses to go with him, when he returns to America, as the Nazis begin turning everything upside down.

Outcry Theatre has been producing sharp, intelligent, powerful shows for quite awhile, now. Cabaret is no exception. The cast is dedicated, avid and memorably touching. Their ability to evoke such an absorbing narrative with minimal sets and demanding rehearsal schedule, is truly remarkable. It takes unusual skill and chutzpah to bring a musical like Cabaret to the stage, with its chilling irony. It’s odd mixture of wry humor and dreadful portent. Masteroff, Kander and Ebb fashioned a musical where content has cunning, duplicitous meaning. Where the subtext points a finger at the audience. This is not a show for repertory, impulse or amateurs. Outcry has chosen a show with stunning relevance in our current crisis of mob rule and upheaval. And the cast has come through with astonishing virtuosity.

Outcry Theatre presented Cabaret July-15th-18th, 2021 at Cox Playhouse. Outcry’s address is: 1915 North Central Expressway, Suite 120, Plano, Texas 75075. 972-836-7206. www.outcrytheatre.com

MainStage’s Me & Jezebel

Written by Elizabeth J. Fuller, Me and Jezebel is a comedy inspired by Fuller’s true experience. During a hotel strike, a friend asks if she and her family can can put up Bette Davis, for a day or two. Of course, Elizabeth says yes. Who wouldn’t host a legendary film star, with the inimitable panache of Bette Davis? She makes all the preparations for her special guest, and as we might expect, is a bit awestruck. When Davis arrives, she takes charge, more or less. She is wearing a big hat and goggley sunglasses that conceal most of her face. Bette Davis is nothing if not attitude. She mentions the pothole in the drive way, the terrible mattress, the constant “Yabba-Dabba- Doo” she hears when their son Christopher, watches The Flintstones. “Keeeee-reyst!” she complains. “It makes me want to VOM-it!”

One of the dangers here, is the public’s unending love affair with cantankerous old ladies who have a repertoire of obscenities and curses. At the end of the day, we find such behavior quaint, which is facile and certainly no favor to Ms. Davis. Fuller recounts her behavior as outspoken, if not entirely reasonable. Pushy, but not obnoxious. Bette Davis might not be submissive, but neither is she a harridan. Jezebel and Me is set during the 1980’s when Davis’ daughter released My Mother’s Keeper, right on the heels of Christina Crawford’s memoir: Mommie, Dearest. When she and Elizabeth watch the interview with her daughter, Davis is not thrilled. But she doesn’t have a meltdown, which is surprising. She’s bitter and hurt, but classy. Again and again, we see her considerate side, she’s patient with the noisy Christopher, takes Elizabeth out to lunch and cooks for them. As if she’s trying to balance her outrageousness with grace. A lesser playwright might have copped to caricature or character assassination (which often happens, when a celebrity is played in drag). Fuller lets us see her as dignified, but defiant, when sleighted.

Bailey Maxwell puts in an admirable performance as Elizabeth. She’s bright, intelligent, tactful and gung-ho, without being perky or a door mat. When she talks about the novel she’s writing, we don’t surmise she’s a hobbyist who thinks anyone can do it. Doug Fowler, as the sublime, regal rebel of the silver screen is impressive. Fowler undoubtedly has the knack for the best kind of comedy. The sort that elicits helpless laughter. There’s little resemblance (and I say this as a compliment) but it absolutely doesn’t matter. He delivers the role with such confidence and sentience, he evokes the lady herself. My teenage nephew (with shocking ignorance of Davis’ amazing career) thoroughly loved the play. Laughing right along with me.

Mainstage Irving presents Jezebel and Me: playing July 23rd-August 7^th, 2021. Dupree Theater- Irving-Los Colinas- Arts Center– 3333 North MacArthur Blvd, Irving Texas 75062. 972-252-2787. www.mainstageirving.com