Author: christophersoden@sbcglobal.net

In 1960 Harper Lee published the groundbreaking novel: To Kill a Mockingbird, a startling, unabashedly frank exploration of race relations, gender identity, ignorance and poverty. It exposed the ugly, sad, brutality of fear and resentment, without being didactic. Set in 1930, in the fictional town of Maycomb, Alabama, Mockingbird details a crime: Tom Robinson is accused of raping Mayella Ewell. The town is in upheaval. Some want to lynch him, some hold with their better angels.

The narrative turns on Attorney Atticus Finch and his children, Scout and Jem. Finch has been assigned to defend Robinson, undeniably the best man for the job. Scout, as a grown woman, describes their life; the neighbors and odd ducks, the friendly and petulant. As incidents transpire, we get the drift of attitudes and values of the community. The cranky dowager with the nice garden, the farmer who must pay Atticus by barter, Tom Robinson’s wife sitting in the segregated section of the courtroom, Mayella watching her father as she testifies. Harper Lee takes us through the intersections between the different classes. She does so without pity or disparagement. Each character (flawed as they may be) is treated with dignity and respect. Never quaint.

Director James Prince has a genius for performance and presentation. In the first act we see five doors to five homes, making a circle. The acting space is surrounded by thresholds to different families and we, the audience might be another household, completing the circle. There’s something tribal, perhaps, something enigmatic about this layout. It emphasizes our participation the story. An equanimity between us and the townspeople. In the second act, the courtroom encircles the stage, again pulling us into the spectacle and action. Are we bearing witness to a ritual, an evocation of the painful truths so often buried under affectation and complicity?

Mr. Prince navigates this versatile, dedicated cast of nineteen (that’s right!?) with kinetic wisdom and rhythmic poise. Each character has their particular demeanor, their own energy: clicking like a cricket or sputtering like a jalopy or sailing like a sloop. Prince orchestrates with precision and grace. Each performer keeps their head in the game, focused and motivated.Kudos to James Prince for his inspired and masterful direction.

Over time, I have seen numerous productions at The Core ( Inferno, Our Town, Our Town, Wait Until Dark..) and never once I have been disappointed. Their slant on dramas familiar and exotic is always intriguing, insightful,and entertaining. The players are spirited, the energy pops and the interpretations sublime. Don’t miss this opportunity to catch To Kill a Mockingbird at The Core in Richardson

The Core presents Harper Lee’s To Kill A Mockingbird, playing January 26^th, 2026. 518 West Arapaho Road, Suite 115, Richardson, Texas 75080. thecoretheatre.org (214) 930-5338

For the third year, Richardson Theatre Centre has staged their holiday radio play. By now an industry standard, a radio play reveals the actors as they broadcast: zany skits, carols sung with gusto or melancholy, by choir, duet and solo. (Songs are meticulous, harmonious, with flawless phrasing. Not a klinker among them.) And certainly, the Emcee, with his perpetual line of shtick, and groan worthy gags. The formidable ensemble consists of twelve different players, cross cast in sketches and musical numbers. WRTC’s Holiday Show gives us a feel for the cast, behind the scenes. We catch a glimpse of the characters when the ON THE AIR sign is given a break.

Since this particular iteration is set during World War 2, the show is dedicated to the soldiers overseas. Slides and letters to and from home, equal parts comic and wistful. There’s also a fizzy energy: cast and crew jazzed and eager. Contagious as the cocktail flu. These merrymakers are versatile and limber, shifting gears and wielding banter with precision. There’s the brusque gumshoe and congenial, ditzy lady. There’s the squabbling couple and litany of commercials, so characteristic of a time, when everybody got their news and relief from movies or films, or the radio. The flavor and creativity of entertainers like George Burns and Gracie Allen, The Shadow, Orson Welles, Hedda Hopper… and of course, the striving but no less spectacular artists, are so different from today.

Now for the Third Christmas, Richardson Theatre Center has presented this bright, nonsensical, vivid revue, suffused with sincerity and delight. They capture the essence of Christmas spirit, avoiding tropes and putting a fresh slant on the season. The audience is convivial, stoked for this eccentric, buoyant channel of enchantment and humanity. Nothing wrong with A Christmas Carol, The Best Christmas Pageant Ever, White Christmas, Holiday Inn, but thanks to RTC, there’s room for fresh material.

From December 5th-21st, 2025, Richardson Theatre Center featured their Annual Holiday Radio Show (with hearty thanks to Rusty Harding). 518 West Arapaho Road, Suite 113, Richardson, Texas 75080. 972-699-1130. richardsontheatrecentre.net

For the third year, Richardson Theatre Centre has staged their holiday radio play. By now an industry standard, a radio play reveals the actors as they broadcast: zany skits, carols sung with gusto or melancholy, by choir, duet and solo. (Songs are meticulous, harmonious, with flawless phrasing. Not a klinker among them.) And certainly, the Emcee, with his perpetual line of shtick, and groan worthy gags. The formidable ensemble consists of twelve different players, cross cast in sketches and musical numbers. WRTC’s Holiday Show gives us a feel for the cast, behind the scenes. We catch a glimpse of the characters when the ON THE AIR sign is given a break.

Since this particular iteration is set during World War 2, the show is dedicated to the soldiers overseas. Slides and letters to and from home, equal parts comic and wistful. There’s also a fizzy energy: cast and crew jazzed and eager. Contagious as the cocktail flu. These merrymakers are versatile and limber, shifting gears and wielding banter with precision. There’s the brusque gumshoe and congenial, ditzy lady. There’s the squabbling couple and litany of commercials, so characteristic of a time, when everybody got their news and relief from movies or films, or the radio. The flavor and creativity of entertainers like George Burns and Gracie Allen, The Shadow, Orson Welles, Hedda Hopper… and of course, the striving but no less spectacular artists, are so different from today.

Now for the Third Christmas, Richardson Theatre Center has presented this bright, nonsensical, vivid revue, suffused with sincerity and delight. They capture the essence of Christmas spirit, avoiding tropes and putting a fresh slant on the season. The audience is convivial, stoked for this eccentric, buoyant channel of enchantment and humanity. Nothing wrong with A Christmas Carol, The Best Christmas Pageant Ever, White Christmas, Holiday Inn, but thanks to RTC, there’s room for fresh material.

From December 5th-21st, 2025, Richardson Theatre Center featured their Annual Holiday Radio Show (with hearty thanks to Rusty Harding). 518 West Arapaho Road, Suite 113, Richardson, Texas 75080. 972-699-1130. richardsontheatrecentre.net

Shooter, Lupe, Liza and Jeep are having Christmas Dinner. They set dishes on a card table. Napkins but no flatware. Water comes from a well. They eat with their fingers. No vegetables or bread. Before Lupe brings out the beautifully browned turkey, Jeep is telling an anecdote about a dancing bear. Shooter pulls his sweater way over his head, making paws of his hands, enacting the story.

Jeep then talks about the poet: Walt Whitman. Overcome with empathy and tenderness, Whitman nursed civil war soldiers, among the disarticulated limbs and carnage. Intersection of the grotesque and sacred. Jeep has a rather short fuse. He splinters chairs in these moments. Eventually Lupe must remind him when they’re down to the last chair. Jeep discloses a monologue, while he washes his hands, over and over. They never get clean.

There’s something vaguely rhetorical, searching, in their dialogue. You can buy a cow for twenty-five bucks, but nobody who’s selling. They have only one book, and compulsively search for a passage they never find. Liza might be the Scholar. She’s rigid about propriety, and sometimes breaks out in rage. Jeep, I think is the Artist, speaking sublimely about the day he’ll become himself in actuality. His voice almost shines. Lupe, the Hearth Keeper, is very calm. She takes things in hand.  The childlike Shooter is the Laborer. Like the four astronauts we sometimes discuss in the abstract, they might be chosen to habitate a better planet. They all make their contribution.

The four assemble a family. Yearning to salvage sympathy, reasoning, the refined. They respect these ideals. Honor them. There are outbreaks of frustration, anger, destitution. There’s chaos and mess and groping and the ridiculous. But once we see their predicament (for a lack of a better word) we get the contained desperation. This square table, north, south, east and west, where meals are shared, participants engage and converse. Where they try to preserve the privilege of humanity. It might be the only place left, where recovery begins and ends.

Director Christina Cranshaw arranges the performers with skill and intuition. The rhythms of silence and tension, ticking and breakdown and exhaustion fall into place. Effective but unnerving. Taylor Harris (Shooter) a grand, tall, formidable guy, manages with humor and a kind of pathos. Caleb Mosley (Jeep) has that verve of the touchy creator, busy with energy and fascination. Sienna Castaneda Abbott (Lupe) in her eye-catching, festive holiday apron, is the rod that contains the lightning. Mikaela Baker (Liza) seems testy at times. She’s searching for higher truth, but knows you can’t have order without rules.

The Undermain launches their 42^nd Season, with Action, by Sam Shepard, one of America’s preeminent playwrights (may God speed). Doubtlessly and sadly relevant to the present world and life we endure, Action is a marvel of bedlam, tragedy, and characters feverish with longing. They creep into your head, and know just where you live. They slyly wield the shock of recognition.

Undermain Theatre presents Sam Shepard’s Action, playing November 6th-December 7^th, 2025. 3200 Main Street, Dallas, Texas 75223. 214-747-5515. Undermain.org

 

Lights come up on an enormous cage, dominating most of the stage. There is a cot, concealed shower, towel, books, sink. Very careful attention to the confined feel of the her habitat, more than you’d expect. It is precisely not a cell. It’s a cage. Rosamund has been abducted by Peter. She is his captive. The play begins at the start of her incarceration. It’s divided by increments of passing days: Day 3-Day 10-Day 24- Day 72.5, etc. Peter discloses his plan, bit by bit. After somewhat exhaustive research, he’s concluded that she is the perfect conduit to channel his father. His dad died suddenly, far too young, and before Peter could know him. Certain metaphysical elements, reincarnation tracking, tribal tradition, rituals, et al, line up, and he’s convinced that once she’s reached the perfect age (a year hence) the spectacular sacrament can commence.

Peter is unquestionably non compos mentis, i.e. not in his right mind. His project is sketchy, and ridiculous. Personal catastrophe had wounded Peter deeply, as we might naturally respect. This ache drives his compulsion to seek remedy in reaching out to the deceased. When the precise date of supernatural balance arrives, and we see him in his bestial attire, we want to laugh out loud.

Of course, compassionate and gentle though he may be, Peter seems to be missing or ignoring the obvious. He brings her hot take out, a jukebox with remote, blankets, books, artist’s supplies. Strangely enough (or maybe not) she, his dad, and Peter are all painters. As time passes she tries reasoning with him, discussing the logic behind his intentions, asking for latitude, calling him out on exasperating contradictions. He’s maddeningly “rational”, patient, and understanding. It’s difficult to tell if Rosamund is cultivating anintimate exchange with Peter to catch him off guard, or simply make her sentence bearable.

As the narrative unfolds, certain questions arise. Why go to considerable trouble to snare Rosamund, when Peter could have simply made his pitch? The actual nut and bolts: the preparation, study, and enacting the mystical event were not a big (if dubious) request. He could have offered a stipend. He probably could have secured funding. But he’s determined she is the one and only, and cannot risk refusal.

It’s here the allegory kicks in. Rosamund’s his enchanted, sole chance at spiritual healing and fulfillment. No one else will do. When you hunt someone down and throw them in a cage (even a much nicer one) you’re still extorting cooperation. No matter how you try to persuade, she doesn’t get to say: No. Your intentions may be pure, and understandable, and earnest. But you can’t expect somebody to fix you, even if they want to. If there’s no agency, no good can come of it.

Local playwright Parker Davis Gray (with an impressive batting average) has skillfully and ingeniously crafted Incarnate, a compelling, intriguing drama, that engages us viscerally, and intellectually. Indirect and subtle, intense and implacable, the narrative is smart and the chemistry palpable. We are submerged in Rosamund’s predicament, and baffled by the gentle lunatic.

Jeffrey Schmidt (Peter) and Kristen Lazarchick (Rosamund) are a match devised with brilliance and cynicism. Schmidt and Lazarchick connect at a distance, their conversation tentative and calculating. Lazarchick concocts the bewilderment and anger demanded by the circumstances.

Schmidt delivers the warmth and guile that make Peter and Rosamund such strange and surprising adversaries.

Second Thought Theatre presents Parker Davis Gray’s Incarnate, playing October 15^th-November 1^st, 2025. 3400 Blackburn St, Dallas, TX, 75219. Bryant Hall, Kalita Humphreys Campus. (214) 897-3091. secondthoughttheatre.com

 

Lights come up on an enormous cage, dominating most of the stage. There is a cot, concealed shower, towel, books, sink. Very careful attention to the confined feel of the her habitat, more than you’d expect. It is precisely not a cell. It’s a cage. Rosamund has been abducted by Peter. She is his captive. The play begins at the start of her incarceration. It’s divided by increments of passing days: Day 3-Day 10-Day 24- Day 72.5, etc. Peter discloses his plan, bit by bit. After somewhat exhaustive research, he’s concluded that she is the perfect conduit to channel his father. His dad died suddenly, far too young, and before Peter could know him. Certain metaphysical elements, reincarnation tracking, tribal tradition, rituals, et al, line up, and he’s convinced that once she’s reached the perfect age (a year hence) the spectacular sacrament can commence.

Peter is unquestionably non compos mentis, i.e. not in his right mind. His project is sketchy, and ridiculous. Personal catastrophe had wounded Peter deeply, as we might naturally respect. This ache drives his compulsion to seek remedy in reaching out to the deceased. When the precise date of supernatural balance arrives, and we see him in his bestial attire, we want to laugh out loud.

Of course, compassionate and gentle though he may be, Peter seems to be missing or ignoring the obvious. He brings her hot take out, a jukebox with remote, blankets, books, artist’s supplies. Strangely enough (or maybe not) she, his dad, and Peter are all painters. As time passes she tries reasoning with him, discussing the logic behind his intentions, asking for latitude, calling him out on exasperating contradictions. He’s maddeningly “rational”, patient, and understanding. It’s difficult to tell if Rosamund is cultivating anintimate exchange with Peter to catch him off guard, or simply make her sentence bearable.

As the narrative unfolds, certain questions arise. Why go to considerable trouble to snare Rosamund, when Peter could have simply made his pitch? The actual nut and bolts: the preparation, study, and enacting the mystical event were not a big (if dubious) request. He could have offered a stipend. He probably could have secured funding. But he’s determined she is the one and only, and cannot risk refusal.

It’s here the allegory kicks in. Rosamund’s his enchanted, sole chance at spiritual healing and fulfillment. No one else will do. When you hunt someone down and throw them in a cage (even a much nicer one) you’re still extorting cooperation. No matter how you try to persuade, she doesn’t get to say: No. Your intentions may be pure, and understandable, and earnest. But you can’t expect somebody to fix you, even if they want to. If there’s no agency, no good can come of it.

Local playwright Parker Davis Gray (with an impressive batting average) has skillfully and ingeniously crafted Incarnate, a compelling, intriguing drama, that engages us viscerally, and intellectually. Indirect and subtle, intense and implacable, the narrative is smart and the chemistry palpable. We are submerged in Rosamund’s predicament, and baffled by the gentle lunatic.

Jeffrey Schmidt (Peter) and Kristen Lazarchick (Rosamund) are a match devised with brilliance and cynicism. Schmidt and Lazarchick connect at a distance, their conversation tentative and calculating. Lazarchick concocts the bewilderment and anger demanded by the circumstances.

Schmidt delivers the warmth and guile that make Peter and Rosamund such strange and surprising adversaries.

Second Thought Theatre presents Parker Davis Gray’s Incarnate, playing October 15^th-November 1^st, 2025. 3400 Blackburn St, Dallas, TX, 75219. Bryant Hall, Kalita Humphreys Campus. (214) 897-3091. secondthoughttheatre.com

Marsha Gilmore’s in a frenzy. Searching under furniture cushions, beneath tables, in drawers. She’s lost the murder mystery she borrowed from the library, and those 10-cent-a-day fines can really add up. The maid, Bianca, tries to help with her in frantic search. Marsha admits she’s forgotten where she hid the book, as her husband Tobias has forbidden such tawdry fare. Seems they “rot the brain.” Soon though, they find the murder mystery, and Marsha wants to return it, right away. Unfortunately the library’s closed on Sunday.

Persis Devore, a French Interior Decorator, arrives looking for Tobias. She is posh and attractive, and her reasons for being there seem a bit sketchy. Then Tobias arrives, somewhat uncomfortable Persis is there. Marsha has overheard Persis talking to him on the phone, and certain they’re planning her demise. They’re careful to keep the conversation vague. Marsha goes to Bianca, revealing their nefarious plot. They enlist the help of their neighbor, Virgil. By way of Marsha’s Feminine Wiles.

The comedy of errors has a fine tradition in the theatre. A series of misunderstandings that proliferate, till chaos comes crashing down. Remember the torn pillow that sends feathers sailing, irretrievably? When Marsha concludes that Tobias means to assassinate her, you wonder if his edict might not be wrong. Several elements: an unexpected visitor, a strange telephone call, a covert conversation and the Rube Goldberg train has left the station.

Director Rachael Lindley brings a precise touch to the content. She isn’t going for zany or wacky, she finds the ridiculous side of each character. (We’ve all got one.) Most are privileged class, but she doesn’t make them stuffy or insufferable. As suspicion becomes doubt and doubt becomes distrust and distrust becomes a verdict, reason evaporates like smoke. It’s mass hysteria but funnier. These actors are top of their game, shaping their characters with quirks and foibles, humming with busy nonsense.

Makenna Baker (Bianca) sparkles as the maid: practical, tactful, soldiering on with the occasional nip. The perfect balance to her frantic mistress. Kate Crawford (Persis Devore) brings verve and poise to the French decorator. She’s not some caricature of erudition or the cosmopolitan. Jeff York (Tobias) is a responsible, patient husband. He’s not crazy about Marsha’s antics, but he endures. Brian Hoffman (Virgil) has a great turn as the neighbor. He’s not worldly, but he’s got reliable virtue. Sue Goodner (Lynette) as Marsha’s mother-in-law, is the savvy dowager, viewing the world from a comfortable, skeptical distance. Julian Harris (Ben Quade) is Bianca’s cop fiance. He has a strong sense of duty, and justice. Charming and vigilant, he is one tall drink of water.

Laura Jennings as the loopy, preposterous, high-strung Marsha, is sheer heaven. The spark that ignites marvelous chaos. The rum that jump-starts the party punch. She might be Gracie Allen’s younger sister. Her inexplicable logic, her blizzard of impulses, her frenzied energy, are astonishing and delightful. She doesn’t make Marsha insipid, or dopey. She’s credulous, to a fault. Laura’s got spot-on timing and crackerjack comic chops.

Don’t miss RTC’s Let’s Murder Marsha. It will tickle your funny bone, without mercy.

Richardson Theatre Centre presents: Let’s Murder Marsha, playing from October 10^th, -November 2^nd, 2025. 515 West Arapaho Road, Suite 113, Richardson, Texas 75080.

972-699-1130. richardsontheatrecentre.net.

On October 13^th, 1962, Edward Albee’s Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? premiered at The Billy Rose Theater on Broadway. It starred Arthur Hill as George, Uta Hagen as Martha, George Grizzard as Nick, and Melinda Dillon as Honey. In 1963, it won the Tony and New York Critic’s Circle for Best Play. It was selected for the 1963 Pulitzer Prize, by the drama jury. But the advisory board objected to its profanity and sexual themes, awarding no Pulitzer Prize for drama in 1963.

So began the notorious history of Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?, a watershed that changed how people thought about drama. Otherwise considered an Absurdist, Who’s Afraid might be the closest Albee ever came to recognizable narrative. We can’t be sure how many middle-aged couples invite company to witness their brutality. Liberal use of liquor can lead to sketchy behavior. That being said,  Albee was a brilliant iconoclast.

Who’s Afraid finds George and Martha returning from a faculty party around midnight. George teaches History, and Martha’s the daughter of the University President. Martha is more than tipsy and George finds her rowdy, scattered and childish behavior annoying. But she brushes him off. She announces she’s invited a younger couple over for a drink. When they arrive, Nick and Honey introduce themselves. Nick is in the Biology department, and Honey, his devoted wife. Martha turns on a dime and makes for an affable hostess. Though these two are as baffled as George at the midnight invitation.

From the start, Nick and Honey can tell something’s off. George and Martha progressively move from good-natured jabs to squabbling to vindictiveness to verbal brawling, and keeps escalating. When they’re not trading blows, George attacks the other couple, passively going for the jugular. We’ve got to wonder if George and Martha are hosting because they crave an audience. Nick and Honey keep trying to leave, but the older couple insists they stay. Though, strangely enough, no one’s actually preventing them. Whether or not they’re in the same room, George and Martha are constantly finding  some way to get the other.

Albee keeps everything off-balance, taking aim at cultural stereotypes. Both couples have no children, and nothing to suggest they will. While George and Martha are always bickering, Nick and Honey (for all their niceties) don’t seem to like each other. Like Eugene O’Neill, Albee uses alcohol as a lie detector. George and Martha keep imbibing, while handing fresh drinks to the guests. As the evening commences, vulnerabilities emerge, and the older couple’s exchanges get more vicious. Albee observes (with contempt and cynicism) that America’s model for sublime matrimony is a sham; with expectations no one can manage. The wife is a harridan or insipid. The husband a stud or a houseboy.

You cannot help but stand in awe of The Classics Theatre Project, for taking on such an intense, unmerciful piece as Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? They may be one of the few with the chops for it. Three acts, two intermissions, while we watch George and Martha eat each other alive. It is genuinely shocking. The cast leaves artifice far, far behind for the sake of authenticity.

Terry Martin gives George a steady, intelligent dignity. Quiet but sentient. John Cameron Potts makes an interesting Nick. He swings between a smile and a sneer, relaxed and polite. Devon Rose gives Honey an animated turn. Not only comic relief, her despondence and hurt are poignant. As Martha, Diane Box-Worman is the raw, raucous, deprecating core of the play. She ticks, ticks, ticks till her anger shakes us to pieces. She is fearless, broken humanity (without apology or affectation). Surrendering to destruction and grief. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen anything like it.

The Classics Theatre Project presents Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? Playing October 3rd-24th, 2025. Stone Cottage Theatre, 15650 Addison Road, Addison Texas, 75001. 214) 923 3619. ctpdfw@gmail.com. theclassicstheatreproject.com

 

A soldier (Nikolai) out for a walk, sees an author (Isaac) writing in a notebook. He asks what it is. Isaac explains if something isn’t true, that doesn’t make it pointless. Nikolai has trouble buying this. If it’s not factual it’s a lie. They talk awhile, and become friends. So begins Describe the Night, Rajiv Joseph’s strange, audacious exploration of  language, coincidence, and the volatile nature of actuality. Mr. Joseph is a preeminent American playwright, very comfortable with grotesque, surprising narrative and ingenious composition. It’s a whirlwind. Episodes come at us quickly. Sets are practically animated! We might turn from whimsical to somber to disturbing.

Next we see a journalist (Mariya) who’s witnessed a bombing, by accident. She runs to a car rental, where she begs for a car. At first the Agent (Feliks) doesn’t grasp the urgency. But once she confides, he lends her a jalopy. In the next episode (time has passed) Nikolai invites Isaac to dinner where he introduces him to his wife (Yevgenia). Nikolai is overjoyed to see his old friend, and Isaac is too. Yevgenia and Isaac hit it off. A spark ignites. Not blazing but brilliant, just the same.

Describe the Night is set in the USSR, starting before the first revolution and well past the second, to the turn of the 20^th century. It’s an ensemble piece of seven characters. Near as I can tell, there’s no multiple casting. The lives of the characters overlap. We see a character in subsequent episodes that now seems to be new, but not so. It might be age, it might be place, it might be history. Joseph may move humans as arbitrarily as God. An encounter on one occasion becomes a sea change in another. The drama doesn’t follow a straight chronological line. It hops. Even so, episodes fit, as the larger picture becomes clear.

Describe the Night is a gobsmack. You’re settled in, then another curveball bowls you over. As the story unfolds, you wonder if you can keep up. It’s not about a particular aspect of humanity, though the pieces coalesce in the sketchy nature of “truth”. The dances are jaunty and imaginative. They embody the chemistry of intersection. You think it’s a hodge-podge, a pastiche, then the full effect hits you, and incomparable shudders.

Director Becca Johnson-Spinos has orchestrated these nimble, glowy, engaged performers: Urzula (Marcy Bogner) Feliks (Chase Di lulio) Mariya (Whitney Renee’ Dodson) Nikolai (Connor McMurray) Vova (Bradford Reilly) Isaac (Dylan Weand) Yevgenia (Katelyn Yntema) with confidence and panache’.  Costumes by Katherine Wright and sets by Kennedy Smith are striking and effective. Imagine the logistics of this intriguing mosaic, with its shifts, its pulse, its presence.

This is gestalt. This is phenomenal. This is theatre electrified.

Great thanks and gratitude to Outcry who granted me permission so late in the run.

Outcry Theatre presented Describe the Night by Rajiv Joseph. It played August 23-31st, 2025, at Theatre Three’s Norma Young Arena Stage.