Author: christophersoden@sbcglobal.net

 

Gladys runs a truck stop with lots of good stuff including a festive bar with tropical décor (and of course) candy, snacks, hot food (and gas masks?). She lives on the premises in Truth or Consequences New Mexico. It’s clear she hasn’t seen any business in a long time, though she’s fine on her own. She and Uncle Frank, the postman, are great friends. Though the mass (government imposed) exodus has diminished the populace, Frank still faithfully delivers to those left. Her grown daughter Zelda, aches to explore the desolate, realm of totalitarian conquest, convinced that there’s something more and sublime outside the truckstop. A shuttle will arrive tomorrow to carry off the last holdouts but Gladys, Frank and Zelda aren’t budging.

Crystal Jackson’s The Last Truck Stop is a carefully constructed evocation of dystopia. The regime wears the mask of benevolence (after Orwell’s 1984) but intrudes upon privacy and independence. These souls, discouraged and worn down, have found a safe place where they can appreciate each other and find refuge from the crumbling facade of civilization. Gladys wants Zelda to take the shuttle to El Paso, but as much as Zelda despises New Mexico, she’s convinced El Paso is worse. Then everything takes a turn.

Jackson suggests an intense ache, with no detectable sturm und drang. Gladys, Frank and Zelda are making the best, but it’s as if they’re circling the abyss. Facing the actual, but never bitter. Yet there are small assertions of hope. The sense of purpose they embrace. The staticky radio always left on. The letters always carried. The lovemaking that defies despair. Its about hope, but not some abstract, nebulous category of feelings.

The Last Truck Stop finds eloquence in the unspoken. Very little of the character’s damage and sorrow is articulated in so many words. There’s so much emptiness, so much thriving quashed. Jackson has found a delicate balance between palpable resignation and just enough optimism to conquer despondence.

Claire Carson is whimsical and gung ho as Rainbow. Kat Lozano is testy (and more tenderhearted than we might guess) as Zelda (daughter of Gladys). Jamal Sterling shines as the warm, convivial Uncle Frank. Diane Box Worman gives a poignant, emotionally fearless performance as Gladys. Her sorrow, her toughness, her exquisite, raw nerved presence is deeply affecting and unforgettable.

Kitchen Dog Theater presents The Last Truck Stop, playing June 8th-25th, 2023. 2600 North Stemmons Freeway, Suite 180, Dallas, Texas 75207. 214-953-1055. Admin@kitchendogtheater.org

 

When the Danish Prince Hamlet returns from from his travels, only to find havoc, and disturbing behavior between his mother and his uncle, it’s the onset of his spiritual collapse. The ghost of Hamlet’s father appears, to reveal Hamlet’s uncle poisoned him, to marry his wife, and steal his crown. And  they’ve gotten away with it.

Hamlet is overcome by the egregious nature of this crime, and the horrific injustice that it’s gone unpunished. Hence the famous to be or not to be soliloquy ponders if it’s better to leave this world on your own terms, or accept the absurdity, or try to fight when goodness fails. He resolves to feign madness; this will free him to investigate without tipping his hand. He begins to court Ophelia, kind of, but he’s giving off mixed signals like crazy.

Long considered to be William Shakespeare’s most absorbing (and nearly inscrutable) plays, Hamlet stands apart in its complexity and daring attempt to address especially troubling issues. Hamlet may seem to be insane, but how does that speak to a life strategy? If the world doesn’t hold to some unchanging logic, perhaps madness is the only thing that makes sense.

The taking of a life as a means to get by, to function, is key in Hamlet. Perhaps a touchstone. Murder may be revenge or self-defense or to conceal our own crimes, but to do so is to meddle with the balance of the universe. Ironically in Hamlet, victims die by accident, by design, by ridiculous happenstance. Even duels are rigged. No matter how we fight for some sense of reason, or purpose, or simple contentment, events would appear to happen by some inexplicable, perverse logic.

I’ve been intrigued by the recent practice of some theaters casting against cisgender sex, I assume for the sake of broadening our sense of what gender actually means. Femaleness and maleness (and everything else along the spectrum). Not necessarily polarized but not absent either. And certainly these are worthy questions.

If a female plays a male character, a woman plays a prince, is it a comment on androgyny, or the deconstruction of gender indoctrination, or simply a woman depicting a man? I do not raise these questions by way of disparagement but rather to consider the experience aimed for, the expectations behind the choice.

Isabella Wilson plays Hamlet, with avid, congenial, kinetic energy. It almost feels too obvious to mention the sentience, presence and clarity needed are stupefying. Ms. Wilson gets a head of steam going, and it’s amazing to see. Much of the show calls for manic emotion and pensive affect. Shakespeare has designed Hamlet to stand in for us, the audience, who share his deep despair in the midst of havoc and abject misery. I’m not altogether certain Wilson has lived quite long enough to bring the necessary gravitas, but it’s easy to see that everything she does, she does with the strength of her convictions.

Outcry Youth Theatre, a cutting-edge troupe that specializes in showcasing younger actors, recently staged Hamlet (a difficult drama for any theatre) with compelling vision, intense dedication and intriguing innovation. The metaphoric concept of clocks appear and reappear throughout the show, a reminder of our mortality. Only humans keep time because only they have use for it.

The performers rise to the occasion with humor, humanity and smartness. As is so often the case with Outcry, dance numbers to contemporary music emerge to elucidate and comment on substance and story. The alienation and exasperation of rock songs enhanced this production of Hamlet, immeasurably.

The gracious folks at Outcry Youth Theatre let me attend Hamlet on closing weekend. They will always make you feel welcome.

1915 North Central Expressway, Suite 120, Plano, TX, United States, Texas (Not actual theater address).(972) 836-7206. outcrytheatre@gmail.com outcrytheatre.com.

Peter and Frances are newlyweds. For reasons of convenience, the bank Peter works for owns the apartment on the second floor, where they live. They are waiting for the arrival of Peter’s mother, Eleanor, who will be an overnight guest. Brian is Peter’s colleague at the bank. He’s here to bring a wedding gift and accompany Peter to the “salt mines”. At some point Brian signs for a package delivery, supposedly some china Frances ordered. Peter isn’t there when the two open it. In a fit of curiosity, Brian fairly tears into the package, only to discover gobs and gobs of pornographic photographs. He subsequently freaks, giddier than your Aunt Nancy on hash. This will happen more than once. Obviously it’s a mistake, but not so easily resolved. They can’t just throw them in the trash, because the rubbish collectors will know from whence they came.

Set in England in 1973, written by Anthony Marriott and Alistair Foot, No Sex, Please, Were British is a comedy of manners. A reflection on propriety. An uninvited parcel of contraband arrives, a catastrophe in the making. Peter and Frances feverishly try to sort out why they’re the recipients, and more urgently, the most expedient way to ditch the stuff. Supposedly, if this box didn’t contain smut, they wouldn’t be making such ridiculous choices. They keep fobbing off the pornography on Brian, a subordinate, without once asking themselves if he’s even remotely reliable. The possibility of scandal, of giving profound offense, of Peter and Brian losing their jobs gives way to hysteria. Why not take it to somebody else’s trash can? Why not take it to the woods and leave it there? It’s not as if the photographs depict anything well and truly sinister.

But of course, rationality has flown the coop. As Marriott and Foot suggest, it isn’t the presence of sex in the world. It’s demonstrated the characters are active and comfortable with lovemaking. It’s the terror of having one’s character called into question. And yet, each possible solution they can come up with is worse than the last. They try to conceal the hot box, and something worse shows up. It’s like Whack-A -Mole (c) or The Monkey’s Paw. I have a theory that Brian exists, mainly to complicate things and amplify the chaos with histrionics. Of course the piling on of one improbable result after another, just makes for escalating hilarity.

Director Janette Oswald brings her gift for managing such meshugaas, while keeping the plot crisp and articulated. She balances the attractions in this three-ring circus handily. Eddy Herring (Superintendant Paul) Ian Grygotis (Peter Hunter) Sara Parisa (Frances Hunter) Grant Palmore (Brian Runnicles) Sue Goodner (Eleanor Hunter) Anthony Magee (Leslie Bromhead )Robert Dullnig (Delivery Man) Camilla Norder (2^nd Delivery Man) Blake Rice (Mr. Needham )Laura Jennings (Susan) Penny Elaine (Barbara) Katy Hill (The Other Barbara ) Not an easy task, surely, summoning this insanity, with no fear of fatality, injury or leaving a mark.

Richardson Theatre Centre presents: No Sex, Please, We’re British, playing May 26th-June 11^th, 2023/ 518 West Arapaho Road, Suite 113, Richardson, Texas 75080. 972-699-1130. richardsontheatrcenter.net

Set in March 1948, in Highland Hospital, in Asheville, North Carolina, The Last Flapper depicts the life of Zelda Fitzgerald (wife of F. Scott Fitzgerald) a few days before her death in a fire. It is essentially, a one-act, an extended monologue along the lines of The Belle of Amherst and Gertrude Stein, Getrude Stein, Gertrude Stein. Zelda grabs the opportunity to dig into her psychiatrist’s desk when he cancels their appointment. She invites us in, takes us into her confidence, making eye-contact and speaking directly to audience members. She is friendly, forthcoming, playful, frank.

Before she met Scott Fitzgerald, Zelda was well known in Montgomery, Alabama. A daughter of the wealthy Sayre family, she defied notions of appropriate behavior for young ladies, and payed little attention to the admonitions of her conservative parents. She married Scott Fitzgerald not long after the success of This Side of Paradise. A novelist, playwright and painter herself, she and Scott became the glamorous, notorious couple of the Roaring Twenties, drinking freely, pranking at parties, ignoring social conventions.

As career authors do, they hobnobbed with other artists, visiting Europe, flaunting the sybaritic life of intellect and disdain for convention. Scott discovers an intense connection with Ernest Hemingway. Zelda’s mental health deteriorates, and she is sent to Johns Hopkins for treatment. Over the years of being institutionalized (and ostracized) Zelda is subjected to Electro and insulin shock therapy. It’s not clear how much malpractice occurred, due to negligence, incompetence or the primitive days of early psychotherapy, but clearly Zelda lacked zealous treatment and advocacy.

If we consider her predicament and the times, Flappers asserted their right to dress seductively, drink like fish, be promiscuous; perhaps very adult and very childlike at the same time. This was the essence of Zelda. It was marvelously charming until she asked for desperately needed attention. Not like: look at me, attention, but to salvage a soul in jeopardy. In the context of male ego and the patriarchy, it’s very possible she was gaslit by her husband (among others) and her career and talents diminished and dismissed.

Catherine DuBord’s performance as Zelda is astonishing, intuitive and quietly dazzling. When she shares an anecdote from her past, summoning an exchange with her mama (pinning up her wedding gown) a first dinner with Scott and her parents (It’s nobody’s God Damned business) we are immediately submerged in the moment, a mixture of effusive girlishness and unapologetic defiance. DuBord creates Zelda with something of a kaleidoscope: her intelligence, her insouciance, her anger, her despair. One moment she’s lighter than a fairy, the next she’s sunken in despondence. It’s truly a privilege to witness an actor of DuBord’s caliber play Zelda with authenticity, depth, and something far beyond the sum of Zelda’s parts.

This is not to be missed.

Belle Sauvage and Theatre Too (@ Theatre Three) presents Catherine DuBord in The Last Flapper, playing June 1st-11th, 2023. 2688 Laclede Street, Dallas, Texas 75201. 214-871-3300 www.bellesauvage.us

Long Day’s Journey Into Night is set in August 1912. It transpires in the cycle of a single day: beginning after breakfast, and ending in the deep hours after midnight. Mary Tyrone and James Tyrone live with their two grown sons: Jamie and Edmund, in a summer house on the coast of Connecticut. Jamie (as many older brothers do) has taken Edmund under his wing. The two are no strangers to liquor blitzes and visiting brothels. The Tyrones might seem like any other family. It’s not unusual to take good-natured jabs at each other. Any long-term relationship will have squabbles and arguments and maybe a knockdown dragout from time to time. Contentiousness is there from the start, but it only seems to pass.

At the beginning nothing seems out of the ordinary. Breakfast is over, James and Mary are flirting, in the next room the brothers are laughing, which James assumes is at his expense. When they emerge they tell an amusing anecdote, but not without dad admonishing their politics. Mary cannot go for long without noticing their constant attention. She asks if her hair has come down. There is much discussion about going into town, getting Edmund to the doctor, what’s really making him sick. When Jamie and his dad are alone, things get really heated, but they stop abruptly when Mary appears. They go outside to do yardwork. When James returns he gives Edmund some folding money (a monumental event) to spend on liquor and the ladies.

Mary is distraught, reminded of her battle with morphine addiction, which happened when she was giving birth, assisted by her husband’s quack doctor. Edmund feels guilty because he “caused” his mother’s addiction.  All three of the men are terrified that she will start injecting again. Jamie’s cynicism and bitterness with the world are so tangible, They are unmistakable. And chilling.  Mary is quiet, but shares painful truths almost nonchalantly. James lost his successful career as an actor, by no fault of his own.  

Long Day’s Journey Into Night tells the story of a family that cares deeply for one another, but is stuck in a tangle of triggers, vehemence, and crushing self-recrimination. None of the family members want to discuss things openly, but they can’t let anything go. They can’t forgive themselves for making choices that supposedly ruined their halcyon lives, or the life of their loved ones. The drama culminates in a devastating confession, when Jamie, for all his love, can’t contain his need to sabotage Edmund’s life. Jamie has enough clarity to make this painful admission. They all care intensely, but love doesn’t win.

Director Jackie Kemp has taken this phenomenal cast and extracts overwhelming, utterly un-selfconscious, performances. Mary-Margaret Pyeatt’s Mary is delicate and poised, nearly frail. Her bearing is regal, if understated. Stephen Miller’s James has that broken nonbility aspect. He’s proud, but never arrogant. Noah Riddle as the younger brother, Edmund, is somber, soft spoken, chipper, but clearly tentative. He is the least resentful. Joey Folsom’s Jamie is ferocious, disparaging. His performance is a fatal mix of disappointment and vindictiveness. Mr. Kemp has demonstrated (more than once) his cunning, meticulous genius for evincing the essence of daunting, impossible scripts, so alarming and relevant, they might have been written last week. He respects us enough to create life-changing, unpretty, astonishing theatre.

I am consistently amazed how The Classics Theatre Project sets nearly impossible tasks before themselves. Groundbreaking, unnerving shows like: Dutchman, Fool for Love, Cat on a Hot Tin Roof. Long Day’s Journey Into Night is considered one of the best plays ever written. It premiered (November 1956) in America, posthumously, at Eugene O’Neill’s insistence. It has never been a secret that the content is fearlessly personal. We can only imagine what it must be like for TCTP’s cast members to pour themselves into this excruciating, profoundly disturbing piece, night after night. This exhibition of punishment and despair. If you want drama that never buffers, never apologizes for being raw, never panders to mediocrity, check out TCTP’s Long Day’s Journey Into Night.

The Classics Theatre Project presents: Long Day’s Journey Into Night, playing May 19^th -June 11^th, 2023. The Stone Cottage. 15650 Addison Road Addison, TX 75001. (214) 923-3619. theclassicstheatreproject.com

Lord Rancor is hosting an autumn weekend for a number of guests at his country estate. Not a single one realizes that others will be in attendance. The servants are busy preparing for their arrival. The maid, butler and handyman are dreading another visit from privileged, rude, narcissistic guests. The visitors themselves (retired military, ingenue, French matron, university sculler, bossy busybody, professor et al) make for a strange and varied convocation, They will eventually discover hidden connections to each other. The host, Lord Rancor, is only the first in a succession of bodies piling up. Luckily for us, each death is achieved differently (electrocution, poison, stabbing, gunshot..) keeping things lively and intriguing.

Written by James McDonald, David Vos, Robert Gerlach, and Ed Linderman: Something’s Afoot is a shameless spoof of one of Agatha Christie’s most popular premises. (And Then There Were None, say or Death on the Nile) A group with seemingly nothing in common, is trapped in one location, invited by a sketchy host. Despite their vigilant efforts to reveal the culprit, they’re basically waiting for their turn to die. Gradually we realize each is being punished for an egregious act.

I hasten to add here, that it’s painful to consider how Christie’s brilliance has been lost, somewhat, by other mystery “authors” who simply hijack her plots, with none of her strategy and intelligence. She’s been eclipsed by charlatans. Which is not to say that McDonald, Vos, Gerlach and Linderman have been disrespectful or flippant in their dizzy celebration of Agatha Christie’s genius. Something’s Afoot is a clever, facetious, tongue-in-cheek musical that ponders the elements that have now (sadly) become tropes. T

Allen Contemporary Theatre’s production of Something’s Afoot, is precise, kinetic, bubbly with well-executed dance numbers and spontaneous gags. The four writers consider the utterly absurd, inexplicably nonsensical, the laughably arrogant. Carol Rice’s direction brings out the delightfully preposterous in each of these players, where no line is too silly, no pratfall too painful, no scenery unchewed.

Like the best musical comedy, we sense the excitement and pleasure of the performers, as they share their glee. Sophisticated humor is fine, but this bunch has mastered the art of tomfoolery. They’re relaxed, effusive, spot on. You can’t fake funny. It either works or it doesn’t. It will tickle you or it wont. Kudos to ACT for this bouncy, charming excursion into the realm of sheer whimsy.

Allen Contemporary Theatre presents Something’s Afoot, playing May 5th-21st, 2023. 1210 E Main Street, #300, Allen, TX (844) 822-8849. allencontemporarytheatre.net

A phantasmagoria and a fable. A giddy, resigned reflection on sad truth. A ridiculous, exquisite ode to the delusional and the actual. Written By Federico Garcia Lorca, The Butterfly’s Evil Spell is set in the world of insects. They’re just like us, except they’re bugs. You may not know any scorpions but you’ve probably known some guy just like him. Roach Boy is a teenager who wears a baseball cap, a suede vest and shades. Silvia has a crush on him, but he’s not interested. He may have fallen for the Butterfly. Notice, we don’t know if she’s evil, herself.

There’s a deeply pleasurable sense of the absurd, and of course, poetry, in Lorca’s script. It suggests Alice in Wonderland, or Charlie and the Chocolate Factory: a solemn mask on the preposterous. The commonplace becomes fanciful (a gigantic cactus, a Taco Bueno soda cup tower, a sickbed made from a Whataburger compote). Animation and enchantment suffuses the players, the objects, the heavens. The strange and enigmatic not only accessible but tangible as a shoe, or thimble or belt buckle. Lorca’s microscope to this cosmos in small, transforms the familiar into a marvel. Just as poets (and other artists) focus on what we take for granted, they confer the gift of spectacle. Everything now has luster.

We all know Roach Boy’s quandary. We chuckle at his infatuation, but respect his struggle. Because we know that disillusionment and hurt. Lorca captures this as we see how Silvia cares for Roach Boy, but she’s not dazzling or dangerous enough. The appearance of the Butterfly is treated as a dreadful portent. We want Roach Boy to avoid this outcome, but not sure that he can. Butterfly’s Evil Spell magnifies (even lyricizes) the arrows of desire that make ruin unavoidable. When we’re young our elders are clueless. But once we’ve been wounded, skepticism is nearly intuitive. We see the lives of these creatures, nearly invisible without Lorca’s lens; the sorcery and smoke and the invocative singing and it all fits. The intersection of ecstasy with fatality. The world is what the world is, even when a goddess appears, in a diaphanous white gown.

The cast and crew et al of Butterfly’s Evil Spell amount to a team of what? Goblins, sprites, lunatics, craftsmen? Perhaps all of these. Bravado and the luxury of sharing rapture, awe, pathos. Facetiousness wrapped in chaotic bliss. It meanders, only the better to sneak up on you, my dear. This ensemble is splendid. Poised to amaze. Ready to deliver that wayward kiss.

Theatre Three has again embraced the visionary, intrepid, innovative. I remember their productions of The Adding Machine and The Minotaur. Both were unorthodox, with notes of the fantastic. They were daring choices, that paid off. (Though bravery doesn’t need validation.) Butterfly’s Evil Spell is another example of what can happen, when an established theater takes chances. What a rush to engage with a piece that surprises, amuses, entices and intrigues. That invites us on a vivid, wild, intoxicating ride.

Theatre Three presents The Butterfly’s Evil Spell, playing through Sunday, April 30^th, 2023. 2688 Laclede Street, Suite 120, Dallas, TX, United States, Texas. 214-871-3300 X1 boxoffice@theatre3dallas.com. theatre3dallas.com

 

 

 

 

Hello, Dolly (in its long history) introduced the widow, Dolly Levi, to audiences in Thorton Wilder’s The Matchmaker. It’s first Broadway production featured the indomitable Ruth Gordon. Then Jerry Herman (Music and Lyrics) and Michael Stewart (Book) came along and adapted it to the musical stage. The script is virtually the same, with (of course) songs attached. Audiences have been bowled over by Dolly’s conviviality, shenanigans, cunning, and sheer chutzpah ever since: the woman who brokers romantic relationships. Among other skills.

As so many who have lost a loved one, Dolly has an ongoing conversation with her departed husband. When he was still on this side of the veil, they were all about the good times: nightclubs, sumptuous food, socializing, dancing. Now she must hustle to make ends meet, eager to help prospective customers, whatever their needs may be. Currently she’s assisting Horace Vandergelder in his search for a bride. Consistent with prevailing values of the age,

his ache for a wife amounts to free housekeeping (and presumably) lovemaking. Hence the musical number: “It takes a woman” sung by him and the rest of the male cast. Ironically, even a couple of actresses dressed as men.

As the play opens, Vandergelder is preparing for the journey from Yonkers to New York City. He’s leaving his two clerks: Barnaby and Cornelius, in charge. In a bold move, Cornelius declares he and Barnaby will lock up, sneak off, and taste the delectable fruit of hi-jinks and painting the town. Their mission? Kiss a girl and keep a date with the spectacular whale at the museum. Thanks to Vandergelder’s paltry wages, they don’t have a lot of spending money, but they’ll figure it out. Meanwhile, at a millinery in the Big Bad City, Irene and Minnie are yearning for adventures of their own.

Perhaps the perennial appeal of Hello, Dolly is Dolly herself, and the warm, compassionate music. It’s pretty clear Dolly is sometimes flying by the seat of her pants, but it doesn’t matter. She realizes that gumption and trusting her intuitions, will carry the day. She doesn’t overthink. Her charisma is undeniable. Her understanding of humanity’s strengths and flaws, blindspots and appetites, make her a natural. She perceives a need and provides the solution. It’s not till later in the show we get, that while she is making the best of things, the time for grieving is over. With her late husband’s permission, she will go forward.

Jerry Herman’s delightful songs capture the moment. Secular use for those fine Sunday clothes. An ode to love at first sight. A wistful reflection on what it means to court and spark. Dayna Dutton’s distinctive costuming, with its bright colors, spiffy three-piece suits and bustles gives us a feel for the times, and lifts our spirits. Victoria Anne Lee’s robust choreography is charming and poised. There is a sense of celebration in Lee’s versatile, often acrobatic dance numbers, romping or waltzing or kicking with glee.

Firehouse Theatre presents Hello Dolly, playing April 6th-23rd, 2023. 2535 Valley View Ln, Farmers Branch, TX, United States, Texas. (972) 620-3747. thefirehousetheatre.com

 

In 1976 child psychologist Bruno Bettelheim released The Uses of Enchantment, interpreting the symbolism behind fairy tales. In the context of Freudian theory. In 1987, Stephen Sondheim (music and lyrics) and James Lapine (Book) premiered Into the Woods, a musical they acknowledged was heavily influenced by Bettelheims’s book. Into the Woods is a masterful weaving of several stories: Rapunzel, Little Red Riding Hood, Cinderella, Jack and the Beanstalk, in which different characters, from separate narratives, interact with each other. The Narrator, the Witch, and the childless Baker and His Wife are the connective tissue. Sondheim and Lapine create a piece illuminated by explication, mockery, pathos, invention, and the improbable. All this while still entertaining and poignant. It’s nuanced and elaborate, but it doesn’t seem so.

In the first act, each fable, each quandary, is resolved. (A spell is broken. A danger avoided. A fortune attained.) In the second act, they are dismantled to suggest that life is more complicated. Deeper wisdom is pitted against conventional, simplistic answers. Maybe the Giant’s Wife has legitimate grievance. Perhaps the Prince and Cinderella didn’t consider their genuine motives. Perhaps the takeaway in the world of adults isn’t obvious. Sometimes it’s heartbreaking. Lapine and Sondheim have posited a contradiction in the title. “Out of the woods” means you’re no longer at risk. These two demented souls suggest you can’t learn to survive in the actual world, without putting yourself in jeopardy. Headlong into danger. But maybe they’re not wrong.

Pity poor Joel Ferrell, who in the process of directing this logistical nightmare, must have felt like he was juggling dishes, hoops and oranges at the same time. If the experience of Into the Woods is overwhelming in the best sense, imagine what it was like for him. The ridiculously demanding script couldn’t be easy to navigate for this tireless, fearless, animated ensemble cast. They bring the pleasure and grace of performance to Into the Woods without breaking a sweat.

Standouts include Christina Austin Lopez, as the persistent if somewhat unbalanced Cinderella, Bob Hess, avuncular and insanely versatile as The Narrator, Tiffany Solano, bold and vulnerable as The Baker’s Wife, Alex Organ, cunning and stately as Wolf and Prince, Sally Nystuen Vahle, patient and long-suffering as Jack’s Mother, Zachary J. Willis, endlessly cheery and guileless as Jack, Blake Hackler, as the perseverant and protective Baker, Cherish Love Robinson, wounded and vindictive as The Witch, and Christopher Llewyn Ramirez, pompous, but sensitive as Rapunzel’s Rescuer.

This remarkable musical mixes so many disparate, contrasting elements (the chaotic and the sublime, the absurd and the woeful, the cunning and the brave, the ironic and naive) and this phenomenal cast lights the fuse. The Dallas Theater Center’s production of Into the Woods is a vibrant, provocative, deeply affecting theatrical experience.

The Dallas Theater Center presents: Into the Woods, playing April 7th-30th, 2023. The Dee and Charles Wyly Theatre. 2400 Flora Street, Dallas, TX 75201. 214-522-8499. DallasTheateCenter.Org.

 

Boolie Wertham must find a driver for his mother, Daisy. She has wrecked her car, and continues to do damage to other people’s property. She blames the car, unable to admit she’s incapable of driving herself. Furthermore (wealthy though she may be) she is loath to hire a driver and be accused of putting on airs. Her reasons for needing a driver are perfectly legit, and we can’t imagine her caring what anybody thinks.

Boolie makes inquiries among his African American employees, and calls Hoke Colburn in for an interview. Hoke tells him about a white woman he worked for, who tried to get rid of some lousy clothes, by selling them to him. He politely turned her down. Hoke has learned how to be honest but still discreet. The interview tells as much about Boolie as it does Hoke. Boolie doesn’t expect Hoke to be subservient, and Hoke only asks for respect and a fair wage.

Written by playwright Alfred Uhry, Driving Miss Daisy is as much about race relations, as it is about dealing with cantankerous old ladies. It falls closer on the spectrum to To Kill A Mockingbird, than Uncle Tom’s Cabin. None of the characters would be described as noble, yet they care enough to be tactful. They don’t apologize for who they are, or pretend that differences don’t exist.  No one has any delusions that Miss Daisy is merely cranky or difficult.

Hoke isn’t reluctant to point out that sometimes Daisy makes impossible demands. When Miss Daisy teaches Hoke to read, he thanks her. When she replies (with her usually unpleasant demeanor) Don't be ridiculous! She explains he has the ability, but just doesn’t know it.  She is crusty, but refuses to condescend. This is the strength of Uhry’s narrative. Driving Miss Daisy is brave enough to raise the uncomfortable issues. It won't blow sunshine up our ass.

I must give props to Karen Jordan (Daisy Wertham) Toney Smith (Hoke Colburn) and Brian Hoffman (Boolie Wertham). Under the guiding, experienced hand of Director Rachael Lindley, they gift us with truly remarkable performances. Jordan is convincing, amusing, and exasperating as Daisy. Toney Smith is inspired and marvelously comic as Hoke. Brian Hoffman brings his impressive skills, as the relaxed, ironic, forbearing son, Boolie. I cannot recommend Richardson Theatre Centre’s production of Driving Miss Daisy enough. It is nuanced, understated, meticulous. They have hit a home run.

Richardson Theatre Centre presents: Driving Miss Daisy, playing March 31st-April 16th, 2023. 518 W Arapaho Road, Suite 113, Richardson, TX, United States, Texas. (972) 699-1130. richardsontheatre@gmail.com