Category: Critique

Emma Nolan lives in Edgewater, Indiana, a provincial town where she attends James Madison High School. She wants to take her girlfriend, Alyssa Greene, to the dance. Despite widespread recognition and acceptance of the Queer Community, parents and School Board members have forbidden this, and news has reached the media. Alyssa and Emma are subjected to scorn, mockery, and shade.

Meanwhile, Barry and Dee Dee have just suffered a traumatic blow to their egos. Their opening night performance of Eleanor (a musical about Eleanor Roosevelt) was skewered by the New York critics, and they’re in a panic. Brainstorming with their friends: Angi, Trent, and

(their agent) Sheldon, they come across Emma’s story of social injustice, and resolve to inject themselves into the predicament. They are deeply, truly moved for Emma, and sincerely hope the publicity will bolster their flatlining careers.

Their motives are not exactly altruistic, but they make a good faith effort. There are press conferences, decrees by the governor, town hall meetings, and scuffling attorneys. Trent, Sheldon, Dee Dee, Barry and Angi show up with protest signs, bull horns and vehement denunciations. Always when the paparazzi is there. It’s easy to see the grownups are advancing their own ideologies. They don’t want to be fair, they just want what they want. Emma is almost an afterthought.

Written and composed by Chad Beguelin, Bob Martin and Matthew Sklar, The Prom is a clever musical: insider theatre gags, solid jokes, a smattering of pathos, painful personal epiphanies, pleasant songs both gripping and light. Perhaps something of a mashup of It’s Only a Play and Inherit the Wind. The Prom takes what might have been intense and tumultuous, and being a comedy, doesn’t go there. It doesn’t dip everything in corn syrup either. It’s frank. It’s well-crafted. The good guys win and the surprising solution doesn’t go by the numbers. The LGBTQ Community (is painfully aware) we’re not yet out of the woods. That being said, The Prom will lift you up, and coax the sniffles. Seeing the teens (and their parents) in the audience, with relieved smiles and tears in their eyes. It was definitely worth the trip.

(They could use handsome valet or two.)

Uptown Players presents The Prom, playing July 12th-28th, 2024. Kalita Humphreys Theater. 3636 Turtle Creek Blvd, Dallas, Texas 75219. 214-219-2718. uptownplayers.org

Sophie and Gregor are a married couple who share a home and a psychiatrist, perhaps ill-advisedly. His name is Dr. Frans. They see him separately, without guessing his advice may leave something to be desired. Now, an unbalanced therapist is not necessarily a bad one, but when he says to shove their emotions down, we might wonder. You’d think this would be the last goal you’d be aiming for. You don’t heal a problem by ignoring it.

Gregor confides that he has killed Wink, a scruffy, malodorous cat Sophie rescued. But before he buried Wink, Gregor skinned him. Dr. Frans acknowledges the transgression and dismisses it. Of course, Gregor lies to Sophie, who is distraught. In the meantime, Wink (our cat) miraculously rises from the dead. Was he accidentally buried alive, or did Gregor wish to torture him further? Whatever the explanation, playwright Jen Silverman imbues the event with enigma and suggestions of the metaphysical. Wink tracks down Dr. Frans and rocks his world. The more one learns about the other, the more beguiled.

A prevailing notion regarding sexuality, humanity and romance is a catch. Some might contend that the most delectable, intense sex is the opposite of the formal, the civilized. But if we dispense with good manners, if we unleash the id (if you will) how far is too far? Some may piss or thrash or humiliate, but when do we cross the line? (Consider Damage by Josephine Hart or Steps by Jerzy Kosinski.) Both Sophie and Gregor speak wistfully of their courtship, laden with tenderness and surprise, but now it seems the only thing left is deception and estrangement.

It may be too late to call it a trend, but it’s not unusual to see plays that begin as comedy (in this case sly, shadowy satire) and gradually move into the realm of anger and despair. Silverman, it seems, loves to play. In the best sense. She may push a bit to make a point, but it’s a venial sin. Wink is perhaps the perfect metaphor for unapologetic, pragmatic impulse. He may be amoral, but neither is he vindictive or conflicted. Wink is a spectacular circus of alpha rage, savagery, regret, adoration, chaos: flouting the edge of the abyss. A mashup of romance, bestiality and despondency.

Second Thought Theatre presents Wink, playing June 26th-July 13^th, 2024. 3400 Blackburn St. Dallas, TX 75219. (214) 897-3091. secondthoughttheatre.com

Frederic has completed his indentured service as a crew-member of the notorious Pirates of Penzance, and (with some regret) must move on. He has enjoyed his stint immeasurably, but presently, his erstwhile companions must become adversaries. He gives them a few tactful notes on pirating (pirateship?). For example, word has spread that they will spare anyone who finds themselves an orphan (they themselves being orphans). As it happens, all their abductees are orphans. Afterward, he nearly crosses paths with some dainty sisters, but turns away, lest he accidentally gaze while they are changing clothes. Then Mabel appears. She is clearly the most beautiful of all the sisters, and sets upon Frederic as a lost soul (Poor Wandering One). The result is, in a word, kismet. Things being what they are, the rest of the pirates, wish to marry the remaining sisters. Complications continue to emerge.

Gilbert and Sullivan, masters of comic operetta, are merry, whimsical, tongue-in-cheek, and quite adept at applying the grandiose to the humble. As we might expect from the creators of The HMS Pinafore and The Mikado. A sort of hybrid between a musical revue and spectacular nonsense. Imagine when a child presents his (or her) crayon drawing to proud parents who ceremoniously tape the picture to the refrigerator. Consider the adult version of that. Except the artist knows perfectly well that WE know perfectly well, that its preposterous to make such a fuss over the trivial and/or mediocre. And this example of the hyperbolic is a kind of satire. The magic of elaborate pomp. At least in the U.K.

The Pirates of Penzance invites us (like Oscar Wilde) to chuckle at the pretentions of British social order. Perhaps the characters participate in-self deprecation without realizing. Like the most brilliant comedies there are layers. The buccaneers might have been plucked from Peter Pan, the sisters from stories of nymphs and sprites. The narcissistic Modern Major General an evocation of the stalwart and ingenious. Frederic and Mabel are smitten with each other, but we cannot imagine them in the throes of gloriously messy passion.

Three things (or more) happen when when G & S declare it’s playtime. The rituals and pageantry of grown-ups are shown up for their ridiculousness. The actors give silliness that irreplaceable “mature” spin. No one loves to romp and hop and giggle and sing and salute like adults. Like water to the thirsty. Like balloons to the despondent. Like reptiles to the bored.

Theatre 3’s production of The Pirates of Penzance is buoyant, sly, deadpan and giddy. The cast moves with poise and loft. How can we resist this ticklish, lush, high-spirited fanciful ride? The precision, the raucousness, the shameless, disingenous lilt?

I wish there had been more pirates.

Theatre 3 presents The Pirates of Penzance, playing June 13^th -July 14^th, 2024 (Bastille Day) 2688 LaClede Street, Suite 120, Dallas Texas 75201. 214 871-3300. theatre3dallas.com

 

Two brothers: Jay (15) and Artie (13) have been left to live with their eccentric Aunt Bella and their grandmother, a battle-ax from the old country. Their dad, Eddie (forced to pay the hospital bills) must travel for a year. Bella helps Grandma run a candy store downstairs, their source of income. There are no freebies for her kids. Ice Cream or Lemon Drops, they must pony up. You might say Artie is the classic Enfant Terrible, a gloriously wiseass kid, saying what everyone else is thinking. Jay and Artie are in a genuine pickle. If their Grandma intimidates adults, what chance have they got?

Dad writes letters detailing his adventures as he goes from state to state, city to city. The boys get acquainted with Aunt Bella, sweet as pie, but a bit loopy. Uncle Louie comes to visit, with all the bravado of a gangster, but touchy when the subject comes up. Louis is one of those fantastic uncles, rejecting the formality the boys show for respect. He confides in them, explaining how the world actually works. Tickles them with blue jokes. Because that’s what uncles do, for crying out loud. He and Aunt Bella take Grandma down a few pegs when they expose her conniving. She’s not a paragon of virtue.

There’s something about Grandma’s presence, chilling and disparaging, that suggests a kind of trauma. Unless I miss my guess (and I often do) Grandma Kurnitz was affected by the Holocaust. This is never brought up. Perhaps this explains her severe demeanor. Her insistence on calling the boys by their Hebrew names. Lost in Yonkers is seen from the viewpoint of Jay and Artie. Jay is just beginning to understand what it means to be a teenager. How rough must it be, for them to navigate the grownup world? If nothing else, the boys see the reasons behind adult behavior. Perhaps this helps them endure Planet Grandma.

Neil Simon’s splendid (with a couple of exceptions) plays seem to follow a similar strategy. Humor as relief from misery. Or the catastrophic. In some of them, say Barefoot in the Park or Come Blow Your Horn, comedy gets the front seat. Newlyweds who might not be compatible, a younger brother, recklessly sowing his wild oats. Simon plays them for laughs. The Sunshine Boys and The Gingerbread Lady, are far more somber. The jokes are there, but more like life preservers in a storm. Lost in Yonkers is a coming of age story, with comic relief. It never crosses the line into pathos. But it asks what must do, in a life that smacks us down.

Enthusiastic applause for the players in this demanding show: Zachary Carvajal (Jay) Aubrey Goodman (Artie) Kevin Michael Fuld (Eddie) Amy Knoles (Bella) Karen Jordan (Grandma Kurnitz) Joe Cuccinotti (Louis) Megan Tormey (Gert). Intrepid co-directors Rachael Lindley and Deborah Key, deserve (at the very least) a medal for achieving such balance, nuance, and difficult tone. Their work in Lost in Yonkers is astonishing.

Richardson Theatre Centre presents: Lost in Yonkers, playing May 17^th -June 2^nd, 2024. 518 West Arapaho Road, Suite 113, Richardson, Texas 75080. 972-699-1130. www.richardsontheatrecentre.net.

Carol has come to her professor’s office looking for help. She is confounded and discouraged. She’s read the text, made extensive notes, attended class, but the content eludes her. When she arrives John is on the phone, trying to resolve familial issues. He’s annoyed. He can’t find anyone to help. He’s keenly aware of his obligations as an instructor. When it occurs to him his problems are distracting from giving Carol his full attention, he shifts gears. He goes out of his way to be sympathetic, and bring genuine humanity to the table. He may very well come off as lofty or pompous, but neither of these are hanging offenses. 

For her part, Carol is something of a train wreck. She’s made more than a good faith effort. She feels alone and beaten down and that her situation is hopeless. She believes she fails, because she’s a failure. John sympathizes, opens his heart, reassures her she doesn’t lack the skill.  It’s the unyielding scholastic system. Carol (intentionally or not) relies on zero sum game. If she’s not responsible, someone else must be. John proposes dialectic (argument as a means to truth) as opposed to debate, which necessitates a winner and loser.

Oleanna is a subversive, perplexing drama. Upon inspection, most plays have a strategy dynamic to propel it. Playwright David Mamet is building gradual animosity between Carol and John. John may make unfortunate choices, but have they been egregious, or is Carol disingenuous?  When she consults her peers, and proclaims she’s speaking for the group, this fundamentally changes their disagreement. John is no longer responsible only for his behavior towards her, but every student who’s conceivably been wronged by the intelligentsia.

Words, like racism and elitist and imperialism and of course, misogyny and sexism are brought to bear. Carol has become a mascot for causes that have nothing to do with her. It gives her case more leverage . Is she convinced John has  nefarious motives? Has Carol become a puppet? Is she pretending, to get revenge for pity, or inappropriate comfort? When he offers Carol an A grade, is it for sex or to ease the stress that’s upsetting her? Is John on the square or is he sly? Does Carol believe she’s been molested, or exploiting ambiguity, because she can?

Mamet wote Oleanna in 1992 long before the Me Too movement, and there’s definitely vision behind it. He anticipated that a good-hearted political swing could hold the guilty accountable. But sadly, also make way for painting each transgressor with the same brush. Certain exchanges are inserted to raise doubt. At the point that John’s been maligned repeatedly, when he’s been conciliatory, he finally refuses to capitulate. The phone rings. It’s his wife. Carol hears him, she says something that crosses the line. He has a meltdown. He snaps.

Is he accountable for his behavior, when someone sets out to destroy his home and career? There is a viable case to make for Carol, to be sure. But has she become an underhanded bully? Is she bandaging pathological insecurity? Has Mamet inserted this event to further confuse us, or does he believe John is some kind of phony? 

The Classics Theatre Project’s production of Oleanna, is canny, disturbing and masterful. The narrative begins gently until it gradually turns tumultuous. Actors Robert San Juan (John) and Devon Rose (Carol) are utterly dedicated to the performance, pulling us into the battle, messing with our minds and hearts. Their energy and spark, rage and nuance are phenomenal. They plant a quandary in our brains, that continues to thrive and flourish, until it cracks our skulls. TCTP has taken on a grizzly bear and opened the cage. Buy a ticket and buckle your seat belts.

The Classics Theatre Project Presents: Oleanna, playing May 17th -June 16th, 2024. Stone Cottage in Addison. 15650 Addison Rd, Addison, TX 75001. (214) 923-3619. tctpdfw@gmail.com. theclassicstheatreproject.com

 

Carol has come to her professor’s (John) office looking for help. She is confounded and discouraged. She has read the text, made extensive notes, attended class, but content eludes her. When she arrives John is on the phone, trying to resolve familisal issues while she patiently waits. He’s annoyed, he can’t seem to find anyone to actually help, so he gives up. At no time is Carol the object of his frustration. He’s keenly aware of his obligations as an instructor, and treats her with respect. When it occurs to him that his problems are distracting from giving Carol his full attention, he shifts gears. Not that he was hostile or arrogant before. He goes out of his way to be sympathetic, and bring genuine humanity to the table. He may very well come off as lofty or pompous, but neither of these are hanging offenses. And, you know, he is a professor at an ivy league school.

For her part, Carol is something of a train wreck. She has made more than a good faith effort. She feels alone and beaten down and that her situation is hopeless. She feels intimidated, as if incapable of comprehending what she needs to pass. She believes she fails, because she’s a failure. John sympathizes, opens his heart to her, reassures it’s not her lack of skill. It’s an unyielding scholastic system. Carol (intentionally or not) relies on zero sum game. If she’s not responsible, someone else must be. John is proposing a dialectic (argument as a means to truth) as opposed to debate, which necessitates a winner and loser.

Oleanna is a subversive, perplexing drama. Upon inspection, most plays have a dynamic strategy to propel it. Playwright David Mamet is obviously creating some kind of feud between Carol and John (though John’s not interested). He may make unfortunate choices, but have they been egregious, or is Carol disingenuous? Is she conniving or honestly confused? When she consults her peers, and proclaims she’s not speaking for her group, this fundamentally changes their disagreement. John is no longer responsible only for his behavior with her, but every student who’s possibly been wronged by the intelligentsia.

Words, like racism and elitist and imperialism and of course, misogyny and sexism are brought to bear. Carol has become a mascot for causes that have nothing to do with her. It gives her “case” more leverage than it might have. Does she understand that John has no nefarious motives? Has Carol become a puppet for political causes, or is she pretending, to get revenge? Revenge for pity, for inappropriate comfort? When he offers Carol an A, is it for sexual access or ease the stress that’s upsetting her? Is John on the square or is he sly? Does Carol believe she’s been molested, or exploiting ambiguity, because she can?

Mamet wote Oleanna in 1992 long before the Me Too movement, and there’s definitely vision behind it. He anticipated that a good-hearted political swing could hold the guilty accountable. But sadly, also make way for painting each transgressor with the same brush. Perhaps certain exchanges are there to raise doubt. (This next is a spoiler) At a point where John has been maligned repeatedly, after he has continued to be conciliatory and magnanimous. He finally refuses to relinquish control of his curriculum. Carol is astonished. When she hears him on the phone, she proceeds to cross a line. He has a meltdown. He snaps.

John becomes violent and roars wildly inappropriate invective. Was Carol right about him all along, or was he goaded into using misogynist obscenities? Is he accountable for his behavior, when someone sets out to destroy his home and career? There is a viable case to make for Carol, but has she become an obtuse bully? Is she using the incidents to bandage pathological insecurity? Has Mamet inserted this to further confuse us, or does he believe John is some kind of phony? Are Mamet’s motives important, in this case?

The Classics Theatre Project’s production of Oleanna, is canny, disturbing and masterful. The narrative begins gently until it gradually turns tumultuous. Actors Robert San Juan (John) and Devon Rose (Carol) are utterly dedicated to the performance, pulling us into the battle, messing with our minds and hearts. Their energy and spark, rage and layers are phenomenal. It seems they plant a quandary in our brains that only continues to thrive and flourish, until it cracks our skulls. TCTP has taken on a gargantuan grizzly bear and opened the cage. Buy a ticket and buckle your seat belts.

The Classics Theatre Project Presents: Oleanna, playing May 17th -June 16th, 2024. Stone Cottage in Addison. 15650 Addison Rd, Addison, TX 75001. (214) 923-3619. tctpdfw@gmail.com. theclassicstheatreproject.com

Every production of Greek tragedy doesn’t hold up.  Quality of translation and adaptation, evocation, accessibility of the text. Pieces like Oedipus, The Oresteia, Medea, were conceived with a particular kind of rhetoric. Leaning more towards recitation than conversation, pronouncement rather than dialogue, the audience doesn’t always feel invited or included. Some years ago, a local theater staged Oedipus, with noteworthy performances. A problem (a trial for any company) is the long, convoluted explanation of how the misbegotten king, fulfills a curse disclosed to his parents by the Gods. It’s not a simple equation, and the performers must sustain a kind of frantic energy, without losing the audience. Too many theaters, I expect, are lost in the throes of reverence.

The Persians (we are told) is the oldest extant drama from ancient Greece, written by Aeschylus. Adapted by Ellen McLaughlin and staged by Undermain Theatre, it runs at 80 minutes. There are rope swings and rocks and elevated maps that serve as pedestals for the characters. The swings might serve as italics and/or contrast for elation, fear, chaos. All the characters are defined by abstraction (Justice, Religion) rank (Chairman, Admiral) and function (Herald). Perhaps this parses what might be the Chorus. Queen Atossa and her son, Prince Xerxes, are the only ones with personal identities.

The Persians opens with the wretched despair of the populace, waiting for word of what’s happening in their battle with the Greeks. Left to sort through the damage and ruin of their home; they describe the details of this catastrophe, the helplessness, the rage towards their enemy. Queen Atossa appears, also beside herself, struggling to choose between her obligations as a ruler, and the overwhelming impulse to simply give up. A Herald who arrives goes into even greater detail. They’re all baffled by the destruction the Greeks have wrought, when the Persians should have prevailed by sheer numbers. We suspect the Greeks have dominated by utter ruthlessness and cunning. And the Persians unable to grasp how casually the Greeks
part with thumanity. Soldiers though they may be.

Undermain’s The Persians is stupefying. Audacious, frank and gripping. We realize we’re witnessing a prolonged, outcry of undeniable loss. Anger at a vicious, depraved culture. Still, we wonder how far this jeremiad can take us. Then we are shaken to the bone. The wailing, the chanting, the singing, the supplication to the gods. We’re pulled into a realm of the fierce and shameless and completely authentic. How director Kara-Lynn Vaeni elicits this implacable experience, rising above device or rhetoric, I could not say. We all know Greek tragedy is supposed to be gargantuan, amplified. That it means to drown us in undeniable, primal emotion. Then we see a piece like Undermain’s The Persians and even after we’ve returned home, it won’t let go.

Undermain Theatre presents The Persians, playing May2nd-26th, 2024. 3200 Main Street, Dallas, Texas 75226. 214-747-5515. undermain.org

 

Perhaps Tennessee William’s best known (and least outre’) drama, The Glass Menagerie is the story of Tom, Amanda, and Laura Wingfield, who share an apartment in Saint Louis. Tom is a writer who works in a shoe factory, Amanda (his mother) keeps house, and Laura (his sister) who is somewhat impaired. Her spirit wounded, n some profound way. She spends time listening to music, and tendfing to her collection of small animals, made of glass. Amanda was raised in privilege, in the Deep South, as were presumably, Tom and Laura. When their father deserted them, they were forced to move and make do on very little. Amanda spends a great deal of time reminiscing about the halcyon days of her young womanhood, surrounded by “gentlemen callers”;  taking us into a realm outside of the grubby, unforgiving world. She corrects Tom, constantly, interrogating about his nightly haunts.

Williams has created a story of three human beings trying to find refuge and distraction from disappointment and adversity. They don’t fit in ordinary life, not really. So Amanda takes excursions to the past. Tom writes poetry, and goes to the movies, and drinks. And Laura has her collection. Amanda nags to help her children better themselves. Tom gets drunk and stays out late to nullify the pain. Even when he flees, he can’t escape the guilt of leaving to salvage his own life. There is an exquisite sadness to The Glass Menagerie. Tom is both narrator and participant. He steps outside the conflagration, providing context and the warm illumination of care, for his family and himself.

The Classics Theatre Project consistently brings insightful, original angles to familiar pieces from the American Theatre canon. Director Jackie Kemp has brought his unique vision to Glass Menagerie. The set suggests a home decorated with taste but struggling with destitution. The acting style feels nuanced and matter-of-fact. Except, naturally, Amanda, whose grand bearing is only heightened by comparison. There’s something about Laura’s clothes that suggest the little girl. We experience a kind of airiness to the Wingfield living room. Perhaps something elegant but slight? For lack of a better word, this production felt more proletariat than other productions I’d seen.  A choice made (I’m thinking) to enhance the accessibility of the story.

The Classics Theatre Project presents: The Glass Menagerie. Playing March 8, 2024 – April 13, 2024. Stone Cottage in Addison, 15650 Addison Road, Addison, TX 75001. 214-923-3619. theclassicstheatreproject.com

Flanagan’s Wake is set in an Irish Pub. In Ireland. A wake is held for the mourners to keep vigil (the casket on the premises) for the loved one, on the way to his last reward. Rosaries are prayed, anecdotes shared, toasts proposed.  Flanagan’s Wake is perhaps less somber an endeavor. The closed casket is far upstage, and his friends are visiting and hoisting stout. The departed’s girlfriend is in attendance and (naturally) she keeps trying to climb into the casket. Too often the women in Flanagans’s Wake must endure disparagement for the frequency of their nighttime recreation (bed blanket bingo) though certainly, it’s a given that the guys are all horndogs. (Who knew?) If a stereotype of blue collar Irish culture is omitted, it is not for want of trying.

On the way in, they assign a name tag, so you are easy pickens for the amusement of actor and audience alike. As we are settling in, they ask for a show of hands from all the Catholics. I asked if Episcopalians counted, and they dismissed me, loudly and without thought. Throughout the show they pulled audience members onto the stage, swinging from friendly and patient, to cheerfully disdainful. Raucous and rowdy and awash in high spirits. It’s marvelous how it seems like an authentic wake (not that I’d know) when clearly it isn’t. The good Father seems especially churlish (like Brother Theodore?) abusing audience improvisation with remarks like: Well, that was stupid, or What you were thinking? Why should we laugh at such jibes and taunts? It’s not caustic, perhaps just another patch in this joyfully ridiculous quilt.

Gotta give mad props to the cast and crew of Flanagan’s Wake and Allen Contemporary Theatre for taking the pulse, of these so often disappointing times. I was certainly trying my best to chase away those pesky, cold-hearted blues when I headed to ACT for a Saint Patrick’s Day matinee. Seems this preposterous, deadpan comedy, with it’s shameless use of puns, shaggy dog stories, improvisation and stereotypes (no one is spared, especially the Irish) was just the remedy I was aching for. Right about now I’m thinking we’re all famished for wisecracking merriment. Treat yourself to some playful comfort.

Allen Contemporary Theater presents Flanagan’s Wake, playing March 15th-31st, 2024. 1206 East Main Street #105, Allen, TX 75002. 844-822-8849. allencontemporarytheatre.net

Flanagan’s Wake is set in an Irish Pub. In Ireland. A wake is held for the mourners to keep vigil (the casket on the premises) for the loved one, on the way to his last reward. There are rosaries, prayed by those gathered. Flanagan’s Wake is perhaps less pious an endeavor. The closed casket is far upstage, and his friends are visiting and hoisting stout. The departed’s girlfriend is in attendance and (naturally) she keeps trying to climb into the casket. Too often the women in Flanagans’s Wake must endure disparagement for the frequency of their nighttime recreation (bed blanket bingo) though certainly, it’s a given that the guys are all horndogs. (Who knew?) If a blue collar Irish trope is omitted, it is not for want of trying.

On the way in, they assign a name tag, so you are easy pickens for the amusement of actor and audience alike. As we are settling in, they ask for a show of hands from all the Catholics. I asked if Episcopalians counted, and they dismissed me, loudly and without thought. Throughout the show they pulled audience members onto the stage, swinging from friendly and patient, to cheerfully disdainful. Raucous and rowdy and awash in high spirits. It’s marvelous how it seems like an authentic wake (not that I’d know) when clearly it isn’t. The good Father seems especially churlish (like Brother Theodore?) abusing audience improvisation with remarks like: Well, that was stupid, or What you were thinking? Why should we laugh at such jibes and taunts? It’s not caustic, perhaps just another patch in this joyfully ridiculous quilt.

Gotta give mad props to the cast and crew of Flanagan’s Wake and Allen Contemporary Theatre for taking the pulse, of these so often disappointing times. I was certainly trying my best to chase away those pesky, cold-hearted blues when I headed to ACT for a Saint Patrick’s Day matinee. Seems this preposterous, deadpan comedy, with it’s shameless use of puns, shaggy dog stories, improvisation and stereotypes (no one is spared, especially the Irish) was just the remedy I was aching for. Right about now I’m thinking we’re all famished for wisecracking merriment. Treat yourself to some playful comfort.

Allen Contemporary Theater presents Flanagan’s Wake, playing March 15th-31st, 2024. 1206 East Main Street #105, Allen, TX 75002. 844-822-8849. allencontemporarytheatre.net