Category: Critique

In 1960 Harper Lee published To Kill A Mockingbird, which won the Pulitzer that year, and has never since been out of print. Apart from belonging to the canon of contemporary American literature it is a phenomenal example of poignant, nuanced, brilliant narrative that has an intuitive feel for language and character. What might have ended up as a didactic homily, became a profoundly moving novel. Lee explored the impact of an incident. Tom Robinson (a black man) is tried for allegedly raping a white woman, through the eyes of Scout, a Southern tomboy no older than 10. Like Mark Twain’s Huck Finn, Harper Lee’s Mockingbird achieved depth and freshness by creating a narrator who avoided the cynical racist indoctrination of the older characters. Raised by Atticus Finch (an attorney who despises bigotry) Scout and her older brother Jem, are more or less impervious to the narrow attitudes that shape the inhabitants of Maycomb, Alabama, in 1933. In Atticus Finch, Lee created a remarkable, yet credible hero, that while lacking some traditional aspects of heroism, strived to treat others with care and consideration. Without a trace of self-righteousness.

Playing at Theatre Arlington, the stage adaptation (by Christopher Sergel) of To Kill A Mockingbird is true to the plot of Lee’s book, if not exactly the experience. Sergel introduces the character of Scout as an adult. Now called Jean Louise Finch, she leads us through the high points of the story. Atticus Finch has been assigned the task of defending Tom Robinson against Myella Ewell’s charges of rape. This has drawn down the wrath of many of his neighbors, but Atticus holds his head high, and refuses to judge even those who hold him in contempt. Scout, Jem and their Cousin Dill follow the trial, when they’re not up to mischief, or learning the hard life lessons we all must. Scout catches a lot of grief for her boyish affect, and is subsequently marginalized just like Tom Robinson, the conscientious (though humble) Atticus, and the eccentric Boo Radley.

The trial of Tom Robinson, and its outcome, serve as a litmus test for the moral substance of the small, tired town of Maycomb. Sergel’s drama includes details we all remember, and omits others. There’s the long-suffering housekeeper Calpurnia, Mrs. Dubose, the ill-tempered, verbally abusive neighbor, and the chilling moment when Boo saves Jem and Scout. It’s to Sergel’s credit that he avoids simply transferring Mulligan’s film to the stage. It’s a dubious and daunting challenge, to distill (rather than synopsize) an astonishing work such as Mockingbird. Lee reaches us by choosing diction carefully, and never telling us what to think. We share in the lives of key characters (Mayella Ewell, Calpurnia, Dill Harris, Helen Robinson, etc…) and how this calamity affects them, but Lee never resorts to aphorism or summation. Mr. Sergel makes a valiant effort to do justice to this overwhelming story, but it couldn’t have been easy.

Under the direction of Michael Serrecchia, Theatre Arlington’s To Kill A Mockingbird is filled with earnest, warm, involved performances that are charming and memorable. It has so many lovely, tender moments, and evidence of the audience’s sympathy could be heard throughout the show. Noteworthy performers include: Jared Culpepper (Bob Ewell) Sara Ragsdale (Jean Louise Finch) Dorothy Lynn Brooks (Mrs. Dubose) Delmar H. Dolbier (Judge Taylor) DR Hanson (Walter Cunningham) Patricia E. Hill (Calpurnia) Tye Janae (Tom Robinson) and Todd Hart (Atticus Finch).

Theatre Arlington presents To Kill a Mockingbird, playing April 7th-23rd, 2017. 305 West Main Street, Arlington, Texas 76010. (817) 275-7661 www.TheatreArlington.org

Rick Elice’s Peter and the Starcatcher (based on the novel by Dave Barry and Ridley Pearson) accomplishes much. It’s an elucidation, a spoof, an homage, a riff and a prequel to J.M. Barrie’s play, Peter Pan. In some ways, perhaps it’s also reductive. Peter Pan, hybrid sprite and quintessential orphan, has captured the imagination of generations, a metaphor for grown men who can’t relinquish the exhilaration of boyhood. There’s so much going on beneath the surface of of Barrie’s subversive story: gender-bending, male identity, shadow self, the fey sparkle of immortality, the ugly side of adulthood.

Elice’s Starcatcher enjoys a strange attachment to its source material. The more it would seem to mock Peter Pan, the stronger the bond. Barrie absolutely insisted that Peter Pan would always be played by a female actor, while Peter the orphan in Starcatcher is the only character who never dabbles in transgender merriment. He is also more devoted to Molly (a stand in for Wendy) with no desire to be “adopted”. In many ways Starcatcher presents as comic fancy but the paradigm shift is clear. Barrie’s otherworldly scamp is forfeited for a tragic waif who loves his buddies, but finds the brilliant girl Molly utterly beguiling.

Molly and her dad, Lord Aster, are Starcatchers, they deal in starstuff, enchanted dust that transforms those it touches into the essence of their dearest wish. On a sea voyage, their paths cross with Ted, Prentiss and The Nameless Boy (Peter) three orphans who, abused though they may be, have no clue just how bleak their future is. Lord Aster must destroy a chest filled with starstuff, lest it transform the wicked into far more destructive monsters. Amidst a throng of pirates, sailors and dastardly malcontents, our heroes wind up on Mollusk Island, where their lives will be forever changed, and the inception of Peter Pan explained in its entirety.

Directed by Tyler Jeffrey Adams, Peter and the Starcatcher has been orchestrated with precision and panache. Starcatcher is a melange of raucous, wonderfully preposterous humor, with an undercurrent of folklore and issues that go to the core of our humanity. An adventurous farce undercut by serious themes. A precarious marriage of the giddy and somber. Adams takes on this tough task and makes it soar. Starcatcher seems to emerge from a dubious need to ground Peter Pan in the plausible, but Adams and this purposeful, versatile cast (and crew, et al) make it work, pulling us into the narrative, engaging us with warmth, silliness and the spillover between famished mortality and the supernatural. Don’t miss it.

[I was privileged to attend two different productions of Peter and the Starcatcher on the same weekend. One at Onstage in Bedford and the other at The Firehouse Theatre. Both had qualities to recommend them. Though the Bedford production closed before I had a chance to write my article, I urge you to read both pieces.]

The Firehouse Theatre presents Peter and the Starcatcher, playing April 6th-23th, 2017. 2535 Valley View Lane, Farmers Branch, Texas, 75234. 972-620-3747. www.thefirehousetheatre.com

The Core Theatre in Richardson consistently promotes social justice and encourages us to examine our lives in the larger context of our humanity. Their productions of Fire at the Cocoanut Grove 1942, and Our Town are just two examples. Considering that racism has once again become a topic of discussion, it’s encouraging to see they’re currently staging Behind the Cotton Curtain: Remembering Medgar Evers, a documentary play conceived, written and directed by James Hansen Prince. Set during the civil rights conflicts that shook the town of Jackson, Mississippi, Cotton Curtain begins with a number of vivid, disturbing slides depicting the history of slavery and organized racial violence, including Ku Klux Klan rallies and lynchings. These provide a context for the explosive circumstances to come. The vast majority of white folks in Jackson were not merely opposed to integration, but profoundly threatened by the idea.

Medgar Evers was an intelligent, articulate, degreed, field secretary of the NAACP and civil rights activist, involved in numerous causes, including the exoneration of Emmett Till, the integration of the University of Mississippi, boycotting gas stations, and civil protests. Evers had a gift for powerful oratory and standing up to institutions determined to enforce the status quo. It was no wonder he caught the attention of The White Citizens’ Council, an organization determined to stop African Americans in their march towards equality. The Council’s vicious methods were unconscionable (to put it kindly). Opposition culminated in the assassination of Medgar Evers on June 12^th, 1963 by member Byron de la Beckwith.

Like Lee Blessing, James Prince walks the tenuous line of dealing with charged issues like terrorism and political upheaval with calm reason and keen empathy. The heroes are not saints, but their anger, in the face of horrendous violence is understandable. Prince does not soft-pedal America’s history

of abuse towards African Americans, nor does he tip the scales when we hear the pompous rhetoric of white imperialism in response to those struggling for simple equality and respect. Prince gives us enough background to understand the familial underpinnings that fueled Medgar Evers’ vigilant desire to stand up and fearlessly pursue the cause of constitutional equanimity. Cotton Curtain never comes off as didactic or incendiary, but strives to provide a balanced, reflective understanding of the tumultuous circumstances that led to death of one of America’s heroes. I urge to go to this stirring, engaging drama. And by all means, stay for the “Talk Back.”

The Core Theatre presents: Behind the Cotton Curtain: Remembering Medgar Evers, playing March 24th-April 16^th, 2017 (Sunday matinees 3PM). 518 West Arapaho Road, Suite 115, Richardson, Texas 75080. 214-930-5338. www.thecoretheatre.org

Some playwrights will brazenly drag you down the rabbit hole (Albee, Beckett, Shepard) while others (Williams, Pinter, Mamet) will be more stealthy. After seeing Deer I’m not sure where to place the demented, playful, inspired Aaron Mark on the continuum. When we first meet Ken and Cynthia they are en route to an idyllic cabin in the woods. Ken (John S. Davies) is yammering while Cynthia rolls her eyes. No response is necessary. They mistakenly hit a deer and while Cynthia wants to resuscitate, Ken (naturally) wants to put it out of its misery. She insists they take it to the cabin with them, and nurse it back to health. The outcome of this dubious mission (and what the deer will become for each of them) is the premise of Deer.

I’m often dazzled by the simple impetus that propels many successful plays. A teenage boy blinds horses. Why? A middle-aged couple invites a younger couple over for nightcap. Why? The wife of narcissistic buffoon adopts a dead, or nearly dead deer carcass. Why? When Cynthia (Lisa Fairchild) places the deer on the sofa and wraps it in a blanket, warms up a bottle for it, talks to it incessantly, we gradually move from the inexplicable to the inescapable. I have no desire to write a critique laden with spoilers, but I don’t know if I can avoid it. Like Nietzsche’s notorious reference to the abyss, the deer begins to speak back. Mark is careful here (it seems to me) to leave the question of Cynthia’s pathology to us. Is the deer really talking? And why does it assume Ken’s voice when conversing with Cynthia? Why Cynthia’s when talking to Ken?

It would be unfair and reductive to say “The Deer” is a metaphor for Ken and Cynthia’s famished, somewhat toxic marriage. Mark takes us down a number of bizarre and grotesque paths, finding humor in possibilities that are alarming and marvelously distasteful. Strangely enough, the more we play along with this creepy joyride, the more resonant and valid it feels. We laugh at Cynthia and Ken, acting out primal sacraments and petty retributions, and we feel the sting of loss as one watches while the other thrashes through lonely black waters. It feels like a jeremiad masquerading as shtick. Rage wrapped in velvety milk-chocolate. The gift of theatre as literature, of the complexity and ridiculousness of our humanity realized as spectacle, is permission to articulate through spontaneity and impulse. Deer channels sinister wisdom, the kind of frustration that fuels giddy, mind-bending humor.

Lisa Fairchild, John S. Davies, Garret Storms (director) et al deserve considerable recognition for navigating this harrowing, tumultuous descent. We wonder sometimes if audiences have any inkling of the moxie and reckless adventurousness it takes to step out on a stage and bear witness.

Stage West Theatre presents Aaron Mark’s Deer (A World Premier) playing March 9th-April 9^th, 2017. 821 West Vickery Blvd, Ft. Worth, Texas 76104. (817) 784-9378. www.stagewest.org

Written by Barbara Anselmi and Brian Hargrove, It Shoulda Been You is a romantic, musical comedy that delights in confounding expectations. It begins on a wedding day. But it’s not Rebecca’s (the bride) story, it’s her older sister, Jenny’s. Judy Steinberg, the mother, is frantic and fussing over every detail, though she and her husband, Murray, are rooting as much for Becky’s former flame, Marty, as her fiance, Brian Howard. Brian’s parents aren’t exactly crazy about the match, either, especially Brian’s mother, Georgette. She has one of the funniest solos (Where Did I Go Wrong?) in which she confides trying everything to turn Brian gay, and be the only “girl” in his life. It Shoulda Been You flaunts the line between sensitivity and cynicism (it could easily have been titled Marriage Bites) but manages a good-natured mix of warmth and irony, finding humor in life’s disappointments without diving into despair.

Shoulda opens with a wry, introspective number by Jenny, “I Never Wanted This” leading us to believe she’s the bride. It’s soon established that while mother Judy is busy coordinating the event, she’s never too busy to make Jenny feel like a failure. Being the older sister, Jenny should have been married first. From there, the complications just keep piling on: a feud between the future mothers-in-law, a stalking ex-boyfriend, a last-minute prenup, to name just a few. Anselmi and Hargrove have worked up a successful formula, playing on the tension between what traditional marriage is supposed to be, and the problems that arise when actual life interferes.

Digs are taken from the culture clash when a Gentile marries a Jewish girl (all in good fun) and of course, that only seems to be the least of the headaches to come. Jenny wistfully bemoans feeling excluded when she’s the only one single, but by the end, matrimony doesn’t look all that alluring. The mothers are self-indulgent, Brian’s dad is hostile (though supposedly cordial) all the familial ideas we celebrate are diminished. A lot of the more tender emotions are expressed in song, and often the sweetness that breaks through in the midst of our fractured, flawed humanity. Numerous playwrights and composers have held up marriage and heterocentrist coupling to scrutiny (Stephen Sondheim, Neil Simon, David Mamet) and Hargrove and Anselmi do the same in, It Shoulda Been You, spoofing and joshing, pricking the glossy bubble but avoiding the dark side. Some of the plot points are a bit of a reach, but no more so than you might expect.

The cast and orchestra are sublime. This is a demanding script, calling for nuance, versatility and sharp comic skills. The performers are confident and bright, with the chops to understand the crucial need for accurate timing and tone. The dance numbers are clever and sophisticated, most of the punchlines fresh and unexpected. The actors here realize the importance of letting the audience share in the pleasure they take, and that’s exactly what they do.

Uptown Players presents It Shoulda Been You, playing March 24th-April 9^th, 2017. Kalita Humphreys Theater, 3636 Turtle Creek Blvd, Dallas, Texas 75219. 214-219-2718. uptownplayers.org

Clifford Odets co-founded The Group in 1931, a theatre of authentic, blue collar social justice, that focused on ethnic diversity and the misery of the working class. In 1935, Waiting for Lefty burst on the scene, an immersive piece that drops us smack in the fray of a union meeting, illustrated by vignettes of various members. One of Clifford Odets’ great strengths is avoiding abstract rhetoric in favor of vivid, literal illumination. It was his first professional production, and a rousing success. In the same vein, Upstart Productions has revived this call to action, in a warehouse not far from Fair Park, offering Pay What You Want, and a stirring theatrical event. In these days of tumultuous political debate, it’s encouraging to find some brave, raw, confrontational theatre to quench our famished souls.

Waiting for Lefty begins with a lot of bitching and commotion: taxi driver’s wages are ridiculously low, what are we gonna do, where’s Lefty, this sort of thing. Testosterone and tempers are running high, and Odets has a gift for pyrotechnical, fierce, poetic dialogue. The first cut away from the core plot is a wrenching scrap between Joe and Edna. Edna’s trying to make their home work on a shrinking budget and Joe’s walking a tightrope between long hours and keeping a job during the Depression. There’s no quaint humor behind their desperate bickering. It helps a little to understand they wouldn’t be fighting so hard if they didn’t care. Then there’s the medical intern struggling with the specter of antisemitism. His devotion to his patients (however destitute) is heart-breaking. There’s a scientist tempted by an extravagant salary to spy on a colleague. An unemployed actor gets wind of a political meeting by a savvy receptionist.

The exhilarating, empowering idea that informs Waiting for Lefty is finding the moxie to defy corruption. The refusal to participate in your own diminishment and oppression. Time and again the characters are asked to forfeit their humanity in the midst of poverty and gnawing hunger. We understand all too well the leverage of those in control, how they try to fob off capitalism as the moral high-ground, as the be-all and end-all of western civilization. Odets exposes this sham with cogent mastery. His language is rough, pugilistic and utterly convincing. When the underprivileged and ill-used rise to haul open the doors and march against intolerance and exploitation, the drumming pounds in our ears, long after the show has ended.

Upstart Productions (with Ash Studios) presents Waiting for Lefty, playing March 15th-April 1st, 2017. 3203 Ash Lane, Dallas, Texas 75226. 214-923-3619. www.upstarttheater.com.

A young, African American man with a gift for music sets out to find “the real” (code for authentic) in the midst of a world fraught with hypocrisy, political posturing and pleasure-driven distractions. Something of a mashup by way of Company, Pippin and maybe a dash of The Wizard of Oz, our hero, listed in the program as “Youth” begins his journey in the church choir, where a friend confides they belong to a church where black people only pass as black. Suggesting perhaps they lack the rage appropriate to oppression? The discrepancy between what it means to be and act black (in 1980’s America) is a subject explored often in Passing Strange, a rock and roll musical written by Heidi Rodewald and Stew. Whether or not this question is answered, it’s a compelling show, filled with intense frustration and sorrow, anger and regret.

Our young protagonist travels to Amsterdam, believing the gravitas of Europe will help earn his chops as an artist. He falls in with a group of kindred spirits, quickly discovering that casual sex and recreational drugs are readily available. Finally deciding bliss makes no motivation for creativity, he moves on, leaving girlfriend Marianna, and the tribe behind. Next he travels to West Berlin, where art is driven by class struggle and a profound distrust of middle class values. He embraces Desi, an articulate and tumultuous activist, who pushes him to examine his identity as an expatriated African American, living in postwar Germany. As he considers various philosophies and metaphysical positions, he grows further and further apart from his mother. Bourgeois though she may be, she truly cares for him, and even when the other members of his group travel home for Christmas, he doesn’t understand he’s taking a very precious love for granted. “They make me crazy”, one of them explains, “but they’re my family.”

Our hero, it seems, hasn’t lived long enough to grasp that genuine love, whatever the source, is rare in this rough, cold, desolate world of ours. He comes by it so easily, he doesn’t realize it’s not an endless resource he can neglect. Passing Strange submerges us in this funny, painful, cyclonic fable, with oceans of versatile, soulful, often introspective and fierce music. There’s so much thrashing about I’m not sure what it amounts to, in retrospect. Does it come to more than the sum of its parts? That being said, it’s a pleasurable, sweet, profoundly moving experience.

Theatre Three presents Passing Strange, playing March 2nd-26th, 2017. Regional Premiere. Book and Lyrics by Stew. Music by Heidi Rodewald and Stew. 2800 Routh Street, Suite 168, Dallas, Texas 75201. 214-871-3300. theatre3dallas.com

A powerful, engaging, scintillating work of Folklore Theatre, Yemaya’s Belly finds the intersection between the literal and fanciful. Jesus is a boy who likes to play dominoes with his Uncle Jelin and his buddy, Tico. He picks up essential guy stuff from them. How to drink, bluff, swagger, treat the ladies. Do what’s right. He probably sees himself as a small man, learning to make his maleness actual in a tough world. Jesus lives in the small village of Magdalena, not too far from the jazzy, lurid city with its temptations and transgressions. His father runs a farm, and his mother sends Jesus out every day to bring dad his coffee, and respite from arduous labor. Jesus visits the city with his Uncle and a shop that sells groceries like Coca-Cola, SPAM and coconuts. When a sudden, devastating fire breaks out in Magdalena (before Jesus and Jeli could even try to rescue them) the parents are gone. Overcome with rage, disgust and despair, Jesus resolves to book passage on a raft with Maya, bound for Amerika.

Written by Quiara Alegria Hudes (who collaborated with Lin-Manuel Miranda on In the Heights) Yemaya’s Belly unlocks mysteries by teasing us with dreamlike, intuitive imagery. Naivete and awe take us to a realm where linear logic has no answers and holds no comfort. Folklore is a kind of special enchantment. It transforms ugliness into poetry and adventure. Perhaps something sacred. Once we release our grip, and look beyond face value, merciful truths emerge. An intoxicating, alluring (priestess?) dances hypnotically for Jelin and Jesus, producing a single feather. Jesus nicks it from her impulsively and from then on, it becomes infinitely more than its material presence. People sense its exceptional value, though it doesn’t look unique. As Hudes pulls us deeper and deeper into this melancholy (yet exhilarating) story of a traumatized lad who summons the moxie to sail to America on a raft, we know it’s ridiculous, but we also know he must.

In addition to its rich, astonishing blend of sensual and metaphysical metaphors, Yemaya’s Belly never conceals political allegory. No longer does the right honor our crucial role as a haven for the downtrodden, the desperate, the diligent. Jesus believes America brims with possibilities. That he will be welcome, because he is good-hearted and seeks an end to suffering. So many have cherished America as the land of fresh beginnings. When small icons of American pop culture find their way to the third world, they must feel other-worldly and miraculous. Talismanic. Hudes connects us to Jesus by our mutual need for something beyond constant despair and disappointment. Adrift on their raft. Starving and unquenched for days. Jesus and Maya begin to hallucinate. When Maya believes she glimpses the green shore in distance, your heart thunders.

Cara Mia Theatre presents Yemaya’s Belly playing March 4th-19th, 2017. (Dallas Premiere) 2600 Live Oak Street, Dallas, Texas 75204. 214-516-0706. www.caramiatheatre.org

Matthew Posey, genius behind The Ochre House, writer and director of most of their shows, has a unique gift for creating absurd, strange, shticky, profane, hilarious pieces with a cynical undercurrent. I say this with great admiration. Cynicism is often a powerful impetus for brilliant satire. Dr. Bobaganush is a bold, funny, fierce indictment of the holocaust and our current regime. As an elderly Jewish friend of mine once pointed out, the parallels are ugly and unsettling, and Posey has used his magnificent craft to stir us to the quick. You don’t know whether to weep or guffaw. It’s not difficult to watch until the very end.

Dr. Bobaganush (and his Carnival of Wonders) travels the European hinterlands with his family in a wagon, a mash-up of slapstick, prophesy and prestidigitation. Ochre House shows have a tendency to blend the comedic, oracular and grotesque and this one is no exception. The characters include Anne Frank and Mr. and Mrs. Van Daan. Anne is dressed to suggest Dorothy Gale of Frank Baum’s Wizard of Oz series. When she spends the night in Bobaganush’s wagon, his decrepit dad chases her sporting (what must be) an enormous erection. Ugh! Someone needs to put grandpa on a leash. For all the stuff and nonsense the doctor and his clan offer as entertainment, he undoubtedly has access to genuine psychic powers. While Anne and the Van Daans flee the Nazis, he senses something nefarious in the air. It’s obvious to the audience he’s on the right track, but at that time, no one could believe that such a ridiculous, unbalanced little megalomaniac could win such widespread advocacy, or wield such pervasive, toxic influence.

As I have already suggested, you never know what to expect when you visit The Ochre House, but it’s all to the good. For some reason, Posey’s bizarre combinations of the traumatic, banal, humorous and vaudevillian works inexplicably well, and no one who loves theatre should miss the opportunity to go. As you may have heard, Posey is recovering from a horrible assault, forcing them to cancel the run of Dr. Bobaganush, and more’s the pity. We need artists like Posey, now more than ever. I sincerely hope and pray that with our love, good wishes and support he will be restored to full health, and this phenomenal, miraculous, necessary show can be expeditiously revived. God speed to Matthew Posey and his remarkable team of actors, creators, and musicians.

The Ochre House Theatre: Dr. Bobaganush. 825 Exposition Avenue, Dallas, Texas 75226. 214-826-6273. www.ochrehosetheatre.org

Cast:

Doctor Bobaganush: Matthew Posey

Madame Bobaganush: Marti Etheridge

Anne: Elizabeth Evans

Peter: Christian Taylor

Boobi: Chris Sykes

Mrs. Van Daan: Cassie Bann

Mr. Van Daan: Kevin Grammer

Frau Kina Hora: Carla Parker

Herr Lipschitz: Mitchell Parrack

Musicians:

Woodwinds: Jeffrey Barnes

Percussion: Bobby Fajardo, Stefan Gonzales

Bass: Aaron Gonzales

Accordian: Earl Norman

Lead Vocal: Trey Pendergrass

Guitar: Gregg Prickett

Creative Team:

Composer/Music Director: Earl Norman

Lyrics: Matthew Posey and Mitchell Parrack

Scenic Artist: Izk Davies

Costume Design: Amie Carson

Set Design: Matthew Posey

Props and Puppet Design: Justin Locklear

Lighting Design: Kevin Grammer

Choreography: Delilah Arrebola

Carpenters: Justin Locklear, Kevin Grammer and Mitchell Parrack

Stage Management: Madeleine Morris

House Management: Cynthia Webb

House Staff: Ruth Fajardo

Photography: Richard Hart

Graphic Designer: Jeremy Word

It’s understood Neil Simon is a gifted comic playwright. But the cynicism, the irony that makes his humor so pointed and resonant, doesn’t get much attention. In all fairness, that dark streak is more evident in some pieces than others. Early in his career he wrote The Gingerbread Lady for Maureen Stapleton, a rueful, wry comedy tracking the journey of a woman recovering from alcoholism, before terms like: “enabling, dependency, sobriety” were part of the popular vernacular. Broadway Bound is probably the most melancholy of Simon’s autobiographical trilogy (including Brighton Beach Memoirs and Biloxi Blues) though its salient aspect is also humor. Simon attempts a deeper intimacy, by owning his shadow. His flaws are not divulged in some tortured moment of excruciating humility, but simply. Plainly.

Eugene and Stanley Jerome are brothers, living with their parents, Kate and Jack, and their grandpa, Ben. Like many Jewish working-class families in New York, they live in Brighton Beach. Their cultural identity affects their attitudes, values and how they live, in the same way it affects Latin Catholics, WASPS and cold-water Baptists. Back in the day, Grandpa Ben was a vociferous Socialist. And he still is. Stanley and Eugene are starting to hit their stride as comic writers. Kate and Jack are growing more and more distant from one another. The animosity is tangible, but no one talks about it. Eugene’s astonishing gift is his ability to confront painful truths with his subversive, wise-ass wit. Imagine the family dog was hit by a car. Your mother serves dinner that evening. She asks how you like the pot roast, and you say: “I dunno. Usually I’d just sneak it to Sophie.” [This is strictly an example. It’s not in the play.]

The brothers feel increasingly frustrated and contentious. But they steadily climb higher in the entertainment business. When a comedy sketch Eugene and Stanley wrote is broadcast, their whole family gathers, and all their friends, throughout the neighborhood. Afterwards, Kate is genuinely proud (but distracted) Grandfather only likes political satire, and Jack is insulted. He’s convinced the two were taking jabs at him. This marks a turning point for Eugene, who realizes rage is his ticket to real success, if he mixes it with sly humor. Stanley encourages Eugene to befriend “that son-of-a-bitch” lurking inside, because it will take him far. What follows is astounding.

Eugene’s mother tells the anecdote of the night she danced with George Raft. But for some reason, this time it’s different. For the first time Eugene sees Kate, before she was his mother, consumed with responsibilities. She shows him how to dance, and he confides to us the dubious, profound rush of falling in love and showing up his dad. Neil Simon must know we know it’s him, but he takes that dangerous step – hoping we’ll understand. He trusts us with his broken, sad, frail humanity. What Sherry Etzel (Kate) and Quinn Angell (Eugene) achieve here (with Director Evelyn Davis) is remarkable. Who knew they could take us to this reckless, inconsolable realm of leaving boyhood behind? This is a diligent, inspired, dedicated cast. Go. See Broadway Bound. Bring someone dear to you and five handkerchiefs.

Theatre Frisco presents Broadway Bound, playing February 24th-March 12^th, 2017. 8004 North Dallas Parkway, Suite 200, Frisco, TX 75034. (Call and ask for directions.) 972-370-2266. www.theatrefrisco.com