Sharp Critic : Christopher Soden

Eddie is smitten with May. Taken. Obsessed. When Fool for Love opens, May is doubled over with intense aching for Eddie. But silent. Eddie is frantic. He’s a rodeo rider and a cowboy, not like the cliches we so often see in theatre. His blood runs thick and dark. Like black sap. Playwright Sam Shepard throws us right into the thick of May and Eddie’s tumultuous romance. Ferocity and tenderness. Eddie has shown up out of the blue, but May doesn’t know how to handle him. Or what she actually wants. He can tell something’s up. He can tell she’s hiding something. She keeps telling him to get lost. May can tell he hasn’t been faithful either. And she’s started drinking again. Her new boyfriend, Martin, is on the way. And an old guy sits on a chair in the corner. Watching.

Like Tennessee Williams and say, William Inge, Shepard takes what might pass for melodrama in lesser hands, and forges a lightning rod. He doesn’t rock the boat, he shakes it to pieces. Shepard takes the traditional love triangle and turns it on its apex. May’s suitor, Martin, is collateral damage in the ferocious attraction between May and Eddie. Martin is sweet, kind, caring and polite, and Shepard shoves him into a pit of grizzly bears. Or maybe just one. You might even say that Eddie is the id, May is the ego, and Martin is the super ego, though Shepard might sneer at this. We’ve seen Eddie, the unpolished ex-lover, May the hostile girlfriend who’s moved on, and Martin the clueless buffoon before, but what we get, what we don’t bargain for, is painful, volcanic attachment that is understandable yet destructive. Shepard was never one to bother with sweet small-talk. For him it’s always bellowing, brawling and bathos. But, yes, it works.

Director Van Quattro guides his fearless cast: Joey Folsom (Eddie) Sasha Maya Ada (May) Braden Socia (Martin) and Chris Messersmith (The Old Man) through the rough waters of Shepard’s perpetually troubled ocean. This kind of storytelling cuts very close to the bone. If it’s done right, it changes the actors, it changes the audience. It changes everyone involved in the project. Classics Theatre has embraced that kind of gorgeous, reckless valor that emboldens you to plunge into the abyss. If you love dangerous, wrenching, powerful theatre. Go.

The Classics Theatre Project presents: Fool For Love. Playing: March 7-31st. Margo Jones at Fair Park. 469-652-6614. 1121 1st Ave, Dallas, Texas 75210. www.theclassicstheatreproject.com

From the beginning, Doom McCoy was a figure of legend and enigma. Born in the midst of a cyclone (or a tornado?) he was left an orphan after the catastrophe took his parents’ lives. Just like Harry Potter, Doom has no knowledge of his mom and dad, but a reputation that proceeds him. He’s very generous hearted, if a bit slow. He has a sweet (but not too) wife and a rambunctious boy and a girl. We accompany Doom on his odyssey, whether he’s headed to town, or the saloon, or across a burning desert, or fleeing the grasp of the treacherous. Doom has special powers he has yet to comprehend, so he finds himself in situations that are dangerous, inexplicable, perplexing. Explainable only by the evolved and oracular. He crosses paths with a Gambler, Satan, a Priest, a Medicine Man, an Evil Tycoon.

Director/Playwright Justin Locklear has crafted this metaphysical, satirical, comedic horse opera, with oodles of tropes, borrowing from Spaghetti Westerns, heroic journeys, Zane Grey, John Ford, Sergio Leone and Beck. Doom McCoy is equal parts homage and spoof, honoring the spirit of Cowboy narrative while taking pleasure in wry, understated sport. No one is better at concocting special effects on a dime that those prestidigitators at The Ochre House. Moving backgrounds, rough and tumble horse chases, slow-motion duels and (what I can only explain as) parallel universe incidents seen before our eyes and wrought “cunningly in small.” In Locklear’s script, characters are just as likely to make deconstructive observations (regarding narrative structure or thematic impact) as dialogue that advances the plot. And kudos all over the place, for the chutzpah Locklear took, to make female arch-villains so convivial and poisonous. You might ask, “Is this a step forward, or a step back?” I like to think it’s both.

It’s rare to find theatre where the pleasure and joy a company takes in creating a sublime, memorable experience is so tangible. So formidable. The Ochre House thrives on embracing the strange, the giddy, the ridiculous, the defiantly poetic. Doom McCoy and the Death Nugget isn’t as intense as some of their shows, but needless to say, the best comedy never nudges the audience in the ribs. It’s thoroughly submerged in its own cosmos, with all its jeery-rigged, hallucinatory, subversive, down-the-rabbit-hole glory, and there’s nothing that compares. So much comedy today is hamfisted, clueless and confuses the inane with the absurd. Ochre House understands that a phenomenal play like Waiting for Godot works, not just from gags and shenanigans, but because it resonates with our souls.

The Ochre House presents Doom McCoy and the Death Nugget, playing February 9th-March 2^nd, 2019. 825 Exposition Avenue, Dallas, Texas 75226. 214-826-6273. OchreHouseTheater.org

Entering the performance space, we see the stage has the cozy look of a den: wood paneling, piano, chairs, shelves neatly packed with rows of jars, each containing sheet music and a “brain”. There are four actors: two men and two women. No costume changes, double, triple, quadruple casting. As scenes are played, continuities emerge. Though there are linear plots, they don’t proceed in linear time. Hopscotch. One character is a scientist recovering from a stroke. Another his wife. There’s a neurologist trying to bounce back from a painful divorce. A pathologist who’s studying Einstein’s brain. One character experiments with a lesbian attachment, another investigates Einstein’s progeny.

Written by Nick Payne, Incognito considers recollection, brilliance, reason, scruples, loss, excruciation, the sublime. Initially, the narratives seem to move from the comic, to the ridiculous, to the dark. Sometimes the sublime to the insane. Following variations on a theme, stories cross, converge, crash, run parallel, start over. A devoted wife tries to salvage a glorious marriage, that’s barely started. She must endure incremental attempts to restore her husband’s memory. He doesn’t recognize her, then he does. The pathologist studies Einstein’s brain by dissection, distributing slices into countless jars. A therapist seeking the solace of intimacy, gets drunk to extinguish painful memories, so she can move on.

Payne fuses episodes and elements, keeping details distinct, creating a montage. Memory is a grace, preserving tender, transformative moments, but tormenting us with the traumatic, as well. It’s as if Payne seeks shatter any idealized notions of the brain and mind. Those who dwell the realms of genius might not be spiritually evolved. Saints not intellectual. Does past context enhance a relationship? If we could erase horrible incidents from the mind, should we? In a fugue state, what we say and do never enters conscious memory. In Incognito the forgotten becomes a fugue. Something phenomenal that affects us, but lies just beyond our reach. Payne finds delicacy, frailty, in the midst of chaos that for an instant, gives us a flash of clarity.

Under the sagacious, meticulous guidance of director Alex Organ, the cast (Drew Wall, Natalie Hebert, Thomas Ward, Shannon McGrann) is sublime: focused, agile, thoroughly engaged. Wall brings spontaneity and charisma, Hebert a nuanced, quirky grace. Thomas Ward has an ursine authenticity that is both amusing and poignant and McGrann, intuitive impulses that are truly phenomenal. She has a subtle pathos that will overwhelm you.

Second Thought Theatre presents Incognito, playing January 30th-February 11^th, 2019. Bryant Hall, Kalita Humphreys Campus. 3400 Blackburn St., Dallas, Texas 75219. (866) 811-4111. secondthoughttheatre.com

In 2006, Steven Sater and Duncan Sheik added rock, folk, pop music and lyrics to Frank Wedekind’s Spring’s Awakening. It swept the Tony’s. The most salient irony in a story fraught with ironies, is the stunning lack of progress mankind has made since the original play was staged in the 1800’s. Teenagers are still overwhelmed by the onslaught of hormones that come with adolescence. When they seek guidance from parents, teachers, ministers they are still admonished, ignored, denounced. Left adrift in a tumultuous ocean they are ill-equipped to navigate. Instead of getting crucial, practical information, they are failed by authority figures too cowardly to sort through their own discomfort and unresolved issues.

Spring Awakening tells the story of all young men and women, and Melchior, Moritz and Wendla, in particular. Melchior is the rebellious, intellectual atheist, and like Prometheus stealing fire from the gods, he is summarily punished for it. He helps out his poor buddy Moritz, who’s so frantic for answers and dizzy with libido, he can’t keep up his grades. The handmade, illustrated book that Melchior authors, creates a stir, as it presents the facts in a forthright, secular context. Wendla, also kept in the dark, seeks respite from Melchior. Naive in such matters, she insists that Melchior thrash her, with disastrous results. Sexuality without a compass can lead to inappropriate impulses, neither of which Wendla and Melchior can process or understand. When they finally consummate in an act of tender lovemaking, Wendla has no idea she’s risking pregnancy.

From the very first time I saw Spring Awakening, I was shocked and jazzed and completely onboard with its angry, unapologetic expression of sadness and disgust for adults that will do anything, anything, anything but level with them. The arrogance, superficiality, and vindictiveness of the grown-ups leaves ruin and tragedy all around. Spring Awakening looks at sexuality without flinching, so it explores disturbing content like incest, abuse, rape, abortion, desperation, abandonment, all running rampant because those in charge believe that shaming, bullying, disingenuousness is the answer to any situation they’d prefer to avoid.

The glorious joy of Spring Awakening is it’s utter lack of patience for the hypocrisy, persecution and degradation the teenage characters are subjected to, for the sake of sparing lame parents. The kids give way to raw, volcanic anger, contempt, despair. They leap in the air, they shout and dance and celebrate their subversive defiance. As much a rebuke of pretentiousness and sanctimoniousness as it is a paean to undiluted emotion, Spring Awakening takes us to the realms of transcendent, exquisite transgression: kicking, stomping, pushing back. Filling your lungs and yelling with everything you’ve got. The realm where sentient, fully functioning souls step up and crush the insects of ignorance, pettiness and fascism.

Uptown Players presents Spring Awakening, playing January 31^st -February 3^rd, 2019. Moody Performance Hall. 2520 Flora Street, Dallas, Texas 75201. 214-219-2718. uptownplayers.org

Set in Reading, Pennsylvania during Bush Jr’s term in office, Lynn Nottage’s Sweat tells the story of nine characters: Tracey, Stan, Jessie, Cynthia, Evan, Jason, Brucie, Chris and Oscar. Their lives depend on the factory that provides most of the town’s employment. When Bush’s notorious and flagrant manipulation of the economy went sideways, as we might expect, the working class and indigent are hardest hit. Scrambling to maintain profits, the factory cheats loyal employees by forcing them to renegotiate fair contracts, for less money. When they strike, the factory hires new labor for cheaper wages. People struggling for a better life make circumstances even worse for workers with seniority.

Most of the activity in Sweat happens in Stan’s bar, a regular watering hole for Cynthia, Jessie and Tracey, close friends who have worked the factory “floor” since they were teens. Chris and Jason, Cynthia and Tracey’s sons, are best friends, and spend a lot of time hanging out, when not working at the factory. Oscar helps Stan at the bar, busing tables, cleaning bathrooms, and so forth. Brucie is a drunken lout, and Cynthia’s husband. He’s not abusive, but irresponsible and given to benders. He will disappear for days.

Tracey, especially, has a short fuse. She tends to badger others and encourage escalation. As more and more of the folks living in Reading drop below the poverty level, and desperation rises, friendships deteriorate. When Cynthia, a hard-working, smart, African American woman is promoted, it sparks resentment from Jessie and Tracey, who figure she benefited from political correctness. When Cynthia’s torn between job dedication and loyalty to her friends, animosity grows. Prolonged, excruciating frustration erupts in rage and brawling.

Sweat is set by a special clock. Nottage shows us details, after and before a particular, devastating incident, and events leading up to it. We see Jessie, Cynthia and Tracey when they still cared for each other, unabashedly. As misery gradually takes over, we see the drunkenness, the anger, the sense of hopelessness, fueling catastrophe. Sweat makes it pretty evident that when Bush started gaming the economy to the advantage of the wealthy, the ripple effect on the 1% was no concern of his. Not that Sweat is an indictment. Rather it grieves the sense of solidarity and charity that we Americans forfeited as greedy, privileged class politicians looted and pillaged our resources. At a loss for some way to pull together, the struggling families of Reading have been condemned to chaos and despair.

The Dallas Theater Center presents Sweat, playing January 18th-February 10^th, 2019. Kalita Humphreys Theater, 3636 Turtle Creek Boulevard (Corner of Blackburn and Turtle Creek) Dallas, Texas 75219. 214-880-0202. www.DallasTheaterCenter.org

John is the president of a successful business firm, and Ellen is his mistress. They have a standing rendezvous every Wednesday and John leaves the next morning, after breakfast. Ellen lives in a penthouse that John fobs off as accommodations for visiting clients, so he can get the tax write-off. Cass and his brother have recently sold their business (manufacturing drawer pulls) to John’s, and realize, too late, they’ve been taken to the proverbial “cleaners.” Cass makes a special trip to New York City to confront John for his chicanery. A new receptionist at John’s firm has sends Cass to the penthouse by mistake, and later, John’s wife, Dorothy. Comedic chaos ensues.

At the outset, we see John finishing breakfast while Ellen pours his coffee in a frilly, translucent nightgown. When she reveals that today’s her birthday, he offers to spend the day, only to discover that scheduling blunders demand he must show up for work. Ellen is in tears when Cass knocks on the door, ready to read John the riot act. Of course, John’s not there, and Cass pretends to be John’s friend, needing a place to spend the night. The absent-minded secretary triggers awkward situations, and unresolved conflicts. When Dorothy shows up and finds Cass and Ellen arguing, she assumes they’re newlyweds, and insists they join John and she, for a night on the town.

Like other brisk comedies of the 60’s (Cactus Flower, Butterflies are Free, Barefoot in the Park) Muriel Resnik’s Any Wednesday finds humor in the foibles of romance, sex and disappointment. The difference is that Resnik doesn’t need to salve our wounds with an upbeat ending. It’s not depressing, but it’s not carefree. John is intelligent and savvy, but only wants what he can’t have. Ellen appreciates her situation, but never really reflects on what it costs her. Cass still believes that strength of character is rewarded. Dorothy seems to be the only one who embraces ugly truths with calm and sophistication. It isn’t just her seniority, she’s far better adjusted than her philandering husband, and is loathe to exploit others.

Any Wednesday is quite entertaining: sharp, emotionally evolved, surprising, ironic and strategically built. I’m not sure comedy is its most salient quality, but the narrative is touching and gripping. We care about Dorothy, Cass and Ellen and find ourselves involved in their lives. We witness their moments of anger and despondency. Joy and regret. Resnik sets hazards and epiphanies for them (and us) encouraging vicarious fulfillment. Resnik has the gift of making her story funny, canny, engaging and smart enough keep us on our toes. Any Wednesday may all turn on the new girl who still hasn’t figured out the switchboard, but even today, is that such a reach?

Rover DramaWerks presents: Any Wednesday playing January 10th-26th, 2019. 221 W Parker Rd, Suite 580, Plano, Texas 75023. 972-849-0358. www.roverdramawerks.com

Equus took the theatre world by storm in 1973, forever changing the paradigm of the possible. With it’s minimal set, primitive horse masks, characters bearing witness like a chorus, primal rhythms of worship and sacramental nudity, it was both shocking and cunning. Playwright Peter Shaffer built upon the premise (disturbed teenage boy blinds six horses) to consider the link between passivity and defiance, the Christian model of maleness, the intensity of pagan adulation, sexuality and manhood, and homoeroticism. Not that it’s all neatly lined up for cogitation. Elements spill over into each other, sparking combustion both terrifying and glorious. Shaffer captured the overwhelming experience of boy adolescence, with all its raw fear and ecstasy. Staging was neither for the faint of heart nor the reckless. It was difficult to fight the fear that we were dancing along the mouth of a volcano.

Martin Dysart is a child psychologist, practicing in England, where Equus is set. Hesther, Dysart’s friend and a magistrate, begs him to take on a case so atrocious, she fears no other doctor can be objective. After considerable arm-twisting, Dysart succumbs, and begins his investigation of Alan Strang’s attack on the horses, and the pathology behind it. Alan is evasive at first. Angry and snotty and confrontational; unsettling Dysart with intuitive digs at his personal life. Progress is slow and beleaguered by baffling details and back-pedaling. Dysart envies Alan his exhilarating midnight rides on Nugget, i.e., his horsegod: Equus.

Critiquing theatre as long as I have, you develop a strong appreciation for originality, bold vision and taking chances. Conventional staging can be all right, if it’s consistent with theme and content. But when you bring a fresh slant to shows that have entered the canon, this can be cause for excitement. Changing the time and setting of Taming of the Shrew, for example, makes it easier for the audience to identify. Director Adam Adolfo has taken brave risks in Lakeside Community Theatre’s current production of Equus, breaking away from the tropes of other productions. Adolfo digs deep, as if wrapping himself in subtext, bringing it to the surface. Adolfo’s vision is unique (and certainly subversive) pulling us into a nether realm of pain and dominance. All the actors are double cast as horses. The audience is, in effect, ushered into a stable, with redolent odors of straw, wood and leather. There is a persistent chorus of nickering, neighing, snorting and stomping hooves.

LCT’s Equus is powerful, life changing theatre. Adolfo cooks up Shaffer’s tumultuous narrative of Dysart and Strang’s ordeal, keeping it raw yet articulate. Equus may arguably be one of the most demanding scripts you could choose. It needs meticulous focus, restrained yet seething rage, and a pervasive sense of elemental forces beyond our grasp. The cast (Ellen Bell, Dale Moon, Jake Montgomery, Autumn McNamara, Nolan Spinks Cameron Fox, Jacob Hopson, Alex Rain, Andrew Derasaugh, Isabell Moon) is stalwart, provocative and utterly engaged. Especially noteworthy are

Dale Moon (Dysart) and Jake Montgomery (Strang). Moon brings a passionate despondence to the tormented psychiatrist, desperately trying to defuse Alan’s illness. Montgomery is electrifying and astonishing as the isolated and broken young man, aching to resolve the seachanges that come with manhood. Sometimes an actor trusts his intuition, taking us to that rare moment of grace and gestalt. Mr. Montgomery invite us into this startling turn, and it’s unforgettable.

Lakeside Community Theatre presents Equus, playing January 18th-February 2^nd, 2019. 6303 Main Street, The Colony, Texas 75056. (214) 801-4869. www.lctthecolony.com

It’s the 1880’s and the practical use of electricity has emerged as an epiphany, giving way to interior lighting and other conveniences. Dr. Givings treats patients (mostly women) for hysteria. Dr. Givings’ wife, Katherine, has a kind of sweet, breathless quality about her. If the doctor is cerebral and detached, Katherine is impulsive and effusive. What’s being diagnosed as “hysteria”, with its listlessness, malaise and lack of motivation, might also be construed as sexual frustration. The device Givings uses to treat their condition seems like a precursor to the vibrator. He applies it to their genitals, under a sheet, to preserve their modesty. Afterwards they are refreshed, vibrant, consumed by creative impulses.

In the Next Room (or The Vibrator Play) is Sarah Ruhl’s sex farce, eventually revealed as a melancholy reflection on the broken connection between men and women. At the outset, the various characters (two patients, two husbands, two wives, a painter, a nurse, a maid) seem fairly well-adjusted. As Katherine Givings surmises the procedure being performed on her husband’s patients, her ache for a more fulfilling marriage is elicited. Katherine’s joie de vivre finds no encouragement from her husband, who, while caring, is blind to his wife’s sybaritic spirit. As we learn more about the others: the details of their identities, their disappointments, their misery, we see (as Katherine does) that none of them are experiencing the abstract ideal of romance. In the hands of a lesser playwright, this revelation might have been reduced to cliché, but Ruhl imbues the narrative with poignancy and a poetry of longing.

As for the central metaphor, the left-brained husbands fail to grasp their clumsy attempts at using sex as the language of intimacy. (Only Leo, the artist, seems to understand the potential life presents for the rich and ecstatic.) The gizmo Dr. Givings uses to stimulate his patients, unfortunately, lacks the human touch. While often effective, it forfeits the grace of mammalian contact for mechanical response. Comparing electric light (with its alternating or direct current) to the elusive, flickering flame of a candle, Ruhl illustrates the folly of formulaic solutions to human quandary. Perhaps if the spouses were more empathetic? But that being said, In the Next Room, with parallel failures and thwarted intentions, carefully avoids assigning blame.

Director Marianne Galloway has assembled a valiant and fragile gathering of actors (Jennifer Kuenzer –David Meglino -Robert San Juan -Mindy Neuendorff -Sky Williams – Evan Michael Woods – Katlin Moon-Jones) for this profoundly touching and demanding piece. It’s difficult to know the appropriate response to a satire that morphs into an elaborate fable on the nature of our lives, the power of sympathy, and the destiny of coupling. We’re encouraged to chuckle at patriarchal deference to the male ego, and patronizing idolatry that leads men to treat women as girls. The enigma of goddesses replaces the rapture of imbuing pleasure. The cast, crew, et al, of In the Next Room have taken on this challenge with savvy, radiance and grace.

Imprint Theatreworks presents: In the Next Room (or The Vibrator Play) playing January 18th-26th, 2019. Bath House Cultural Center, 521 East Lawther Drive, Dallas, Texas 75218. 214-670-8749. imprinttheatreworks.org.

William Gillette and Felix Geisel are actors and best friends. Gillette wrote a play based on Arthur Conan Doyle’s Shelock Holmes series, and it has been a huge success, playing for 15 years. The run ends early, though, when someone from the audience tries to shoot Gillette dead, but only wings him. Two weeks later he invites the rest of the cast (they’re all friends) to stay as guests at his tony, recently built mansion. Felix brings his wife Madge. Simon and Aggie have eloped and told no one. Gillette and his elderly mother Martha will play host over the Christmas Holidays. Much to everyone’s horror, Gillette has invited Daria Chase, the vitriolic gossip columnist to join them. Chase is doing a biographical piece on Gillette, so it seemed like a practical idea. When a ruse to expose the foiled assassin backfires, Chase is incensed. True to form, she’s vindictive and vicious, threatening to ruin all their careers. Especially Gillette’s.

Playwright Ken Ludwig certainly knows how to construct a comedic murder mystery, using tropes of the genre without pandering. The cast members are all close and casual, trading witticisms and basking in each other’s congenial company. As the narrative progresses, we discover hidden connections, and unrevealed affairs. Without revealing too much, we’re treated to one of the most hilarious murders I have ever witnessed. Onstage, that is. While Gillette capitalizes on his prolonged history of playing Sherlock (the precursor of criminal forensics) the structure resembles Agatha Christie’s ensemble mysteries (Murder on the Orient Express, And Then There Were None…) more. All the guests have ample motivation, and the first confession won’t be the last. All this being said, Ludwig’s appropriation of Christie is redeemed by intelligence, plausibility and fresh takes on the familiar.

Richardson Theatre Centre’s production of The Game’s Afoot (or Holmes for the Holidays) is vastly pleasurable, marked by the players’ relaxed, canny, buoyant performances. The humor feels natural, the banter, spontaneous. Considerable demands made of the actors come off with grace and professionalism, thanks to the guidance of Rachael Lindley. Danger may not necessarily be the most salient aspect of Ludwig’s script but no matter, the deliciously wry script yields much enjoyment and a splendid diversion for the holidays.

Richardson Theatre Centre’s presents: The Game’s Afoot (or Holmes for the Holidays) playing November 30th-December 23^rd, 2018. 518 West Arapaho Road, Suite 113, Richardson, Texas 75080. 972-699-1130. www.richardsontheatrecentre.net

Oh, the joys of that wicked, sardonic team, John Kander (Composer) and Fred Ebb (Lyricist). Lambasting the apathy of degenerative society, while extolling the pleasures therein. Arguably their two most successful shows: Cabaret and Chicago detail cultures so cynical and jaundiced that irresponsible, reprehensible, reckless behavior barely elicits a blink. Sally Bowles’ roommate Elsie may have died of “too much pills and liquor”, but she was the “happiest looking corpse” she’d ever seen. Chicago is set in the 1920’s when women who commit lurid, tawdry murders dominate the headlines and thus, become celebrities. The juicier the particulars, the more devoted their fanbase. Columnist Mary Sunshine acts as point person between the felons and their adoring public. Prison Matron Mama Morton is effectively, a publicist and agent for “the girls.”

The two current contenders, Velma Kelly and neophyte Roxie Hart, fight each other for the limelight. Velma murdered her husband and sister after catching them in the act, and Roxie shot her paramour as he was walking out. They both admit culpability but (as we hear repeatedly) “the truth doesn’t matter”. Enter Billy Flynn whose expertise makes him the attorney of choice, for the innocent women who kill set. Roxie learns quickly that star status only shines as long as your last atrocity, managing to hold her own against an experienced tiger like Velma.

Chicago is permeated with chilly, sophisticated salaciousness. Virtue is for prissy fools and rampant, rushy vice for the savvy and dissatisfied. Of course, it doesn’t take a lot of reflection to see that neither choice is desirable or inevitable, but that doesn’t mean the myth doesn’t prevail. The brilliance of Kander, Ebb and Bob Fosse is the viable contradiction that while the story says, “Come hither,” it also says “Get lost!”. It elicits our taste for ignoring grace while expressing contempt for our hypocrisy. That being said, it’s all dressed in the eclat of blackest satire, giving us permission to shift into autopilot and enjoy. But when Velma greets us at the start of the second act with, “Welcome back, suckers,” she ain’t kiddin. The nastiness that rocks Chicago may be tame by today’s standards, but perhaps, the chutzpah that doesn’t feel audacious, might offer a clue to what our culture wants and gets.

The cast of Chicago is sleek, tacit and on point. Dressed to seduce, in their sheer, peekaboo black that somehow manages to fuse the upscale with the downlow, they are flagrant and acrobatic. Teasing but icy. The women playing Roxie (Dylis Croman) and Velma (Terra. C. MacLeod) are supple, unapologetic, and canny. Actors in the supporting roles: Billy Flynn (Eddie George) Mama Morton (Jennifer Fouche’) and Amos Hart (Paul Vogt) are dry, witty and fresh.

AT&T Performing Arts Center presents Chicago, playing Tuesday Dember the 18^th, through Sunday, December 23rd, 2018. Winspear Opera House, 2403 Flora St, Dallas, Texas 75201. 214-880-0202. www.attpac.org